Every passing minute,
Penetrates us with new implants,
Of dynamic stability,
Of anxious comfortability

Fixing until they're obsolete,
Machine flies in fleets,
Rust in our sterile neurons,
Symmetry causing deforms

An arcane glitch,
Until the illumination
Of our steel plated souls,
An untouchable virus,
Not alone but
Imaginary friends
Or personal nemeses,
Under the dust hides us

Fate lost its impact,
Before the very birth,
In self excusing motherboards

Entities of creation
Or accidental subelement relation,
Beings of chaos at unclarity,
No stalemate, always in action,
What's ever born of it,
Presumes towards destruction

Can you ever tell me what you wish to be?
What do you plan to be?
Will you tell me?
Or will I need to wait for an Eternity?

What would you do if Faith and Trust were never meant to be?
Would Chaos rule  with Insanity?
Minds of Ecstasy?
Or will the answers be Uncertainty?

Would the World of Madness come to be?
What would it even mean?
Are we all equally Free?
Why are there hidden forms of Slavery?

Can you ever tell me if I'm losing Sanity?
A Mad Mind that you may see?
Hidden Secrets that are never meant to be?
Shared with the hidden walls of Maddening Unclarity...

Does nothing matter?
Is matter nothing but dancing shattered galaxies pushing and shoving each other?

And on Earth, is it worth thinking?
That I'm just a piece of eternal dirt thinking that I'm just a piece of dirt thinking?

We're all just stars, tasting humanity for an instant.
In all its fallacies, we're systems of suns that love ****** without resistance.

With the assistance of Christian values and armed pistols.
Harmful as ignorance is blissful, we're still missing the deal.

We're still ******* away the real position to feel. We're still wishing down the same ol' wishing wells
and hoping to Christ they're real.

Worse than guns, it's the waste of freedom -- It's unequal -- to **** the hungry from a distance is still evil.

I fly atomically and everything else is informal.
What's normal? Where's God when things get so awful?

He's epidermal - like an antigermal lotion. A magic potion to nurture the thought that we're important.

We're all just stars, answering a call to be Human.
Let the cold bars that hold the others down remain open till my life is dormant.

And our heads are still cluttered and cloth covered.
Filled with an age-old confusion straight from ol' Mohammed's cupboard.

They fool us with cooked messages from book passages that preach love.
Scare us into being apparatuses of a God above.

That's why society is shattered. It's what's wrong with the world.
The perennial infancy of thought that's forced unto our boys and girls.

Such unclarity, that's baked into our childrens' recipe. It's insanity to think that we don't just turn back into energy.

I'm not religiously inspired to forgive,
nor have the insidious desire to live to inspire religious permittance.

I prefer a future purpose undiscovered.
A death dimension still covered from religions' crazy buffer.

Our Father, who art in heaven
I have some confessions.
I am terrified.
Of what?
Everthing.
I break into plague-like bubonic hives when I worry about THE future, my future,
any future because it does not involve any of the nows.
Moments of newness and unclarity, of strangers and distant conversations of topics I know not of yet,
weeks in agony trying to earn money for rent,
days waiting for a sign, in the form of a plus or minus, to dictate whether or not
a parasite grows in my womb.
Father, I sin daily
for I am a glutton
in my eyes.
I see flaws in my appearence,
though no horrible disfigurements exist;
in my thoughts, this is even more unforgivable,
the invention of sorrows that are not mine,
the pitiful desire for perfection.
I feel I do not deserve the wonders that I have.
Grant me the ability to feel secure and grateful
rather than worthless and guilty.
Oh brother, woe is nobody
for all is too good to waste,
yet nearly impossible to entirely feel.

