At time's,
I'm a miserable, lecherous, lump.
At my worst,
I'm a despicable ******* drunk.
And I'm sorry darling,
you just got caught under my little rain cloud,
I'll take the added weight of your accumulated pain now.
To say it simply,
I'm something like walking bad karma
More advanced,
I was delivered an infinitely twisted dharma.
And I regret,
allowing your pleasant essence to combine with mine,
but now that we've been severed I think you'll carry on just fine.

Sometimes,
all you need is strong drink,
and a couple good friends,
to part the clouds.
All that drunken truth,
spilled so sloppily,
it can lighten the heart.
Lift the weight from shoulders,
even release a little guilt.
Yea,
life's mostly misery perpetuated,
but little moments like this,
make it worth the while.

I once set down my pen,
and with free fists equipped,
a sword.
Utter savagery and violence,
the mantle I adorned.
It's long been sheathed
but woe is me
the living and the scorned.
Hands forever bloodied,
words immutably,
forlorn.

I'll show you all the cracks,
in your feeble facade.
Just shortly before I see it erased,
with psychological grenades.
Don't you know?
I've got x-ray eyes,
They see into your heart
and find the skeletons you hide.
I don't require knives to see you filleted,
I'll verbally split your middle,
expose your doubts and your shames.
I'll flush out every fallacy,
stop the production.
My words and my mind will see your destruction.

I'll never understand,
the rural American mindset.
And in kind,
I am alien to most rural Americans.
How do you people stand it here?
Does time not pause for you as well?
The looks I'm given,
when I express my yearning,
for concrete, glass and steel.
Yea,
I suppose this spring air smells quite fine,
but it lacks the flavor of a fifth street dive.
And all summer long you all fish or you hike,
I miss just smoking cigarettes in parking lots,
at night.
Many assume,
one who holds such animosity,
towards his fellow man,
would prefer a smaller population density.
This is false.
It's easier to remain enigmatic,
when no one has the time to remember your name.
Your face.
I blend well,
and I do enjoy the fresh air,
the wilderness.
But when I leave work at night,
sometimes,
sometimes I still sit on top of my car and smoke,
just watching traffic.
And I think,
the city is forever in my bones.
And on those nights,
I miss my home.

Constant enigmatic status,
see me in the back of the pack standing static
or maybe slipping a slick soliloquy
like olive branches to panicked masses.

Violent demeanor don't overreach or
it'll be sure to see you swiftly burned
like pints of ether.

My smile disguises bedlam,
incessantly caching weapons,
I could storm the pearly gates
and boot God out of ******* heaven.

Another night alone,
another empty bottle and
another ****** poem.
Another pack of cigarettes,
another finished bowl.
Another way to deal with it,
another line of blow.