Icy burn, an ache
both dull
and knife point.
Am I going
insane?

Cervical, thoracic,
lumbar, and sacral
tension, or
is it
elasticity?
Am I going
crazy?

Dark days, I try to run
away from myself,
just to sniff in circles,
distracted, burning
daylight.

Good days, I practice
all the basic moves
a mixture
of modern living
and disregard
made me forget.

Guess I'm pretty broken.
Isn't the concept of
properly aligned
posture fun?
Weak abs.
I used to mantle mountains.
Now I get high.
Sit most of the day.
I simply bide my time.
Taut back.
A breathing difficulty.
Buy the polish.
Buy the membership.
Build mirror muscles, big.
But your ribs lift.
Your ribs should depress.
Instead.
You may enter a depression.
Induced by lack of oxygen.
*******, and living off
of stale air.
What does this mean, though?
Shine the surface?
Or,
you could *******
the basic crust.
What does this mean, though?
I'd rather not enter the thought.
Could you please explain?
"I will beat this," I swear.
No one else has,
as there is no end,
but there must be an end.
I'll find it.

Watching everyone spin
on their axis,
touting their progress,
there must be a someone
or some thing!

Watch me spin.
Spin and fidget.
Watch me spin,
spin and fidget.

Spin the blades
to your right.
Now you're loading. Now
you're spinning.

"I will beat this," rings obsolete.
Now, "I will secede,"
seems pragmatic.
Is it romantic to
be at one with nothing?

Cross legged on the floor,
I whisper,
to myself,
"Oh,
         you
                 bet."
Soon to be so real.
I choose a name
to take
the place
of the
name she
gave me
at birth.

Why would I want to be named
after your **** addicted friend
and unrequited love interest?

Soon to be so real.
I choose my own
good name
to take
the place
of the
name of
my cut
blood ties.

Why would I want the name
of the alcoholic ***** sprayer
who saw the baby face and ran away?

I'm not
the men you knew.
I'm not
the man you will.

I am the practical
implementation
of a carnelian ****.

The trumpet of
the name of shame.
Pleasantries
to monkeys
checking
files in the
imagination
database.
What you want to hear
appears
before your eyes as wish
fulfill--
meant for a target,
the same
as its creator.
In words:
What we've come to call
"a heart missing a piece."
In words:
Easy marketing.
Pleasantries
to monkeys
surfing
cyber waves
for validation
constantly.
What would you like to hear?
What world would you create?
Tickets are 10 for $10, today.
Arrested.
A Windsor knot
binds my
fickle neck
to my dour
shoulders.
Plastic ties
elegant wrists
in pair.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me redemption
or else,
how can I ignore it?

One bedroom.
An eager clock,
minutes
from my set,
or expected
The End,
happily
leaves me to my
routine.

One question:
Head up or down?

I lied.

Another question.
Atop a question.

Am I

headed up or down?
Give me freedom
or else,
how can I ignore it?

Can I really be who I want?
Can I really be what I mean?

Will I ever solidify?
Will I ever come to?

And who will come?

(. . .)
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