i hereby present  
this
sacrificial offering
to you and your kin
men of any skin
indiscriminate of ticks
hands, time spans, or dimensions

it never meant
much to me
to start with.
none of my organs
can play melodies
and boycotting churches
doesn't help much--
weekdays or ends

i'm weak in the end.
you'll feast nonetheless.
i accept.
condescend what's left.
because i comprehend
that i can't live with myself
regardless.

and why fight the taste of bitterness,
when i've never tasted success.

- end

here, world.
have these words.

it’s all for the better
i’m all for the worse

they're all bound
to come around
and rebound
some days from now
so what’s the worst?

don me a a player
of words
and an alphabet
about which
i could not care less
though in them is my worth
they’re the sole characters  
on which my transient existence depends…
how symbolic.

don't allow it
they’ll run out of artists and authors
when they realize they need to pay attention
to working on pay without paying on their end
so they pay homage and paint my pale face
and hang it up as they say grace and pass the pail, there's
a pencil in my left although i’m not right at times
hand it
although i've only used pen those times
grant it
to galleries long after i am gone
and my silent voice of self-defense that is read when i see red
is no more
and granted,
my flesh is dense, entrenched and soiled in worms and soil
and the sole consistency in my after and my life is my nonexistent soul

don’t let the gluttony go unnoticed.

for if there is a phenomena i despise more so
than broadway shows which broadly showcase
plain, feigned mythical “facts” amidst quotes
it’s the fact that
myth
has no purpose
but to extort
the 27 things i’ve ever known:
my mean letters and my enemy
long after i
am no more.

little brother.
my little angel

how little i feel
how minute i must be
for you, who is me,
to up and leave
my little baby...

i misspoke
and misconducted
and miscommunicated
and miscarried
the purity
that is you
the bane of what is me
and my existence

the pain from the staircase
i ****** my broken body down
still aches

and i am ready
for an eternity
of agony

if anything happens to me tomorrow
i need nothing else
but for you to understand
that if not for you
tomorrow
would have been so
long
long
long
ago

don't ask me
when this all happened
they all left me
the answers

i don't know
at which point it was
precisely
that i ventured from
a lonesome mutant
to a loyal consumer
of one man
by the surname
Jameson.

all i understand
at this point in time
is that certainty
has no place in my mind

and that if nothing
and no one
and no place
and no aim
and no intention
of any change
he is here
and that
is all  
i will ever need

i do
i do
only death
can forcefully
make me bid
my loyalty
to my one truth
adieu

- end

all i need is you and me
to rhythmically breathe
this chemistry

let the air release
the bliss i feel beneath
the deep pigments
that compose the skin tone
that is yours like me
when i am consoled
by you, my harmony

the figments of chaos
that barricade logic
from my
barren
    vacant
   mind
reassure me
as any talented sadist would
that my work is greater for
being for the greater good
...that i am far from good
for i far supersede
what all talented sadist
curators ever could

and if not for the poetry
your exhales hand
my mishandled ears
i wonder
if i would ever again
be able to feel.

- end

so
in love
not with you
but myself
in your presence

so
in trouble
not with you
but myself
if you vanish

- end

intrusive.
you
refuse
to soothe
these thunderstorms
in me.

they're brewing.

one day they'll explode.
and even if i knew the future
nonetheless, i'll look like
a fool.

i can't quite define
why sometimes
and sundays
i seem
alright

the peace of mind leaves me uneasy

it tells me i'm releasing
the memories that eased me
back when i needed
bracing
and saving
for defacing
the part of me i hated
with passion
that resembled that
which you once had for me
especially on days
when the sun came first
and foremost

sevenfold.