This elastic band has stretched as far as it possibly can
Now is the time to cut the cord
Over enough is more than enough
It's time for the narcissist to be unveiled
Oh bride of Satan
For the wolves in sheep's clothing to be called out
Your time is up!
We've had enough!
People are not as stupid as you'd like them to be
That spoiled little brat of a child inside is to be silenced for good
Singlehandedly you have destroyed your relationships
Systematically you have ruined your friendships
Over enough is more than enough
The true meaning of loneliness you will now encounter
Your fragile mask has shattered into pieces
The protective cover has blown away  
Exposed you will stand
Finally everyone will see you for the serpent you truly are
No one is buying the lies you have so generously been selling
No matter how great a bargain
Your mind games and tactics have become stale
Over enough is more than enough
The reality which awaits you is harsh and bleak
From your put on laugh to the fake compliments
Both come from the same dark and empty space
A bottomless pit of deception in which you lurk  
Hollow vase you are
Collage of fabricated personalities
You model yourself on others
But can never hold down one character for too long  
Over enough is more than enough
Like a blank canvas you are vacant to take on any shape or form
You wear a fake smile and your eyes are dead
You destroy like a bull, but hurt like a baby
Your brain is corroded and your spirit is ill  
Your own medicine you will drink
It will consume you from the inside out
Implode you will
Troublemaker and schemer
Over enough is more than enough
You are driven by your severe deep-rooted insecurity and shame
You prey on the empathetic
Virtual vampire, always looking for someone to drain
You do unto others as you would NOT have done unto yourself
A conscience you were born without  
Quick to quote a scripture or two
But slow in applying it to yourself
And even the devil knows the score
Over enough is more than enough
Your condescending eyes will be plucked out by a ruthless crow
You will burn in your own defeat and your perfume will be sulphur
Down you will tumble from your pedestal
You no longer have a place in my life
You no longer have a place in my heart
But more importantly
You no longer have a place in my mind

An uprooted tree lies ebbing in the street.
The one who pledged everyone with a refuge
is herself in exigent need.

People come, see the fallen one.

Not a soul seems to be concerned.
Zero, zilch, nada, none.

They don't remember
those cloistered, sizzling infernos of June
those solitary, shivering nights of witchy new moons

and those

sodden, sultry volleys of pouring monsoons

when they, like sprayed bedbugs, ran helter-skelter
with the beast of disarray at their sorry heels -
snarling callously at all their jet-set culture,
structure and order

and

when all and sundry went slapdash
…haphazard

that stalwart of timber
gave them reassuring shelter.

…no fine print, no strings…

❉


Today, when in the aftermath of storm and rain
her generous framework lays mortally drained
there is no one who would even stop
to look for a while
let alone bestow a precious drop
of life.

❉

In this progressive society –
dynamic, forward-looking, revolutionary –

each enterprising personality
is interred beneath umpteen layers of conceit
and on the assay of fulfilment
estimates the value of the being.

A Lazarus body litters the sidewalk
outside a well-lit, desolate lobby.

On the left is a mexican restaurant,
with a line reaching to the
entrance. They should stamp
the grey and scratched up
plexiglass with a light and
dark purple neon:
Welcome To America.
It would be reinforced
by every delicious crunch
one hears on the way out as
cheap crumbs garnish concrete.

On the right, there’s a bar
alive on a Friday night.
Friends share hearty laughs
and pats on the back.
The bitter and the perishing
pretend they want this
when they should be
somewhere or someone else.
And mingling singles look for
compliments and numbers,
or maybe just someone to
take back and **** the **** out of.

But in the midst sits
a throne for ghosts.
Ceiling fluorescent reflects
off porcelain, paler than a farmer tan.
There are no other colors besides
the receptionist, bored to death,
leaning on the wall behind
the porcelain reception desk,
reading a copy of Ebony.
No ottomans or chesterfields
or benches. No consoles or cocktail
tables. Nothing adorning the walls.
Not even a stain.
Just a white hole, a bright
***** in an otherwise colorful
street on gray canvas.

I rise from my slumber
and mosey on out the lobby
in my purple linen suit.
The impoverished scrag,
his dog lapping his sores, asks
if I’d spare some change.

“Sorry, I only have card tonight.”

“That’s alright, sir. God bless.”

And I walk on, aware of the
Abrahams rubbing up against
a ****** in my wallet. I take a sip
of whiskey hidden in my empty
can of a drink that can never
satiate me. I wait for traffic to pass,
and then I jaywalk across Sticks St.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow

I smell the faint smell of the sampaguita sold to my father
It makes me think about the poor
Whenever we buy this chain of white flowers it is a bookmark in the senses
Poverty
Remember poverty
Smell the pleasantness in your automobile and don't forget poverty.
Who sold it to you? A homeless child.
"It comes from a place I know not where it came from, I forgot"
A life made of lies
We buy this truth but live a lie
We are not happy about the situation
We are not happy that we are happy and they are in shambles
When it rains we praise the clean billboards of the aftermath
But poverty, is not washed or clean
I am not sure what to do with this poverty of kindness
I m lacking in kindliness and gentleness
So what can there be to give to a poor child?
I desire to live benevolently
Desire does not mean I am so
But to desire makes me righteous toward the bad
And hopeful too

I gave my all to you
- Now, now, girl, that's no fault of anyone
had almost opened up
- Too little too late in this case
I was giving my energy to you
- Now, now I'll be sure to wave as I walk on by
and had almost opened up

Detached from a source of cord so miserable,
so maybe when I wake up I can roll right out of bed
believing in me, believing in the purpose in
my carriage, instead of putting you first and on the
pedestal which should have been reserved for better.

Better:
I said it.

I gave my all to you
- Now, now, girl, that's no fault of anyone
had almost opened up
- Too little too late in this case
I was giving my energy to you
- Now, now I'll be sure to wave as I walk on by
and had almost opened up