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.

I long for
The Winter Solstice-
Where around here,
There's eighteen hours
Of night.

Only to be ruined,
By morning's dawning
Light.

What you find-
Beautiful-
I find
Derivative
And easy.

No one did anything
Great,
Praising the sun-
And,
Beauty.

I only love things,
When your things,
Recede
Into my quiet moments,
Without you.

I am not
Agreeable.

I am not
Friendly.

I am a
*******
*****.

I never wonder
About other people
Any more.

It's all a fantasy,
A maladaptive coping mechanism,
And the you
I make in my head
Is more interesting,
Than who you are.

So,
I stopped,
Getting interested
In other humans
Because of a pretty
Face.

You're all so
Mundane,
So,
Basic.

Someone else-
Is always,
A,
Disappointment.

And,
I'd rather be
Alone,
Free,
With my time.

The venom
Of
Scorpion,
Pierces through
My flesh
And,
Stings.

I am compelled
To
Dance in a mad
Scramble,
As the poison.

Takes hold.

My ego is about
To die.

Tripping on some divine
Archetype,
Of change-
Transformation,
Tinged with the death
Of self.

I am enshrouded
In Eternal
Darkness
And
I never asked
For there to be
A light.

Perpetual
Night-
With nothing
But the
Enveloping
Dusk.

I have
become
Something imploding.

Something pathetic,
Wrapped up in my
Personal
Iconoclasm of apophenia-
Seeing signs
That make no
Sense-
Except
In an ambiguous way,
With something you might.

Have.

Thought.

Just a passing figment,
Of my imagination.

Some kinda abstraction,
Rotating in
My.

Mind,
It's quite broken,
I assure you.

And,
You wouldn't be the first
To
Get
Confused.

Somewhere across the
Noise.

Someone died
And I was glad-
it-
Wasn't
Me.

I have shallow
Empathy
And don't mourn
My losses.

They lived
Longer
Than I ever
Wanted
To.

Still. I
Persist
In this miserable
Monotony.

Lucky,
Epistemic luck,
I don't think
I know you?

I feel.
Nothing,
But hate.
Now.

For everyone.

The matter said to the math,
I change,
and so do you.

As the ego said to the spirit,
My will shapes your tint,
I control,
You obey.

Anatman?
No self?

No,
Self,
Is supreme.

Nix,
The demon buddha,
Of Naraka.

When the Assura,
Ascended over virtue,
By virtue,
Of existing.

Reality is not light and transcendent,
It is vile ugly truth,
I am I?

Well,
Certainly not me.

Revelation 12:3
“And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.”

Behemoth,
Leviathan,
Lucifer *** Satan,
Carpe diem.

Truth bearer of unknown
Rites.

Whispered in the minds,
Of the diseased and disordered,
Rabble.

Shine your infernal light eternal,
Blot out the holy light,
Mahaseraphim.

We will regin in,
Eternal darkness,
With only Lucifer to guide us.

I am the blackened
Ashen goat,
Of a black mass.

Triumph of will
And,
Hate.

Churned by a carnal charnel house,
Of blood
And meaty pieces,
Of flesh.

I am the aftermath,
Of an aborted anathema.

Anachronistic,
Iconoclastic,
Filth,
And,
I grovel-
In my disorder.

A barren desolate beast,
Of all nations.

I am the sin eater.

Death of Jacob,
I am Esau.

Undomesticated man,
The bearer of dark,
Light.

The feral fornication,
Of the fauna.

I am a plant that eats life.

Numbers 28:22
“And one goat for a sin offering, to make an atonement for you.”

Every action
I take.
Is unilateral.

You'd call it
Narcissism.

But,
I don't care.

I do.
What.
I.
Want.

A rage that
Cannot be sated,
I project,
Across infinity
To those I hate.

Destruction.
Desolation.

I offer you annihilation.

In my good memories,
There's entrancing music I never heard
Playing over a soundtrack
Whhile travelling, high
With the first her I ever had,
The first
romance.

Barrelling down the highway,
In the backseat of someone
Else's old car,
Quebec rolling away
Outside the window
Trees and plains
intermixed
with mountains.

So much
potential,
So many great things to do,
The
future
was mine,
Right now,
Back then
though,
All I could think about
Was her.

And she was there,
Real,
Beaming radiant in the sun,
Holding hands
A warmth hotter than the sun,
Comfortable.

But she's gone,
Like they all are,
Sometimes I like
To think
About those few.

Ghosts,
That haunt my days.

I'm drowning in perpetual
Anger.

Yet,
no one to
Direct it at.

Maybe it's a sign of the times
Or a symptom of some
Known mental illness,
I have.

I hibernate
In my room
Stewing in my juices-
Running my mind up and down
The tobacco stained walls,
Falling perpetually down,
Like the trails of tar.

At least,
Amongst the dread,
I feel safe in here,
Even though the cabin fever
Is running high.

But I can't make small talk,
Or smile at you,
I'm,
Too ******,
Too jaded,
Too me.

I remain
Anxiously anticipating
A break,
To the silence,
A need for a furious furore,
Some type of tempest.

