Cold.

So very
Cold,
And,
Callous.

You never should
Have left me
Alone,
To freeze
In the wilderness.

By myself,
And,
All those friends
Disappeared.

Their sympathy
Turned into
Disgust.

And I found
I was warmed
By my rage,
My hate,
My spite
My contempt
And
Pride.

Your tough love,
Your good intentions
From your comfortable
Bed,
Did
Nothing,
Except make me rely
On myself.

No angels to
Save me from
The exposure.

No compassion
To warm me up.

Just the fiery
Fury
Of
*******.

Cast off
And forgotten,
You wonder
Why I'm so bleak,
As you strike me
In my weakness.

There will be
A reckoning.

And I
Will be out
In the cold,
Waiting.

Every day
Drones on like the
Next.

And I'm tired
Of this life.

All these people
Deserve
A good time,
Cause daddy called
Them names.

These sadistic
Cowards,
So called
Positive
People
Who can't leave me
Alone.

Say the script,
They demand,
Love innocuous *******,
Praise the mediocre,
And know
Our suffering
Is greater than all,
Even though it's
Just a mild
Inconvenience.

They demand
I
Worship at their alter
And validate their existence.

They're more important than me,
The authorities
Told them so
And they're rebels,
Rebels rebelling
Against disobedience.

Conformist
Swine.

You know,
Everyone's like them
And they **** all over
Your wants,
Your perspective,
Your expression.

Because,
You deserve it
Cause,
You're not different
Like them,
You're different like you,
And we hate that,
With love.

They're entitled
To their opinion
And
It's only right
To destroy yours.

The priests of the state
Demand
It.

They have the fairness
Of tyranny,
The good
Of dictation,
And the heavy burden
Of some kinda truth.

Everything,
Sanitized.

Everyone
Stereotyped.

And not only do they
Know your life
Better than you,
They know how to fix it
By destroying it,
And making it
Their own.

I will find you
On the River Styx,
Charon,
And
I will steal from you
The farthing,
To pay the
Devil.

Hades
On
Fire.

I mean
What were they.

Besides.

Junkies?

They were
My
Friends.

I miss
Them.

I
Swing
Between anger
And depression.

And.

Nothing else.

It all
Disappears at some point.

Left to the terror
Of all by
Myself.

It's like
Waking up
To the **** in the side of your head,
Hair,
Matted by the blood
Ripping off
In clunks.

And,
It stings,
As you peel the fresh scab
From off the sheet.

You become
Numb
To the pain.

As everyday is a stark
Reminder
You didn't make it any
Where.

But,
I've accepted
That
A long time ago.

And, now,
All there is is the
Aftermath.

Of another poor decision,
Another scar,
More tasting the copper
In the blood
As it coagulates
And oxidizes,
Blood stains turn brown.

I've rotted and
Become
Something scary
And harsh.

Broken and bloodied,
My psyche quit looking
For reasons why,
After the first few
Hits to the head,
You go unconscious
Or move through the
Pain.

Love was always
An
Enemy.

But.

Violence was a
Friend of mine,
And
I purified myself
In its burning
Baptism.

Give us this day our daily
Bread,
And,
Give me a slap
Upside the head.

Strange
That I inspire
Contempt
In people
I never think of,
Unless they're shoved in my face
Artificially,
But yes,
Do go on about whatever
It is that knotted up your
*******.

A good telling to,
though,
With the sycophants
Stroking your ego.

Wordy,
Hyperbolic.

The wisdom of a teenager,
More ambition
And know it all attitude
Than wisdom,
Presumption.

I've heard it all
Before,
No one likes you,
You're not wanted at the party,
You need an attitude adjustment,
Paltry petty derision
Derived and empty.

I can see
You're angry,
Now,
Let me make it worse.

The dust became a man
And it did  not like it,
So the man screamed obscenities
And returned to silence
And nothingness.

Deep,
Coulda summarized it,
From dust we are born,
To dust we return,
Inevitable.

A tautology.

Not even worthy of note.

So why do you marinate
In your disgust?

Seems,
Like,
A you,
Problem.

I want to
Fester
In my mental
Waste.

I want to become
Corpulent,
Fetid,
Pestilent,
Diseased.

Wallowing in the
Awful offal
That is
The failed abortion,
Nolan,
S,
Bucsis.

I'll just call this
Self hate
Penance,
And become
Holy.

Bringing down the
Temple
On everyone in it,
A Samson
In spirit.

Everything that seems
So visceral
Today,
Fades into tomorrow,
With a semblance of
Regret,
That
I often forget.

I want to burn
Everything down
Just like
All the bridges
Left
To immolate.

I want the feeling of
Their face
On my knuckles,
Tasting the blood
Dripping down
Their face.

Bruised and torn
And
Wretched.

I wanna feel
Control.

But I always do
The least constructive
Thing.

Isolate,
Withdraw,
Elucidate
The feeling.

Til it goes away.

Until,
Again,
I become overwhelmed
With nihilistic
Anger and a strong
Urge
To **** **** up.

I am not
A happy person.

I am not
Ok.

I am barely restrained
By my flat effect
And underneath it all
Percolating just under
My skin,
Itchy,
Stinging,
Painful.

I want to
Destroy.

We used to
Walk around out
Here,
Long past
Midnight,
High and drunk.

We'd meet other
People,
Creeping about
The city at night.

Drinking down
By the river,
Illuminated in
The orange
Glow
Of a street lamp.

I went
Bump
In the night.

I crawled around
With bloated
Night crawlers.

