I need to get a grip
on these vices
So I can loosen their grip
on me

I need to
dismantled the mechanism
of my discomfort

I need to
unscrew myself
from the iron grip
of self destructive behavior

Summerset
By fall beget
Where'n winter comes
With much regret

Scintillating spring
What wonders you may bring
And round we turn
Cyclical burn
Upon my frail skin

In January we begin
Life anew with hopes to win
In February, thoughts of love
Carried by wings
Of harken dove

In March, we march
For luck, we do embark
Upon the journey
To April's storms
May's flourish

June brings tunes
Familial revery
Many grooms
And brides, aplenty


In July
We ask not why
For celebration
Lights the sky

August turns
An auburn red
Reminding us
Of winter's dread

September,
Such a hopeful thing
Academic inklings
And much respect for those
Now long dead

October tells
Of Christmas bells
Of gluttony
And feast wrought
Stuporous spells

November sings
Gratuitous
Chiming
Christmas bells ring

December dies
Until what lies
Beyond us, again
Rebirth implied

Doubt is a gift
For in questioning
We free ourselves
No longer but adrift
Upon a sea
Of possibility
Where currents
Dictate personal hells

Instead
Choose to swim
Find a shore to lay upon
And carve your mark therein
Upon the sands of time

Despite
The rising tides
Of faceless fate
A passerby
May learn your name
And for a time
You will be one of many

By acquisition of perfidiousness,
  superabundant equanimity serves as cynosure
for perspicacious circumlocution
  Extricated from acumen by coruscant conviviality
     prescient luminescence elicits magnanimous ebullience
   Profundity wrought the saxicolous
    Winebibber, penultimate in cupidity
    Unencumbered by concupiscence
   in which anomalistic accoutrements might unto be bequeathed
Alas, only by auspices, might idiosyncrasies be brought to be remunerative
As such, in trust, bellwether, to excogitate and make usufruct
is as to find parsimonious, what opulence incorrigibly writhes therein
By hedonistic primal instinct, chase, to what is callipygian

Specious conversation
Of day in and day out
The lives of many
Concerned with who did what
How he or she
Said this or that

He was
45
She was 19
She did not know
He had two other
Lady loves

Nor, that he was 260 pounds
And balding, gray haired
Barely able to walk a mile
She loved him for his kindness
He loved her for her hips
And her *******

As did he love the others
For their buxom figures
Alas, he did not love himself
And thus he hid from them
His fatal flaws
Behind a screen

Joking of how stress
Is more potent than
His addiction
To the nicotine
That blackened his lungs
And bragging to a young man
Far more genuine
Just as he wished he was

She was 36
She looked 50
She worked two jobs
At 10 an hour
To support her fleeting family
Wishing she was struggling
A bit more with finance

Wishing her son was not taken
By the grasp of a depressant drug
Injected in the veins
Ten too many times

As did she wish
She could abscond from the local crimes
And live in luxury
Not far away, but in a safer place

So, I told her
Of my story of success
And how my brother
Had lived through
What her son had not survived
I had no words to comfort her

They were each 17
Constricted from individuality
By the strong grip of capitalism

They spoke in envy
Of how an older coworker
Was brazen enough to be accepted
For his long hair, and baggy jeans
Paid more, not for his drive and resolve
But his familiarity


I did not respect them
Until I came to understand
They only wished to be like me
Untied from the system
Outlandishly myself

I thought, "How tiny minds might think,
In vapid ways
To cope with the meaninglessness
Of their existence."

Not now, though
I see the truth
They move through their lives
Step by step, one foot ahead of the other
Working toward what I have taken for granted

He asked me for a cigarette
Offering his last seventy two cents

I gave it freely
Not to **** him more quickly
But to quell his demons
So he could live another day
Believing in the world
Which crippled him

I have come to understand
that insignificant, trivial things
hold importance in numbers.

Most people live
to be a part of something greater,
but in recognizing the bigger picture,
I have failed to see the purpose
of smaller things until now.
I never sought to belong.
I never wished to contribute
to arbitrary, mechanical actions.

However, I know now
that to become greater,
I must find something worth being small for.

In order to be what my identity stipulates,
first I have to achieve the stature
to exceed my shadow,
so that I might stand tall and bask in the brightness.

A flicker
The darkness parts
An expanse of black water
Slow ripples sway the boat
You are the sailor
Whispers call out from the dark
And speak your every deed
They know your name, your face
Everything
But of them, you know not
They torment you with reprehension
Remind you of your plights
And that, alone you are
Upon a sea of black
The ripples grow to cresting waves
The boat begins to sway
The whispering becomes a roar
Sharp, echoing through the dark
The voices scream
The boat rocks,
But still you are aboard
You clutch your lantern tight
And try to cover your ears
But days pass like this
Then weeks, then years
The resolve you once had
That innate, human determination
Has since dwindled
The screaming has blended
into your own thoughts
It is white noise
And still you are afloat
However, without hope
You plunge into the sea
Of your own volition
It is then you realize
The sea is thick, caustic
Not unlike rubber
To swim you must be strong
The sea has a will of its own
Currents form beneath your feet
It pulls you into the deep
You are drowning
The lantern's glow shrinks
Until nothing is left of either of you

I seek for an amenity
To this disease inside of me
Which aggravates my energy
Extrapolating violently
Ironically, I'm logically abusing rationality
Irrationally exacerbating deductive realities
Which are bound to me in stagnant times
When my mind flies to other fallacies
I have to be strong but I'm just breaking microscopically

I'm always thinking too much
I can't stop, I just rush
I'm overwhelmed, but I can't touch the point
but I'm inbound and I won't disappoint

My thoughts are always chasing me
Tied down by acute empathy
And sympathy is not for me
Cause I can't bring myself to see
What is to come, what cannot be
where I will be eventually

Spirituality, obviously, must be bound to physicality
And so I ask you, how could we describe our own psychology?
An amalgamation of the slightest mental energy is quite the anomaly,
How can we help ourselves if we're just damaging humanity?

If you ask me, when our brains gain new insight
We can think in different ways and make change
Make the world bright
Let's share our claims with all who complain
And share peace and make things right

It messes with my head a bit that our mind processes everything,
That's all we ever really experience
We'll never be able to get inside someone else's head and test drive it.