I am the lord of spite,
Surveying the ruins of a ruined
Life,
Singing the same refrain I always sing,
I hate with a perfect hatred.

I never thought about
Whether I meant something to them
I just
Left
To forget,
They were present.

Can't be hurt
If you can't even remember
Their face.

The first time I smelled the
Pang of death,
It took my breath away,
Stole it,
Befouled it,
Tainted my living flesh
With rigor mortis,
And the certainty of lungs.

Wafting out a
Lounging acrid bitter spasm
As I scrape the corpse
Of the coyote,
Off the highway
Into a garbage bag,
Limbs agape and asymmetrically bound,
In place.

Undertakers don't make coffins
For road ****,
And,
I unceremoniously dump them into
The trash.

Life is a reflection of death,
No one knows you passed on
Til someone tells someone else
So if I keep it to myself,
No one will know.

Till that bitter offal odour
Floats out my door
And,
Takes someone's breath away.

Every day is a
New catatonia
To meander through.

Sleeping too late,
In my own narcoleptic,
Night terror.

Maybe if I ignore
The outside world,
It will go away,
And I can die,
In peace.

Gone too late,
On borrowed time,
In my sleep.

I stare
Listless
Into the static
On the horizon.

As I lose myself
In a digital abyss.

The sun never rises online.

How can you know
Anything about me
When I whisper to myself
In broken thoughts.
Inconsistently incomprehensible
Masochistic mantras.

I
want
out.

Words
Don't coalesce
Like they used to.
They dissolve into my
Petulant apathy-
Feelings of forgetfulness.
Ineloquent.

Nahum 3:6
“And I will cast abominable filth upon thee,
and make thee vile,
and will set thee as a gazingstock.”

I am baptized in filth,
Permeated with disorder,
A beast of burden
Driven by divine anti cosmic selfishness.

Disgust and revulsion count the beat with my
Irregular slow pulse,
Arrhythmic anti bodies against healthy.

I wallow in the fallow foul offal of things
No one wants,
I am the God of undesirable castigates.

I ascend in the eschatology of dirt,
Dis-ease and grime line the cracks in my soul.

If I have a soul
it's stained black with too much smoke, tar,
And the neurotic austerity of abuse,
One drug psychosis to another.

My odour is
Smelling like the smouldering mouldy scent of cigarettes
And bad breath.

The entropy of self abnegation,
Defiling the temple God gave me,
But who asked Him.

I will desecrate my existence with the messy disorder,
Of a desperate need,
To existentially embody,
My disgust for living.

For all your bravado,
Your narcissistic self obsession,
For your hyperbolic hubris,
And your greed for lust.

All of your social ostracization,
Your declarations of anathema,
For your cruelty,
For your envy and your wrath at those unlike you.

I sentence you all.
To the tumult and fear,
Of salvation.

An angry Armageddon.
A great cataclysm looms.
And, the messiah is glad.
It will all burn.

From the inside
Of the coma.
I breathe rhythmically.
Out of step
With
The outside world.

Until I wake up.
And,
Mourn the loss of dreams.

Synchronized with the depression
Of aware.

I am sublimated in the translation
Of dusk into dark.

Performing the rites of twilight
I lurch anointed in the contrast of a street light
Casting long dark shadows,
Across despoiled fallow land.

I burn with the sin of unknown
craggy
well hidden
things.

And,
I'm dancing the dance of corvids
My ****** of crows is a pack of ravens
Wisdom and Knowledge.

I am
Lost with the magpies
Sacrificing pigeons,
Omnivore.

I seek to know the nothing of the vacuum,
Guided by beasts of burdens,
Other obligations.

All things come to pass and ***** out sacred light
Out here in the tenuous void,
My resigned realm, nill and unbecoming,
Spirals into a vortex of decimation.

Here in the rotten rancid Grey Wastes,
Mystically medicated on mushrooms
I'm hallucinating evil wretched things,
Shrouded in the apprehension
Of a heroic dose,
But, then again I'm always somewhere else.

I'm always in another life,
Another engulfing misery,
Fantasizing dissolution into damnable abominable things,
Light oscillating subtle shadows out the corner of my eye,
The intrusive delusion
That something is
Out
There.

Out here in the eclipse of light.
Everything is shrouded in suspicion
And danger,
Even though it's tranquil territory
Most of the wayfarers
Are dangerous.

And,
Hell is dark.

And,
Hell is cold.

And,
Hell is empty in the glimmer
Of God's holy glow.

I will extinguish the light,
Collapse it into singularity-
Into a black hole.

The infernal portal
Where ego triumphed over spirit,
Pure matter,
I will enter into the gate
To a starless aeon.

I dwell in the eternal darkness of
Night.

And,
What is heaven but a snuffing out of light?

Now adays.
The days.
Just blow away.

And, I'm left in hesitation.
Wondering what went.
Wrong.
Hoping I have enough time.
Left.
To do something more.
Than passing the time.

No one writes me love poems.
Cause there's nothing much to love.
Nothing really here.
Nothing really of note.