Madness be my mistress
My lovely siren song
Satyr in the forest
Chasing naughty nymphs
Demon in the darkness
And monster in my closet
Madness be my lover
Manic movements
Caffeinated frenzies
Typing fast and misspelling much
Strange allusions to those who are touched
Voices in my eardrums
Vision in my breath
Madness be the scent
Of sweaty insane men
Bashing brains
Against their times
Killing quantum equations
That plague their minds
She was my first lover
She will be my last
And from sanity’s flask
I will not sip one sup of it
Madness be my lover
Painter of the stars
Be you jester, genius
Or merely who you are
Madness be my cause to create
Cause no other cause is left

The madman works
Toils towards
An unknown purpose
Be it brushes or pens
Canvasses of color
Or lines in loose leaf
Emotions are erratic
Nothing is static
Everything is always
Moving towards something else
Nothing ever stays the same
The truth is change
With only little windows
The truth is
Tiny pockets of time
Emotions translate to
Déjà vu
The universe of experiences
Encapsulated in one mind
So the madman makes what he can
With what he was
Or at least how he remembers what he was

Hear me now for I am bound to offend
True poets and artist should not have to amend
For telling the truth is a painful burden
They poisoned Socrates in Athens
But in Salem the Protestants would have burned him
If history serves as witness
To the actions of the witless
I think I recall
Some of the greatest crimes of all
Were perpetrated by the men of cloth
From fascist to capitalist
Faithful extremist to creationist
Men betrayed the word
Or they misinterpreted what they heard
We know that Zeus and Hercules were merely tales of fiction
And that the stories Thor and Odin were of similar tradition
So tell me in this moment of musing
Why does the ark seem so confusing
How many animals can you fit on a boat
Before the predator is at your throat
How big would the fish story have to be
Before you realize you have been deceived
One woman and man are fore bearers of all
With only two sons they must have been an incestuous cabal
Then there is free will or so I recall
But that can’t be the case if God knows it all
In my confusion I must be mistaken
For the Ten Commandments can’t be literally taken
Thou shalt not covet **** or steal
So I wonder how you would feel
If the people who say that these are their rules
Surveyed your land, said it was okay
To pick and choose which laws they would obey
Then they proceeded to **** and to maim
Anyone who got in they way of their claim
How many lies can you find in a book that man has wrote
This will not win me any friends
But by challenging old ideals the search for truth begins
And for that I will never apologize
But when they come to burn me at the stake I will probably run and
hide

My past is a plague of pain
shadows that bruise
memories that leave
red marks,
but the isolation
was probably the worse.

I mastered pain
at a young age.
I could take a beating
better than anyone
I knew.

The trick was to let her
hurt me just enough;
resist just enough
then give her
A teary show.
Submitting
to her rage
because resistance
just fueled her
violent tendencies.

But when the beatings stopped
when she got caught
I became a prisoner
locked away
shriveled
A withering shade.

A child
looking at a world
that did not miss me
longing
for the freedom
that waited
just on the other side
of death.

Crying,
cringing,
flinching,
wishing,
At ten years old
that I was dead.
I am not.
Somehow,
I smile.
I go on
taking my pain
and turning it
inwards to introspection
and outwards to compassion.
I think there for I plan
to be a better man
and in moments of clarity
I know that I am.

But sometimes
when I go back
slipping on wet stones
slick with my old
suicide pain
when I let the memories
the regrets, and fears
take me again
there is that blade of pain
waiting
whispering
“**** yourself you worthless
*******”

Anxiety is a flower that blooms
painful frustration
fear from insecurity
insecurity from uncertainty
or vice a versa
hurting me by blocking sleep.
Acid build-up keeps me
from resting comfortably
and takes me farther away from
my sanity.

Some say it would be great
to go back to those better days
but I remember a younger me
escaping in dreams
but waking in tears
no fears
Only a slight inkling
of my sad self sinking.

I am not certain
if the hurt was worsened,
stayed the same, or was softened.
I only now know
how much I have changed.

Old pains may remain.
heart bled a puddle strange
but so much feels unchanged;
Even though, I am unchained
from those past burdens.

Old pains only find me
in the remembering of
my younger self.

Going back in time
in my creative mind
is like picking a scab
or biting my tongue
I still feel it.

It helps to see
some of what was
but I would not go
back there for real

Tic, the clock kicks
just a bit
counting seconds
but nothing moves.
The pen is still.
Time feels unreal.
The digital display
blinks at a slowed pace
and I match it
a slow breath
a slow heartbeat,
a scattered mess,
and an empty desk.

Tic, my sanity escapes me
driving me to boredom
ticking through
another minute or two
and all I want to do
is go home.

Tic, aaaarrrrrggggh

We write our regrets in stone
Monuments meant to recognize
Those who will no longer
Be in our lives
Tears of heartache mark
These harsh days
The cruelest and only real fate

The leaves have fallen.
Once brave soldiers
vital and firm
now old paratroopers
wrinkled with
the expectation of
winters rough war.
One by one
these daughters
And sons
fall to the Earth
to die.
The tree stands naked,
until winter’s war is over
and green life is restored

Where he erred
Was he could not stop.
Creation was like the
final throbbing vestiges of an ******
in his ego.
He came life
and birthed madness

Do birds still welcome the morning with their song in a besieged city
do they still build nests and raise young
or are they unaccounted refugees along with all others
if the morning chorus is silent and the birds no longer sing
what hope for a poet in such a Godforsaken place
except to sing of death.