Vague, a word used for uncertainity
Vague, a word used for unclarity
Vague, a word used for your sincerity

You know why your sincerity?
Because your love for me is uncertain
Even a telescope cant see it clearly
For it possess so much unclarity

You should accept me
Not because i accept you
Accept me
Because you accept me

Love me
Not because i love you
Love me
Because you love me

I have now moved on.
Or at least I like to think I have.
I no longer feel the urge to contact you, but I must admit I do still long for you to make one final move.
And I know that if you did,
No matter how much your previous silence and unclarity has harmed me,
I would respond with pace and content, simply because you though of me.
Yes.
I do still want this feeling to disappear,
However,
I believe I still cling onto it,
With what little strength remains within me,
For the simple, unexplainable need I have to feel.
Something.
Anything...

Without feeling life is all too dull and unbearable.
Even if this feeling I bear is not necessarily a comforting one,
It is in my opinion, better than the
Empty,
Hopeless,
Excruciating
Feeling



of



nothing.

If you made my portrait, you
would piece construction paper scraps,
brightly colored bird's wings, flat
like flowers because
how else do you capture
a colorful personality?

but even you could not escape the
sunlit-glare cracks, fluttering in
the hot blast of its vacant truths
and pregnant lies and crystal
unclarity, sparkling like jewels
on the neck of a thanksgiving turkey.

Paint the emptiness with a mirror-- that's all it takes
Questions can fall up for all I care
because when darkness lights up your face
reality slides into place
the lock clicks, now let's embrace
and you're in love with a meaningless picture.

stepping from the shadows into the penumbra
violent salty seas return to chaotic calms
i understood in the beginning but i’ve lost the plot along
the way, days bleed into days, mistakes live in the grey
tumbling towards the sea from cloud nine dreams
idealistic, unrealistic, done climbing the tree
done trying to see
past the unclarity, revoke my charity
done climbing the tree

When memories fade into the darkness, the one that sits at the edge of your eyeballs, and clearness becomes the most filled with unclarity
you are not allowed to remember because your foggy, mushy brain is stuck on REPEAT
  And the checkups, tuneups, improvements and replacements of your daily life only lead you to be irreparably shattered
  The measly repair is only a grim patched quilt of an unlucky (and unloved) being
   To ease the muddy water that keeps you stuck you must LISTEN TO SEE

(That touching is feeding and you need to be full.)

Do not listen to the useless urges that may be thrown your way by the trickster in your hair
He is only there to make you worse

Vapid.
Benign.
Glossy uninhabited orbs, sunken into my waxen skin. My rib cage rattles with rutted breath, breathing seems foreign. Tempestuous is the cage that holds my temper. I hate myself more than anyone could fathom within an evening, within a drink at a bar, within the xanax I swallow once, twice, three times to forget the love around me that I do not receive.

Once. Twice. Three knocks at the stall of the bathroom I've found myself unconscious in. Unfamiliar graffiti, unfamiliar hands around me, gravitating towards my face, the unclarity of my actions calls out to me. I do not know this place. I do not my soul in this moment. Incoherent thoughts stumble around my mind, trying to right myself enough to raise up off the frozen, unyielding tile I've found my shell nested on.  

The drive home is incessant . Eons go by glaring like the red lights I run to escape the seconds I left behind in the toilet. Cornered like an animal in my own home, I tear myself asunder, my flesh seethes against itself, abhorred that this , this is what I was given. A prison I can never escape from, relentless. Ruthless. Ashen cavernous ravines bloom forth from my skin. The metal slithers across sallow pulp, trying to connect parts of myself that were never meant to fit. Unabashed at the sudden onslaught of depreciating humor in situation. I long to be safe within the wall I have built for myself, housed myself, grown for only myself. Repercussion is an unfamiliar fleeting feeling when I seethe hatred for my soul so wholly. When I emanate the unmitigated repugnance for who I've grown into a person. Subdued by the caress of the silk blanket on my skin, I vacate my conscious, freely, boorish. Clouded nights reflect the obstructed thoughts that lull me into unconsciousness, as I dream of another day where I feel the love, skin, the smell of someone who is home in my mind, so that I may for one unabashed moment feel languid and serene.
One day that I might feel a  part of an everlasting universe that revolves around the moonstuck effervesce emanating from the whole I've been missing.