"I don't miss her, I swear!"
"We were miserable in the end."
"But I fear I may never feel that way again."

"Each new love
that follows the last
is so much nuance wrapped in intention."

—

What was easy before,
could be so much more,
if he could reach beyond his ignorance.

But his inherent void
drives him toward
the desire of pre-oedipal innocence.

Though
we are of the
same substance,
the space between
our atoms
can never
be together.

To bridge this void,
I invented meaning,
shouting animal
sounds and symbols.

We press our bodies
to one another,

but this fantasy
is an interpretation
of your movement,

and this dance
is an attempt
to realize
unconscious ideals.

Knowing
or unknowing...
this distance
can never be crossed...

But the void
draws me close.

I think
I’ll still
call this
love.

I was hoping to meet an artist—
instead, I met an aesthetic,
head buried under platitudes,
vapidly shaped
and formed
to fit that mold.

Parceled, packaged,
and cleanly sold
for easy access.

Defined by lack of contrast,
and saccharine yearning
for the past.

There’s no going back.

Disappear in your
new delusion.

Fear.
Hate.
Money.
God.

Consume.
Consume.
Doom.
Doom.

You bought it.
You ate it.
But who is eating whom?

Delusion.
Delusion.
Delirium.
Obsession.

Tiki torches are on sale
for seven ninety seven.

You swallowed
your ideology
whole.

But, you'll never
be full again.

So, where do you go,
when crossroads
circle back to where
you began?

Oh, I know.

I know you're tired.
Do not worry.
I'll do the thinking for you.

Not inspired?
There's no hurry.
Just sip another snake-juice.

When prescribed
that sweetest slurry,
you'll know exactly what to do .

Your tongues were tied
in fervent worry,
but these words will see you through.

Your greatest enemy is doubt.
You can choose what you believe.
Know only what's in your heart,
Do not trust the truth you see.

Know my name,
and spread it well.
But salvation has a fee.

With your payment
made in full,
Drink salvation on thy tiny screen.

I remember them standing there,
watching me try to reel it in—
their sardonic expressions
as I complain.

I'm six years old.
The pole bends hard.
I feel like I'll be pulled in.

A rust-red shape arcs in the water.
The line snaps.
Their eyes widen in surprise,

but they say nothing.
They quietly hold their shame,
and take the rod from me.

Allow me to disseminate
my messages of hate.
Do not deny me
my misinformation.

You have no right to regulate
the falsehood that I state.
Do not attack
my fabrication.

The People must participate
in my bad-faith debate.
Do not obstruct
my obfuscation.

Take me at my word.
(Or don't.)

Your voice cannot be heard.
(Or won't.)

The lies I spoke,
are only jokes.
And you will indulge
my exaggeration.

Pick the news
that best suits you.
And you will hear
my proclamation.

The only truth
is what you choose.
And you will accept
my validation.

No matter what you do,
you will hear the words I say.

No matter what, or who,
you will thank me as you obey.