'and I realize everybody is just living their lives quietly but it's only me that's insane'
i walk the streets waiting for your call
six lowly lonely hours feet numbed
it never comes and tho i still love
you i hate you and big promises
spring fatuously little pretty lie
perpetual disappointment
in perpetuity i ******
hate you like
suspended
questions

falsities fabricated in your upward inflection  falsetto all goopy
distasteful muck of all our
empty troubled souls
the sea of the corpus which in reality covers most of  our primordial earth
so best pay attention

what are you high - maybe yes ok
probably can't remember honest
words never the less spill from
my mouth I love you yab yum
for i the raucous martyr-*******
to yer neglect bull whip *******
fantasies   (woe)
me up on yer cross
he died *****
as i do, you
cruel
          terrible
                         butcher *****

You champion body kinetics like
Bend'd sentences playing played out words
Most foul animal howls crying out night

How I'd like to prowl and skulk around  
Find out further great secret shames
To hide inside broken bone skull
Lulling me into security
A false paucity of pretty petty little
Nothings all coiled
Spoiled summer sausages
Rotten vermilion
carrion
Seeps

An old dull silver tray bought from the thrift store last polished never
Sits between us, holding a half emptied handle of rye, two rock glasses
Adjunct ice bucket and a handful of spansules all neatly lined up in a row
Like candy for the taking
Too late

Existentially snuffed out
'Yes' I thought, there's a good start
But existentialism is so boooooring dear,
such a dry, ******, passe affair, pedantic really
She groans out her words elongated like some big queen of England
Sitting on her royal *** smoking from a long black cigarette holder
I pull her towards me roughly slipping quickly into thick, thickening
Newfound (land) accents
"Listen here missy, you're no Audrey Hepburn"
Brashly kissing bright blooming vermillion lips
"And you're no John Kennedy"

Playing dress up ***; cosplay games de la haute societe
Cruel broken bank account pauvrete down and out facade
Tho this is neither Paris nor London
Nor do we find any satisfaction in our destitution
I am not a plongeur et vous,
Vous etes rien qu'un petit ami du nuit
"I'm not your *****"
All part of the act
Or so I'm told

We've forgotten who we really are behind these vaudeville masks
     The world less lucid, less clear, receding gently tho greatly
         Day by lurid day

forced to ask 'is it all *******'
this field of study just completed
this path now flying feet fleet'd
I, alumni all outwardly faux alacrity
but instead really inside shades drawn
hiding shame useless
waiting for the sun's forebearant rays
to pull dead drunk me off floor again
still sick sinning spinning lies
on nodal web patterns
of activation

just a narcissist sociopath-in-training
(was I?) being taught how better
to manipulate other's fate
for personal gain

great fat magnificent magnanimous beast
loafing on liar's chair o'great victory-defeat
doublespeak tho Orwell is long dead and we do mourn him so with eulogy eyes
that weep crocodile tears of
well hidden liars

having long forgotten how to believe
in anything aside from own ill-gotten
gains, they mean nothing more
than bloodstained verses
anemic murmurs
whispered great
whisky hopes
and sallow
cheeked
dreams

Standing on my head to rid myself of this soul-phlebitis
  An old hobo train jumper trick apparently
All that blood rushing to my previously empty head
      Filling, pooling graciously flow
            (Don't we all know, there's nowhere to go but up)

Abruptly fall head first lurching, crunch
To the cold brittle hardwood boards of nuns in our parent's youth
       Creaking (they whip us good)
                  Is this ink sunken in skin to be yer biggest regret?
     What can pain do for you?
Connecting the mind and body
    Cingulate gyrus integrating
         reptilian brain vagus nerve body influence with higher
              Social functioning
                                      ugh when really it's all a big joke
                                           and the sad clown laughing at the universe
                                                 is me and i am god and god,
                                                      god he weeps
                    Breeding consciousness, somatosensory convergence
                           You make my prefrontal cortex sick
                                   Subsequent serotonin stomach butterflies
                                         The prescience of a dozen acid trip candy flips
                                               Tomorrow's 500 micrograms of blissful gut          
                                                      Awareness in bloom

Home, where's home for the moment?
       Not sure, asking, looking
            And questing to find o yes and where to go and where to stay
                 And with whom and Why
                      Questions called to no one and nothing (but the sea)
                             That can't hear me
                                      As if Nietzsche's 'void' is staring back
EAT ME THEN DAMNABLE VOID
       I cry
    For
What pain is there in true madness,
       sick little toy words
       sick little boy slurs

You stand laughing at my third screen cracked phone, cigarette 'twixt yer talons
My dedication to connectivity supercedes
My fear of glass shards embedding in my
Eagerly swiping soft fingers
Lord knows I dont work with these
Lazy writer hands
"Keeps laughing at me missus
I shows you"

we got cranked up on dexxies,
"for my ADD" I'd say,
which was technically true

suddenly solemnly looking at me
big sincere eyes
you should come
with me

we'll crawl in my brother's car
having a grand 'ol ball
rambling across the country

running away from home
ridiculous "quarter life crises"
we're all having

but you're gone one way
i'm gone another way
Sea is back by the ocean
my father mixed with the Atlantic
take me back
throw me in
with'em