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I went on a fishing trip and all I got was a bunch of worms.
I opened every single can in an attempt to keep what I had earned.

Tiresome days. Brightly lit nights.
Beer-Battered and braised on the menu tonight.
Brains splattered and bruised in the venue tonight.
You bring the torches, and I'll supply the mob.
We'll rob this town of all it's got,
Ransack every single plot,
So that tomorrow's day will show no light.

Observe the unheard
With their leaves all unturned.
Sharply carved and crudely drawn.
No plan of attack is the best defense, after all.
Things are lookin up to me , so I'm climbing over walls.
When my head hangs low another brick slips and falls.

Push and shove,
War of Tugs,
Smiling mean mugs.

Contrary to popular contradictions,
Irony just packed its paradigms into cardboard paradoxes.
Breathing heavily as I pack my life into a handful of moving boxes,
I'm starting to remember what my floor looks like when it's not covered by useless possessions and countless pairs of boxers.

That is to say, I'm grounded on this unfounded belief.
Hail to the thief.
My pen flows endlessly
As I pretend to be
The boy I used to see
Before this evolutionary split
Brought me to the grave of unspoken revolutionaries.

I halfway wish you never met me.
That that hallway conversation never came to be.
That I could live out these days with a less poignant memory of agony.
But I remember all that I've learned
And that I'm not moving out, I'm moving on
To somewhere  I can finally earn my own keep.
I'll be around sometimes, but I'm currently unavailable,
So please leave a message after the beep...
Straddling the line of popularity
Teetering on the edge of trends and personality
As soon as I'm about to fall into them I revert back to introverted me.

This dissent from narcissistic sorcery may slip you into mental dysentery
Though reading into the stains is not necessarily a necessity,
It's a little difficult to ignore the symmetry.

Hock-up spit onto this canvas, rip up another piece for my portfolio.
Lock-up your kids inside the frames of your family's mementos.
I'm lashing out like diet coke infused with mentos.

I'm not your son, not your husband, nor your best friend.
I'm that guy you **** for fun sometimes on the weekend.

I used to hate people in school who said they "failed" when they got a "C",
Now I hate the people who say they're broke when they still have money.

I'll grab your skate-up , lame-duck, askin "Have you ever ate nuts?"
We need some action. Got the lights, the camera, but don't take cuts.
Shoot a provisional peripheral glance at my pay-stub.
Always take pride in where you came from even if it ain't much.

The glass is still half empty if you're only half full of ****.
Some days I'm a dog. Any day I'm a typical cat.
So on the days it's raining cats and dogs, I get really wet.
No...wait...not like that...
I mean I'm thrown really out of whack.
Spilling every drop of sporadic synaptic spit onto this paperback.
I don't remember writing this
I'm dripping into sorrow

Like raindrops into a pothole

I can't outrun what I've borrowed

There's no profit in tomorrow

I claim there's no dependence/dependants until there's none left in the bottle

I get less than what I earn so that the slugs can keep their grottos
I remember writing this on a rainy day in the Sam's Club parking lot probably in 2012
Oh, how the caged bird sings...
From the nest made of  fallen earrings, flattened rings, and tangled wiring.
Is there a difference between a cage and a nest?
Is a home a shelter or a prison?
I guess it just depends on who has access to the door.

Are you tired of boxes or tired of moving?
My nomadic experience provides definition to previous gleanings.
Death Row is still living, while Hobo Bo yearns for the meaning.
Feed the dog first and then get your filling.
Expanding your consciousness, but how far are you willing?
Your pupils can only expand so much before your eyes are nothing but black holes with no floors or ceilings.

How old is this feeling?
Your camera lens will fracture if you don't stop twisting.
Pretty soon you won't be able to view anything.  
Your tree houses how many rings?
Did you really free yourself or is the cage just disappearing?
How close can you get to flying without batting your wings?
How close to the sun can you fly be before frying? What good does that bring? Let freedom ring.