I basked in
The shadow
Of a pair of ravens
Holding stern
Council,
Over the
Dim of the
Din
On a cold
Restless night.

I will tear
You apart
By transgressing
On
These taboos.

I will not
Ask permission.

I will not
Offer
A substitute.

I will do as
I want,
Like Raven
Who stole the
Sun.

Might be
Good,
Might be
Bad.

But,
I intend to
Offend your
Sensibilities.

**** your
Peace.

Enjoy my
Dischordant choir.

These critical
Self analyses
Hit different,
Now that
I'm more
Apathetic.

I'm a
Failure,
So *******
What.

So is everybody
Else.

Besides,
The **** do I
Care
About other
People.

I'm a
Hikikomori.

A world
Renunciate.

And,
If in my youth,
I was already
Ostracized,
Why try to fit in
Now?

I was born
Against
And now
I dance
In my
Delirium.

I am
Triumphantly
Pathetic.

Truth
Is often
Mundane,
And normal.

You run marathons
In your head
Fantasizing reasons
For other
People
That don't exist.

Reflections of
Your
Own
Self.

I remember
When I realized
All of it,
Is a delusion.

She was beautiful,
And I wrote
Her
A beautiful story.

One which
Was wrong.

So,
I swore off
Pretty
Possibilities.

I hold this
Tiny flame
Close to my
Heart.

To burn it.

To wound it.

And,
I don't share it.

Unless,
It's too
Dark
To see.

Everyone
Is so clean
These days.

Not even a stain
On their shirts
Or their souls.

Nothing
Well lived in,
Rugged
Ruddy
Faded with time.

And amidst the
Junkies,
Metheads,
And assorted
Other people.

I still stand
Out.

And,
They like to remind me
Of how strange
I
Really
Am.

Never thought
I'd be,
Anything other
Than a
Useless
Drug addict.

But it turns
Out,
I'm alive.

That's somethin.

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.

To those
Blessed by God,
Truly sanctified by
The most high
It is a burden.

A punishment
Of positivity.

The problem
Is.

You don't choose
To be chosen
By God,
He,
Chooses
You.

And, the pious
Turn green with envy.

The holy aspirant
Denigrates the blessed
As though their auspices
Entitle them a relationship
With the divine.

You cannot
Volunteer to be
Selected.

And God is the judge,
Not us,
Not our aesthetic preferences
Not our rightly deserved
Rewards,
For doing the thing.

God is my comforter
Until He's not,
And I honestly hate the guy,
Prefer Satan.

Deserve?

No,
Punished.

Jeremiah 1:5-7

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.

But the LORD said unto me, Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.

I wanna get
High,
And,
Ramble about Gods
'N
Quantum physics.

Qubits
And
Kali.

I wanna bike on those
Southwest side
Wide streets,
And scream whatever
Song I'm listening to,
To the magpies
And the passing rich
White people.

I wanna hallucinate an
Entirely new
World,
And notice the trees,
Breathing to the rhythm
Of the pulsations in
My eyes.

I want prophecy and
Vision.

I want
Synethesia.

I want undulating
Sidewalks
A low creeping fear
And the world incongruantly
Flying towards
My face.

I wanna lose my mind
On drugs.

Here,
In my
Personal
Synaptic system
Asymmetrically firing
In no direction in particular.

Proverbs 8:7
“For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips.”

I have made myself
Abominable.

And,
Curses do spout
Out my gibbering maw.

I am
Blasphemy.

I am
Hallucinated terror.

I am I.

And,
That's all
I can be.

I am
Caked in the ash,
Of a sacrificial animal.

Rubbed raw on
The rocks
In a fallow
Forgotten
Graveyard.

I am blood,
And,
Sinew,
And,
Sweat,
And,
Dis-ease.

Awful offal
Casting hate
From a dehydrated
Mind.

And they are
My auspices
And my penance.

I was once a beautiful
Possibility.

Now I am a
Suffering
Certainty.

We're all
Disposable
And,
Mostly interchangeable.

So,
Why get
Attached
To temporary fair
Weather friends.

Or some delusional
Obsession
With one person,
For a ****,
And a listening
Ear.

I don't.

Enjoy
Life.

I endure it.
Like a penance.

Nothing good will
Come of it,
Because I won't
Let it.

Redemption is meaningless,
Salvation, a pipe dream,
I endure to spite
Everyone,
Who tells me
To smile,
You'd be handsome.

What does it matter
If honey attracts more flies.

I want hornets,
Drowning,
In gasoline.

I am made
Of ****
****
Vinegar
Drugs,
And,
Bad intentions.

I am a
Scurrilous
Little
Scalawag.

Some kinda
Empty Threat
Thrown at the morning sun.

I
Resent
Other people.

Smothering me
With their
Existence.

I am
Confrontational.

I'm a pit viper,
Hanging out,
Alone,
In my crevice,
So don't,
*****,
If you reach in.

And
Get.

Bit.

More painful
For
You.

Than me.

I don't remember
Asking you for
Permission.

To be
Who
I
Am.

I asserted it
Decades ago,
When I had a
Life.

This is
America,
I got a
*******
Right.

I am not
That person
You fantasize me
To be.

And,
It always happens
That one day-
I fall out of
The clear blue.

Right
Into left
Field.

My story
Is kinda pathetic.

I'm just some
Loser
From some
Bumfuck
Nowhere.

I love poetry
Though,
I cope with it.

I have
long before
You knew of me.

It's always depressing and
Dark.

I sir,
Am,
Depressing'n
Dark.