The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.

I remember like yesterday
The press of the steel
Coldly unforgiving
Angry scars remaining
Where creamy skin belongs

I remember like the day before
The dark that came at dawn
The promise
An addiction
Pushing ever closer

I remember like only moments ago
The beauty in the nightlight
Melancholy over
Life savored
Because of you.

back to square one.
back to nothing.
back to no friends
and no one who cares.
back to having no one
to please.
back to having no purpose.
back to being pointless.
back to self-hatred and
anger at the world.
back to quiet music.
back to silence.
back to wanting but
never getting.
back to living alone
with my thoughts for
eternity.
back to the worst sort
of life.
back to all this.

back to the way things
must be, I suppose.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
Dry bones of Moses painted on my button down shirt screaming,
“to be or not to be” is not an English word.
In the daze of the thoughts of Neurology, I saw a man kick a bucket full of Starbucks giftcards down the avenue street. He screamed in pain as he watched the bucket tumble and roll down the street, blessing every Bohemian with a slight cold.

Naked pictures of God on my nightstand,
I dreamt about a land before man where the Oxygen that sprang from the pores of flowers
sang a sweet death. Where dishwashers are saints, for afterall, man will not be if not for food.
Where books are written not to be read, but for the sake of Orange trees that will grow in the future.
I once wore a poker face to a funeral and laughed at the man in the casket because the souls he had underneath him were two left feet.

*We all once had naked pictures of God on our nightstands but lost it after Einstein  
Lost the fried chicken war of 1812 to Isaac Newton.