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Crisscross applesauce;
the scars on my wrist
is depression's cost
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
  Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes

Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test

Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Traveler Tim
Hay
No matter who you are
You have my deepest respect!
I am a temperamental, dissociated mannequin
expulsing convective heat profusely
into the pores of the unforgiving
pleather padded,  worn-out gaming chair
for the past twelve hours of a grueling
dungeon battle and boss battle.
The sweat dripping down my erector spinae
puddling at the bottom of my overused
flannel that I washed a week ago.
The thickness of the air is pungent
and hovers over my keyboard and mouse.
The dark cave of my existence is plenty.
Yes I understand that my reality is fluid,
it shifts from universe to universe
depending on my temperament
and I hardly have time for my own world.
The satisfaction of fiction is fleeting
but that is why I keep joining the lobby.
Time after time, endless hours of adventuring
in the dark of my parents basement.
Because this reality is much easier not  being in it.
a rant or self deprecation... not sure which or both.
The ellipse table spins,
around the bottle passes
Six wizened kings
Stooped drunk on their *****

They discussed their forefront
their kingdom's wealth and prosperity
bantering and confronting
small ambiguous disparities

Until one man stood up
wobbled and unbalanced
He died there corrupt
The whole room was silenced
The sun is just the devil's tool
To turn the moon into a fool
Exposing a heart so cruel
No
It only takes a single word to **** a man
I have shadows where my eyes once were,
for years I have spent clawing at them
scratching the blood from my corneas
and draining the tear drops from my duct
slowly depleting myself from sight
because I am tired of looking at the mirror
and despising the broken emptiness.

Thus, I see no evil because everything is dark.
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