So sing, little bird, sing your song of searing madness.
Whether I'm shackled to this perch or flying in circles out in a clearing,
As long as I'm listening to these same sweet melodies there is nothing to be fearing,
For I'm listening to the most beautiful song that I can ever remember hearing.
A bird lives a simple life, and in the end that is what is most endearing.
Sing freedom, sing.
At the round table I will feast upon the scraps of humble beginnings while the king flings suffering from his trusty silver spoon encrusted with family jewels at the bumbling fools babbling satirically about the absurdity of his rules.

The royal court's still serving sentences to the remnants of the members of the Pent-up Armageddon Club getting their writing fingers bent up as penance, thus rendering them useless as wordsmiths so now the quill permanently sticks to the well all dried and crusty with no sense of purpose.

I fumble with the remote for control of this vice that tightens around my larynx, suppressing my sense of choice. I'm sorry, that's ad-vice suppressing my voice. No, I'm not mad, that's just my voice. You're really in no place to talk to anyone about respect, boys.

The movie is cringe-worthy, but the one playing out in the room is even  harder to watch. It's like an episode of Friends written by a monkey drinking scotch. Look at this! Look at me! Digest all of these empty calories! Check this post! It's super funny! Watch this video! I can stream it to the T.V! Look at the screen! Look at the screen! Look at the screen! My life is a meme!

It's taking every ounce of strength I have in me not to ******* scream.
Your plot is spoiled and your scheme is boiling over.
She said what he said that she said that he said that she's dead in his bed and I just can't pretend that it's okay to breathe
When you excuse your actions with pop-culture morality and plausible deniability.
Sometimes when I write, I'm quite trite, but I feel like it's alright
Because cliches shine bright for a reason,
And even that adage is one that's grown to be cliche in the passing seasons.

I'm trying to find my niche in this clique with that ******* Nietzsche,
But with only a quick hit of cynicism so I can better allay
My wicked mind and others like it when they're led astray
In this filthy ******* ashtray we call society.

****, I just relapsed, to my dismay,
Back to this pessimistic disarray.
Time to relay the baton back to positivity.
The track is winding and long and it might take a couple days,
But in the end it's worth the race to dispel this malaise.

Existentialism's universal insignificance seems quite insignificant
When you're surrounded by an unprecedented presence that gets spent
Embracing your spirits and relieving the stress
Presented by the pretense of living in the present tense.
I'm receiving presents of intertwining limbs wrapping up tight
And smiles that stretch on all through the night.

These gifts provide stability to cognitive dissonance and
Bring silence to internal cacophonous disturbances
Presented by the manifestation of autophobic tendencies
Being faced as a penance for pretending to be
A tenant of a higher intellect, when in actuality
I was evicted from the rental life
Because I spent all I had on observing internal strife.
Deducing "important" conclusions that are now more or less lost in the abyss of adolescent confusion.
Flicked away with the butts and roaches to fertilize the pavement.
I still haven't quite learned how to behave yet.

Time to reconnect with my potential.
Time to spit something influential.
Thinking about time is bound to make you go mental.
Just rip the arms off the clock and stick them in your back pocket, or pin them to your chest and wear them as credentials.
By the power of Chronos!
Did someone alter the past or is this just coincidental?!

Jack of all trades, being mastered by none.
I don't believe we should sell all our passions and possessions to invest in just one.
See, I'd prefer to do it all, skip the cash, and just run.
Might as well do what you love for the sake of love and having fun.
Motivational status. Learn this, you must, young padawan.
See, this stanza's so hot-topical it can reach anyone.
Am I speaking your language or cookin facts well past well-done?

Everybody's a contradiction, so why be a slave to an opinion?
I'm just a student of the human condition.
I'm adjusting my brain sack to sit back in the academic position.
I wear slacks like a hack because I was cut too much in the past,
And you know what they say,
"You are what you eat" or "You wear your heart on your sleeve",
In this case, though, my sleeve is my pant-leg, and I ate so much slack
That during the bereavement of my beliefs I dry-heaved so painfully that
Eventually I couldn't help but to yak.

