These are quarantine times and with that comes the stir crazy of the truly unhinged.

All those would be social butterflies are really just wasps with pretty colors, they go so far to put themselves out there and now they cling to the fear and walls of their own homes.

No one can tell them what to do or how to live, they must spread their influence into the world, no matter the cost.

This is social suicide, mass poisoning on a misinformation trail.

You refuse to stay inside and believe that this virus is a hoax, account for the bodies then.

You seem so civil when the world is fine, you speak of end times with your shelter and food, you speak of survival of the fittest, yet now in the wake of a practice run, you run from yourselves, you cannot be detained, you will not shelter.

You are the living parasite who brings the plagues. The modern rat wears stars and bars and MAGA hats for you are the herald of pestilence.

You allowed yourself to be lead down the road by your pied piper with bullhorn in hand. You didn't know that the piper was the rat king himself, dressing as humans do to sneak among the worst of us and drag you into the sea with him.

When sanity has returned to these worried times and the calm sets in you'll have to face the fact that you are not as strong as you thought. You are not as prepared as you hoped.

When something worse then Covid-19 sweeps through the land, you'll have to look out to the world and admit that you are the sheep in wolves clothes.

The last vulture feeding off bones and blood of the remainder, the carrion carrying on.

Like a virus it swept through our towns, cities, states, boarders, nation by nation fell and as it did the buzzards ate the virus flesh.

Consumed the disease and with it so the curtain was drawn across the world.

Humans fell to their knees, we fell apart fast.

No Z day, no Mad Max, No Fallout was had, we were Walking Mad if anything, dead inside and panic buying everything we could.
Dark days and black skies, no amount of social distancing can save what is already dammed.

Panic, we did it to ourselves.

Who would have though Facebook and misinformation would have been the little embers that stoked our fear and whipped us into the frenzy state we find ourselves in now.

The Grim Reaper came calling and we named it Covid-19.

Animals fear lightning and fire and all we had to see was the smallest spark to send us running.

Cholera, Spanish Flu, Typhoid, they're laughing now from the pages of history as the dead townships look upon us and see us believe that our doors and windows will keep us safe, we're the biggest danger to ourselves, we could have stayed calm, we could have taken small simple steps to secure and remain safe.

We're nothing but dumb, wild, savage, scared little animals.

The vulture knows.

And so as the vicious street punks and the droog crews make merry in the modern cities of ultra fashion, so I dress to impress and clash in the streets.

Hammer and Brass knuckle, chains and living by the switchblade life.

Speeding lights and Burgess printed the method.

Savage young punks.

Sword duel for honor long gone out the window now, guns are for the classless, if you have a hate-on for someone, fist to fist or blade to blade, bat to bat and blood to blood. Look em the eye if you want to shed some flesh.

Bowler hats and commando boots, canes, bats, bruises and blood.

Real flash horrorshow, savage young punks, the dreams of youth wasted on the violence of wide eyed children, children of the digital era who grew up as latchkey kids, who grew up feeling isolated and had no healthy outlet for that anger.

Anger is an energy, the birth of the atomic bomb.

The homegrown domestic terrorist.

Suddenly violence seems less romantic and street gang fights for respect and turf turn to stray bullets raining down across the nation, homes and schools, churches and weddings.

We still love our violence.

Another punk writing words like there's some point.

Is this art? A rant?

It's free speech of the lowest kind, ******* in time.

Every-thing-can be a poem
if you speak
like-this; pointless.

Leslie Knope.

Art split a million times, we're James McAvoying our opinions on talent and taste.

I cut the cost and cut the cord so unmic'd and raw, since the dawn of verbalization we've used words as tools and weapons, sounds of love and panic, of joy and rage

Now we use it to fake it until enough of us make it to call it art.

Broken thrones and busted bones,
Rusted crowns and ruling out of bounds,
Kings and Queens and genocide machines.

Crest on a shield, knights with knives and knaves with stolen horses.
Blood stained lands and bodies of water littered with parts of bodies.

Time rots the empire and soon the History swallows all.

Duality,

I'm the Jekyll to my Hyde, I'm the Poet, the Prophet, the Monster and Man.

Exist in both places, bring the shadow to the show, shine a light and work behind the scenes.

Balance, I maintain the performance. Everday the lines blur, I wave my hand and a trick, I speak out of both sides of my mouth, Edward Mordrake  and Phantom of the Page, written words are my tool, they serve in action of lies and truths that would normally be spat on.

When the light shines I step up and perform, take a bow, tap the mask, a nod to you!

A joy for me is a joy for you, I play the part of victim and villain, I am actor and professional, novice level grandmaster.

A Jester of all trades, every word calculated, every action a movement of stagework.

Masked and unmasked, raw and hyding in plain sight.

I perform for you and when the lights go out, I work in shadow and orchestrate the light.

Counting to three and lights up for the stage we take, the parts we play are about to start as we say goodbye to what we knew.

End of the bad times, say hello to the good guy.

Out with the old and in with the new, I give it up the actors,

Bad luck and hard times ring out because frankly we're out of bad luck, so let's put the sad away and start up the band because we'll be here all night.

We've come in from the cold, shown up from the war and somehow survived the battle, now it's time to make merry bring cheer and high waters, good tides, we're up good time creek and you can bet we brought our paddles.