Its hard to be serious
Around emo *******
Always so furious
To the point of delirium
Screaming and crying
Like nobodies hearing them
But they loud and clear
And i just don't ******* care
Above and beyond
That **** already aired
When i dared to be a man
Brushed my shoulders
And cleaned my hands
Broke up the boulders
And cleared my head
For the next test
And bled for the best mess
I could organize
And legitimized
What i could
But oh what i would give
To be there again
To feel misunderstood
And give a ****
Before this fish on land
Sprouted hands
And demanded
Control of everything
To feel at home
I miss feeling alone and unknowing
I miss being lost
I miss being found
I miss the pain
The moment
Most profound
I miss the sound
Of my heart pounding
When a future lover comes around
I love the nouns
The verbs
The words
Rolling out a lovers mouth
When the block
Was a world
And we hurt
Ourselves for love
Bled for love
Anything for love
For love
Is forgotten
Of begotten imagery
Fading into a city of blocks
Cities in flocks
Flocks in droves
Droves in a world
And worlds
Clumped into galaxies
And everyone
Just keeps getting
Further and further
And further away
Until out of view

the fridge, the boy inside it, he died there, and now, it's his home.
his ghost, is in your pants, and in your head.
HE IS SCREAMING!
why is he screaming?
what have you done?
butter fly, dont fly away!
remember when I kissed you as a baby little piller?
oh!!! ohh!!! my sweetest of darlings.
I hope this isn't awkward in the morning.

I know what it's like to be called *****
You are not alone with this badge, brotha
Saturday is for you and me
The victims of profanity
No free ice cream, flowers, or the otha

Do not wonder why I do not
dream.
I do not need to wander the plains of
fantasy.
Wiggling down rabbit holes like
Alice.
Screaming in nightmare or far-flung
horizons.
Never weeping for the loss of
love.
My dignity intact as I never need
laugh.

Never need to live.
Never need to breathe.

Sleep.

As the vanquished follicles of hair are combed by sheer elation
Much is exhumed; disinhumed into the wondrous voluminous light,
Like an opossum playing possum, we can be deeply artful, cunning,
Yet imaginable and stupendous; like a primitive golden crow in flight.
The physical has been constructed, intact with a substratal mental world
Inspiration is needed but often depleted with the conceited wealth its fed,
A mind with such grandilioquence the magniloquence lacks need to unfurl.