Now I'm cut from a new cloth with a diamond-tipped saw
Because I reaped what I had sewn into the fabric,
Ripped what I thought I had known to bits out of habit,
Scattered the remnants into the super-heated granules mixing alchemystic magik.
Combined the metals and materials to make this beautiful stained glass in the attic.
It's cool now. Fragile though.
But when the light shines through, oh,
Would you look at that? The world's painted to look so much more colorful.

Mercury Rising fresh out of retrograde,
Shines through the colored spots in the window pane,
And casts long strands of shadows where the lead is laid.
It's quite a **** night to be alive in this place.
But too much mercury and too much lead
Will leave you with rot in your gut and sick in your head.
You have to be sure the planets are aligned and the elements are balanced before heading off to bed.

Tisk tisk, don't forget about the task, Pat.
You can't carry all of your eggs in one basket.
The weight of the ones on top will eventually overcome what's beneath the surface and crack it.
Now, I'm not saying that you can't have it
Or that you should run away and never look back.
ACK! That ****'s so wack, Pat.
Carrying a pack dripping with shells and splattered embryonic sacs.

Don't walk in the ditch on either side of the path, stay right in line with the fulcrum.
Don't get the thread loops crossed in the side-saddle stitch, or swing too fast with the pendulum.
Stop yourself from having a fit and throwing a tantrum  
When people slip your name between their lips and slap you with a diss, brat.
They only know the this side of that, and you don't even know the half.

Oh, brother. Rats. Nuts. Crap. Drat!
I went for the kick and fell flat on my back.
Hang your head and shuffle your shoes like an old Schultz cartoon.
Nah, kick rocks, you buffoon, I don't need your **** blues,
Especially if it comes in the form of a security blanket.
I will bring a towel though, in case I panic or get wet.
The galaxy is nuts. Peanuts to be exact.
Here's a complimentary pack for your flight.
Shut your red eye and recline.
Relax, everything is *fiiiiiiiiiiiine
And they keep growing and growing and growing...
Resisting arrest by the things I detest.
I've relinquished control of my mind's steady pulse to some of the best
People I know,
Yet, still I must quest to repay all that I owe
To myself.
Not to put on display in a sideshow, but to let go
To the wayside what prevents growth in the daylight.
At night I  float through the bay side as a ghost manifested from an ad-hominem homicide who no longer harbors the lies inside.
Not by choice, but because the transparency of his hyde forces everything off his chest.
That's Hyde with a Y, in case you didn't catch.
A way to separate the enemy from whom I can trust will continue to ride on straight with his eyes on the prize,
Because even though most of the time while I'm speeding on by I can realize when I'm fooling myself,
Sometimes it still helps to have another set of eyes I can confide in when I fall to my pride, and welp, honestly, I'm really good at lying.
All snideness aside,
I constantly subside the urge to spin so many stories like I used to.
I abide to unifying the narrative and the truth.

  The book is written by my steps, traced in ink.
It revolves around the fearlessness experienced amidst the dereliction of my inhibitions.
Inhabiting this world is sooo much stranger than fiction.
I was served red herring on a silver platter so often that I could no longer ******* own predictions on the matter.
The predication of my subject crashed to the floor and shattered with a clatter,
All the while the next course was being served over the chatter.
The false leads left me feeling salty;
Depleting my energy, sinking into a state of emergency with a deficiency of Vitamin C.
Scurvy, you see?
A line graph charting mental health as curvy as the sea.

  Digressing from this literary diversion I will return to the exploitation of the exposition of this version of the story with positively depressing times formed in the retrospection of faded moments of glory,
During which I was jaded by the very idea of my lovers' life stories.
I tried to write and I tried to paint,
But the page and the canvas weren't blank so I was left with a jumbled mess of mistakes that acted as constraints to my best traits.
The epiphany that would have solved the last case always showing up a minute too late.

I've learned to live in the present tense and take each clue as it comes
and sharpen my sense of intuition instead of letting my paranoia blossom into fruition every time my expectation doesn't fall in line.
I'm here now within the sublime.
I'll Be Here Now Ram Daas, all of the time.
Life is strange, and that's no crime.
I'm strange too, and that's just fine.
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