What skill
Is there
In beauty?

What mastery
Do you need
To make the one thing
Everyone idolizes
Great?

None,
You just need
Signifiers.

A better test
Is to jump in
With something
No one asked for,
Or wanted.

And,
Succeed.

Even if it's a little bit.

But,
I've always been
A one starfish
Kinda guy.

Words are
Always
Real consistent.

Unlike people,
My vagueries
Are intentional.

But,
It all comes from
Somewhere
Authentic.

If only
Hyperbolic.

I don't write
For you,
Normal
Love obsessed
Average
People.

I write for the
Malcontent
Who could never
Really fit in.

The ones where
Life didn't get better,
It got worse.

Someone who
Can relate
To constant negativity.

And,
I find them,
I always find them.

We declare
A niggling doubt
That your positivity,
Is tenuous at best,
While we are consumed
By dark
Thoughts.

Traumatic
Life events.

A dismal dark
Alley way to be
Our bed.

Drugs
And
Violence.

Your problem
Is you wanna see a reflection
Of yourself in other people.

You are,
Entitled.

You are,
Fragile.

You are.
Annoying.

No one even asked
Your *******
Opinion
Or
Approval.

I am exclusive,
Rare,
And nothing
That's available
Or relatable.

Is valuable.

Everyone dies
Their own death
And lives
Their own life.

The fantasy
You create
For mine,
Is delusional optimism.

I learned
To let go
When people's
Presence
Mattered to me.

Back when it hurt.

I learned to numb
My emotions
When my rage,
Exploded
My
Life.

The glimmer you
Had of who
You only thought
I was,
Is a you problem.

I can't even place your
Face.

Your
Electrical
Ghost is
Unknown.

Who are you to me?

Other than someone
I never see
Anymore.

You get obsessed
With other people
When the trauma
Rears it's
Intrusive thoughts.

I isolate.

I starve.

I control the twenty feet I can see.

Not all coping
Mechanisms
Are outbursts of
Passionate emotion.

No, never,
I intentionally killed
Them
All.

If I knew you
Where'd you go?

And, if I left you
There was probably a
Reason.

You left me alone
And with my own
Devices.

I found out
I didn't
Need you.

I don't
Need
Anyone.

The death of me doesn't
Even make me
Cry.

It's only natural
I think.

Love is a let down.

Fragility is weakness.

Shame,
Embarassment,
Desire,
Happiness,
Anxiety,
Decen­cy?

All burdens.

If anyone knows
The real me
It's probably
A projection
Or part of the
Poetry.

No,
I don't think
I will.

And God made
Me a prophet
Troll.

And I said,
Who the **** asked you
If I wanted to be a ******* prophet
****!

And he laughed
Telling me I better obey
His command.

I said, ******* what?

I ain't doing ****.

God laughed again.

Replying,
Just do what you always do
**** the system.

I replied,
Well I was gonna do that
Anyway,
******* *****
Ruining my past times.

I amuse God.