I am the best of the best,
and you can put it to the test
but you will find
that only I am sublime.

Yet, why do I feel this way,
angry and repressed
tired and distressed.
Irritation is my constant state.
and it is increasing at an alarming rate.

Maybe if I could just null the emotion,
To sink beneath the waves of ocean,
To get lost in all the commotion,
To fall in love with self-devotion,
but, no,
forget I even made the notion,
of doing something like letting go.

For it's too easy a way out,
and I will not leave a doubt
that I am here to stay,
much to my own dismay.

Why?
Because, I am the best of the best.
And I have put that to the test.
for better or worse,
my intelligence is a curse.

death is quite the beauty, is she not?
in choked desolation, we yearn her
a lovely coquette to our misery
until she closes in to the innocent
and becomes an object of our scorn

so, we boycott her dreadful existence
cursing when she calls out our name
for life who we cherish so fondly
but for death we do not do the same
letting her drown in a reservoir of loathe

if death was ever personified
she would live her life a social pariah
as the world tries to nullify her worth
tainting her dignity with pure disdain
in such dolour, even she yearns herself

like the moon
I go through

phases

some of my
lights go out

and I become
dull and distant

give me time
they will come

back on

like the moon
I do not ask

for praise or
forgiveness

it is just a
phase

I am going through