I want to surgically remove the cat in in my liver.
I want to remove the rat infestation in my cerebral line of thought.
I want to let the world know that I am not who you thought I was.
I want you to know I do not frolick in soap bubbles in springtime,
I want to tell you I don't always listen to British 80's rock bands.
I want you to know I don't always sit around and read.
Who planted this seed?
I want to tell you I am not a trollop,
Who does nothing but frolick.
I want you to know I am a contradiction.
I want to tell you that I may very well be better off alone.
I want you to know that I am a bottomless vortex,
I want you to know my endless depths make for a difficult one.
I don't want to be selfish,
But I want to be part of your reindeer games.
My selfish ways won.
You are under my spell.
*******,
Most poetry talks about how no one understands.
Thank goodness I'm a contradiction,
Otherwise we'd all get bored.
I thought you understood,
I thought we are sewn from a similar cloth.
But you are just a white sheep.
Only but a white sheep.

Steps on the barren desert valley ground,
I'd rather be in the alley.
I'd rather be in the alley with you.
Sun burnt rocks jut out at me,
They shake their fingers at me,
"You'll never get out, it's a dead end from here."
I remember sitting out under the sun,
I remember being under the sun on the roof,
And I remember screaming at the skies,
" Mathematics has taught me nothing,
School was nothing but sociological lies!"
I had my verbal reasoning skills,
I had a bottle of Adderall pills,
I had my quantum physical knowledge,
I've been down the road of metaphysics,
I even had foreign language skills.
Italian artistry doesn't help you here, no.
The coyote knows best,
The wildebeast and dachshund know better.
Animal supremacy, no.
Conscious human foreclosure of higher arcane intelligence,
If it ever yielded it's presence,
Jesus would've resurrected already.

The Mona Lisa assaults my brain,
Acrid perfume polluting my lungs.
Does the Mona Lisa not care if I die?
I see her chuckling,
Waggling her finger,
Saying with bitter ****,
"You'll never be in the Metropolitan Museum of Art."

A stint in the darkness of the alleyway called Social Hierarchy.
Taking just a stroll,
The stench of a rat,
I must ignore.
Oh, but it takes a toll on my motor skills.
It takes a toll on my motor skills.
Scored 99 on protective instincts.
1% is a grand difference.
I learned from you.
Oh, I learned from you.
Paradise shifts in my lucid innocence.
Discombobulation as I frantically search for "Heaven" again.
Don't you tear down your wrought iron gates,
The constables are coming.
Don't try to flee,
You wont escape,
The king wants off with your head.
Vision blurring,
Split ends.
Summer hazards of new friends.