Quiet words
From a lonely man
I write on

Convinced was doing God's work
Sure these were God's words
And I the conduit who never believed

The word left me
The lion to the lamb
There I sat, throne of swords
Crown of thorns
Struck a Pyrrhic victory
Slink off to lick sunken wounds
False prophet, I lie in ruins
The pen and the *****
Bloodletting

I am oyster of ocean (closed off)
I am burning of bigot neo-**** flag
I eat of earth and drink deep of river
I sleep on floor in concrete sardine can
I pluck words out of the sky (drawn ire)
Paint pictures of solumn cerebral sorrow,
Tired eyes, liars ties
Humbled before magnitude of universe
Crushed by weight of world
"Then why carry it"
Asks pretty girl/voices

I awake at 4am
Meandering through
Selfish thoughts

Toxic grains and growing pains
Have I changed
Or same *******

Same pretend man writing
Heartfelt speeches of comraderie
All lies and I false prophet
Proselytizing strength in numbers

Cook for one
Eat in the dark
Bright rectangles
Crosshairs
Deer in headlights
Pump the gas

Cracks in the foundation -
They don't make 'em like they used to. Chipped concrete, rusted rebar
Fading facade

I make facile arguments
Excuse myself

Blame mental illness
Blame the drugs, the molly years
Blame ****** (I don't choose life)

*******,
Ian McGregor

Blame the ****** February weather
Blame the itchy sweater
That is life

If that truly is life then,
Become I conscientious objector?
Already live in Canada

Blame the city
Blame the *****
Blame yourself

They say we have agency
I grasp, I reach
But the fruits
Are bitter sweet
**** the bed honey
Like Spud lovely

Which lines do I keep?
And who to throw away?

I feel
Hollow inside
Is cavernous waste

I see myself
Tired and dried out
Like

So much salt cod
Beckons me to the ocean
Empty bottles

I seek to fill this cup eternally,
My grail brings not eternal life
But rather quenches
The thirst upon my lips
That besets my battered
Drinking brain

My cup runneth over with madness
And confusion
Finding liars in friends and shadow people
Beckoning from beyond my shoulder

Hear the brittle knock at my door
Sure it's Death's rattle
Find a cosy corner
Self-trepan
So I can see the stars again