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I am in such a **** mood,
the mountains have no meaning.
Big ******* rocks.

*******, dad.
*******, Fox News.
*******, Indiana.

None of you *******
know what irony is.
Google that ****.
Jesus Christ.

There are yellow streams--
that's poetic ****.
There are ruby stained sheets--
that's blood, obviously,
and, I dunno,
maybe somebody died on a bed?

Everyone can **** my ****.

To be or not to be,
that is the
shut the **** up.

Rapists are disgusting people.
They aren't people.

******* idiots.
Romanticizing everything
you wish you had
because
suicide, mental illness,
and eating disorders
make you cool,
riiiigghhhttt?
*******.
If you do this,
you aren't interesting.
You're just you.
Get used to it.
There are people
that go through
these issues
and they don't think
it's ******* rad,
*******.

I hate 75% of the south.
The south will rise again?
Get the **** out of here.

Stalin was a ****.

Most writers are *****.
Most of them ****.
I don't care.

For the love of "God",
if I read one more poem
about what poetry is
or how to define a poet,
I'll slam my head against
a ******* knife.

Some people are so dumb.
Most ******* people.
******* pseudo-knowledge.
Armchair philosophers.
If you guys wanted
to **** yourself,
you could jump
from your ego
to your IQ.

Something, something, imagery.
Metaphor.
I don't believe in God,
I believe in me.

Because
the only thing
that scares me
more than a God
is myself.

I am
so many people
that I can't even
keep track of
myself.

I am
group-******
ideas, personas,
smiles, images;
fractions of a being.

Phantom in plain sight.

I am a joke.
I am *******.
I make you laugh,
so you can't hear me.
I sell you someone else
so you don't see me
as I stand before you.

I am the ghost.

So, so many
voices
but none of them
are mine.

**** me
to pieces,
then gather
what fits.

It never does.
It never does.
Is it bad that I would rather lie awake
Dreaming of you
Dreaming of death
Is it bad that I break every night
My ribs cracking open
With the song of your soul
That both slices and saves
Is it bad that I cry red tears
That bleed from scars on my fragile heart
                   --..--
I am nothing but broken ribs
And blood and dust
But you hold me as if
I am something more
The roots, and not just the seeds
And when I push you away
You pull me back
and hold me close
And I accept
And I sleep
But sweetheart you will not stay for me
For you are not mine to keep
So I will lie awake
In disconnected misery
Dreaming of you
Dreaming of death

— The End —