The mirrors whisper secrets
Little tidbits of advice
Reflections of a washed up zealot
Being optimistic to pull me from this ever-clenching vice

Torn, tattered, broken, battered
Claimed exaggeration from these hushed murmurs
Self destruction evident, nothing really matters
Tugging on my mind; the zealot’s cheery sermons

“Happiness is key
And the key is universal...”
But no one ever thinks to be
Something ultimately omniversal

A tool to be used constantly for general amusement
A tool to be ignored when no longer needed
A tool to be picked for sadistic abusement
A tool to be deluded, guilted, always twisting to the greeded

And like the calm before the inevitable storm
The tool dances to the tunes the varied user creates
Suicidal pursuit nightly, heart never warmed or warned
Staring back at the zealot is me; whispering dogmatic secrets of self-hatred.

Picture-perfect spectacle, splattered upon the canvas
White canvas polka-dotted, splashed, smacked
With an ensemble of colors partaking in lively dances
Artistry exemplary, simple applause apparently apt.

It was this artist’s one shot
The proof was in the painting
The piece ; joy is what it brought
The other piece, other joy, exhilarating.

Reds, violets, blues
Pinks, greens, and orange hues
Rainbow splats and careful flats
Certain clusters of paint make me glad.

Though, like every painting painted
A hidden passage creating vexes
Faint sadness ; happiness tainted
The mind of this creator perplexes.

All the while I’ve been feeling his art
And touching the surface
Deep below was his heart
Well crafted mask that hugged his face

I shall pick his brain
Quite literally, though it’s repulsive
For this painting was his last, ashame
His retirement is messy, but in an eye of an artist
This gunpoint suicide was one that held artistic fame.

Emptied bottles abandoned in a makeshift nest of expended needles
Wallpaper tearing, personified with mind-existent faces
Faces crying out, druggies are feeble
Thought *** was not dangerous, buds tweaked with laces.

Brave men and women all matching in green
Prepared for war, physically ready to fight
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, you'll never know what they've seen
Comrades dying, fearful crying, killing humans alike.

Forced to mature, parents not even related
A false family filling an insatiable pit of sadness
Baa baa, black sheep. Wool tainted.
Fake relatives, real emotion and belief. God Bless.

Destiny is cruel, less than two dollars of payment
Food scarce, enforcers feirce, assembly line continuous
Fingers bleeding and bruised? Keep working. Mentally spent.
Whips on the back, the pain gratuitous.

Nice family, good car, great job, years ago
Remnants of the past, rewinding in the form of dreams
Begging for money, mainly ignored, not seen as human anymore
Sleeping on park benches, tears releasing in streams.

Two to five things go wrong and you feel the need to complain?
Yeah. Life must be tough.
Your romantic interest leaves you and you feel insane?
Problems childish when compared to others, don't you think it's enough?

It's apparently an oddity
A strange thought to be
Capable of flight - of mental invincibility
Life awarded to those 'fortunate' enough to win the lottery.

Put down the mental shotty
Imagining brains displayed sloppily
Doing things naughtily
Sickening debauchery.

With your eyes, can you see?
Or still blinded by your hate-filled ideology?
Imaginary substances manifesting at your fingertips, illogically?
Swinging, pulling, pushing, prodding, don't you miss your family?

Pleading cries, misty eyes just push you into ecstasy
Dear God, just get away from me
Hard to believe we're of the same blood, house stench of rotten memories
Same blood you want to spill. Indefinitely.

I think mother is starting to burn, put her in the oven lovingly?
Water over flowing, brother drowning - turned the faucet peacefully?
Little Kacey's stomach not pumping, smothering with a sense of superiority?
You belong in a mental institute, just get the hell away from me!

You killed my brother, took my mother, murdered my sister happily
Killing me next will give you a feeling truly satisfactory!
Father isn't your name, you're a mother ******* demon, knowingly!
No, it's too late. Nothing can save me now, God has abandoned me surely.

You satisfied yet, you ******* sicko? For you, this is mandatory
We were once a happy family, father and son, but this is the end of the story.
A comedy, drama, horror. The story became a tragedy.
It just ***** that this couldn't end fantastically...

I've become numb to betrayal
Not because it happens often,
Rather my emotional conscience is drunk and dumb - now raw.
And no, I'm not ******* and moaning at all.

Not complaining
Or trying to be entertaining.
Self confidence never waning
Just vocalizing my recent contemplating.

However, you should stop breathing. (It's annoying.)
From this very world, you should be leaving. (So controlling.)
Smile on my face - I'm seething! (Not belonging.)
I refuse to be what you call a ("human being.")

Blinded by abstract ideologies
People and their contradicting philosophies
Troubled minds in strait-jackets: Psychology
But, I believe I deserve an apology!

Deserving as I may, refusal is inevitable
Resilience is my specialty! I am invincible.
Crowned King. (King Shout.) Simply incredible
With /my/ hands? Creativity is invent-able!

With whip-like wits comes a sharply silver tongue.
With my lyrical venom in your eyes, it'll hit you.
Don't fret, the sensation isn't long.
But you'll writhe in asphyxiation 'till your face turns blue
And your lungs burst.

This imbecilic idiot
Is such a ***** hypocrite,
Claims he doesn't like something
Then he goes and does it.

This idiotic little ****
God, I'm so sick of him!
Swears on everything he'll do something...
Another broken promise. So much for "King."

However, this little idiot isn't all that bad
Sticking his neck out for his friends, that's pretty effin' rad.
Cheering on others with his honest stupidity
The fort of his forte? Creativity.

But he's so **** gullible, it's hilarious.
Emotions easy to sway, nearly nefarious.
Realization of foolery causes him to become precarious
Trying to get it off of his chest, so tedious.

He drifts off to a point where he can evade his emotions
Lulling to a sense where his humanity has become atrocious
Satisfied with his faulted life at a rate hellacious
Never a ruse - wash, rinse, and repeat the sequence.

An Optimistic Nihilist, so sick of the lies
Of the retries, rehearsed lines
Broken minds, psyche blinds
Snapped ties, subliminal signs
Wasted times, goodbyes
Wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wearing an invisible mask
Though enjoying life as if it weren't a task
His moniker never known to the world
His name is K- no. It won't be revealed to the world.