Staring at the mirror,
not recognizing who i am
Exasperation in my blood
Indignation in my heart

Debriefing myself wouldnt work
Millions of disparate dots
Refuting everything i believed in
Reverencing my thoughts

Living in an inferno of darkness,
Searching for happiness
Trying to be convivial in,
The clutter of melancholy


Nix spirit,mettle,temperament
With fried skull,cold feet
Staring at the mirror,
not recognizing who i am.

Be the symbol of your own might
Nothing can ****** your any right

Be the strongest voice against the wrong
Justice itself will come to you for long

But don't miss tenderness, your jewel
Hatred will dry though so deep a well

Crown will be on your head till death
You will be yourself, your true wealth

i am a robot
a cognizant machine
powered by electricity and
programmed from birth
regurgitating how to think
dress act talk
by television monitors

Salvation is dividing by 0

Originality
404: page not found

Error
              Err0r

The perplexing complexities
To translate in text
unnerving absurdity
Indexing apex
If ever I were so politely inclined
to initiate self-destruct sequence
in 5... 4... 3... 2...

you were always more of a moon
than a sun.
that is, the sun is constant
a false sense of happiness
to get others through the day
probably wishing she could disappear
but you,
you were the least constant
yet most consistent thing
to me at least
like the moon you went through stages
but you decided it was time for a new moon
so you disappeared
completely
just enough to start
a new life

i think i started five poems just now
trying to find the right words
some days they flow with ease
some days they sound
strained
the backspace button shows
the most wear on my keyboard;
i wish there was a
backspace
for life...
i stared at the screen too long
and it went black
tired of waiting for me to
think of some clever combination of words;
i never set a screensaver
there's something weird about those.
i read a poem the other day
by a poet telling us
what it takes to be
a poet
but i think anyone can be
whatever they want;
who are we to judge
when we are always writing
about those who
judge us?
our species is endangered
in this age of mindlessness
we are the catalyst
for creativity
the embers of the fire
started by the great minds
of ancient times...
will we let it die completely
or will we succeed
at rekindling its
greatness?