Smoke signals from a silent cigarette
float to the heavens and linger
in the mucky conscience of regret
resting on the temple, my forefinger

Thumb lifted to expose
a metaphorical gun
countenance in prose
staring at a midnight sun

When will that monster again ****
another that I love,
Why did I so feel
like I could best the powers from above

I created a ghastly Adam
and I dare not create an innocent Eve
my future I cannot fathom
all time left to grieve

I will chase this gruesome snake
no matter where it slithers
across Hell's frozen lake
this calamity summons me hither

My final and only ambition
is to cast a life to silence
his and my cognition
will clash and bite in violence

I created a monster
and a monster created me
Madness! How it so saunters
and wails as if a banshee

Look over on the frozen horizon
a horrid shadow stalks
I, a fire stealing Titan
will march out to solve this paradox

I bedded down with Frankenstein
I bedded down with Dracula
I bedded down with the Wolf Man
I bedded down with the Mummy
I bedded down with the Creature
from the Black Lagoon

and the end results
were a carbon copy
of fundamental flaws

hairy,
oozing with slime,
bloodsucking
homemade monsters
that wrapped me up in sheets
and laid me to rest
upon the catacombs
of their one bedroom apartments

but after feeling ghastly,
my decision making
became quite hasty
and acted
as if
I were the
Invisible Man
afterwards

I'm facing the very demons I've created. And I'm losing.

10w

-HIY

Victor Frankenstien went shopping through morgues and cemeteries and picked out only the very best features,
stitching them together with string and tape

the flowing black hair and the delicate pale skin,
it should have been perfect

but once the lightning struck and the creature opened his glassy eye the truth was revealed

you can't make a person that way
not a good one anyway

the hair was matted and the skin that looked so fresh on a corpse was jaundice

the monster was a monster by design, even if it was not intentional

I understand what it means to take what seems so beautiful on other bodies and stitch it together haphazardly trying to make something perfect

I have Victors hands, the hands that play god

but more than that,
I have the sickly skin and the glazed-over eyes

I have the very best things I saw in everyone else

a gentle angel with one million eyes to watch over her children,
I took her kindness
a wretched holy beast that could never be hurt, I took his aggression

I stole ideas and attitudes that resonated with me,
I stole the rebellion that I saw the righteous wear in books and on TV
I stole the heart that some sweet girl wore on her sleeve with faith in the world around her
I plagiarized, I became everything I thought was beautiful

with my Frankenstein hands I had created a self to live in, an idea to thrive in my useless body

I thought I could live as the perfect boy, the perfect person

but the ideas split off, still inside me
growing and expanding and bulging out of my skin
my bones crack under the weight of so many people within

the sweet, the angry, they were always at odds

a monster, a monster that lies in poppy fields and dreams about love

a sweetheart, a sweetheart that slices rats in half just to see what their insides look like

I am not the perfect thing I wanted to be
I am fractured like the bones I had to rip apart to make them fit

I am too little too late and too much too soon all in one,
not enough, never enough, far too much to bear

I am the god I swore was dead,
I am taxidermy animals that don't look quite right

I am fractures of what I wanted to be

I am Frankenstein
but
I am also Frankenstein's monster

In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,

Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.

"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,  
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".

The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.

Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.

He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against ***** snowbank.
Dog **** mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Kicking
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.

When he lives
He is not a monster.

Deflate me, break me, rearrange and stake me.  Throw me between the earth's plates and let the quake take me.  Shake me, drag a rake across my face.  Anything to get feeling, blast me into space.

Hang me by interpretations before claiming forgetful.  Squint through your scope attempting to hit soul, but blinded are we giving in to our egos.  It's your fault it's my fault, taunts haunt the physical shell.  I'm acquainted with heaven and still take part in hell.  Attitudes beyond words can cast malicious spells.  Is it coming from a singular source, it's really ******* hard to tell.  I don't even know who to talk to when I'm not feeling well.  Set up traps for self and swiftly fell.  Here I am again, cross-legged at the bottom.  Want nothing more than to transcend and blossom.  Maybe I'll be found as nothing more than a fossil.  No biological functions or need for a role model.  Into the infinite where all things are possible.  It is my intention to let go and heal through astral projection.  Strange how things can seem so hollow in this 3rd dimension.  I want to see past holograms and move forward beyond fear.  Body still warm into the night I disappear.

It feels like all I'm gonna be for Halloween is depressed.  No need for a purchase which at this point is certain debt.  I wanna show my insides, peer past the pigments of flesh.  Is everything coming together or apart, my head is a mess.  Ego got me thinking certain ways as if possessed.  When I only wanna speak from the ***** in my chest.  A costume that shows what you are on the inside, dead.  Dry bones resting on a cobwebbed throne, with crown upside down pressed into my dome.  King of nothing other than this holy temple with holes poked through the face with the sharpest of pencils.  I offer payment for my strangeness in the form of two words, let go.  Took my first breath on the day of the dead, coincidence?  Oh no.  Look through eye holes to the back of my skull.  Pushed as far as I thought I could go, only to know I needed to pull.  Cup was full of luke warm contents.  Why do conversations morph into a blind rage contest?  I jumped into the depths and tried to befriend the loch Ness.  It was conditioned to it's living and saw me as more stress.  I just thought I needed someone with whom I could decompress.  Lesson learned I swam away shouting "blessed!" with no regrets I sat in the cemetery among the lifeless. Only to remind us all about being timeless. 
Take a breath.

We must steam-clean the rugs that we pray on in our dreams
Lest we forget to address the inaudible screams
Tar pit vocals get you stuck on words said
Yet My essence is stronger than my coffee and cigarette breath.
I walk a thin line between wanting to call upon spirit guides, and not wanting to waste their time.
Who is speaking, me or some form of you glued to my mind?
I feel undefined in a world so categorized
Still trying to heal my blindness to the light that shines
Stretch through confines and decompress the spine
I make my way from the grave after ridding stressful expressions through rhyme
Again falling in lines with life
Say goodbye to the plight, and keep the dreams in sight - peace/goodnight

Silence...a moment with self, because from no other can the answers be dealt.  It's nice to get help, but within you is informational untapped wealth.  Can't keep riding down this avenue, for, with what I believe in, in the long run it'd be untrue.  Excuses are for those who refuse to cope.  A life led in that direction without reflection will only stumble to crash from a downhill *****.  Simply existing is genuinely resisting the life that could be.  Slave to the system, and slave to your mind, are you ever going to be free?

Is anybody listening, or rather glistening from contentment?  In a future time don't look back upset with where the years went.  Be true and think through how it is you want the currency spent.  Some people keep kicking in the wrong direction never really ever leaving a dent.  Is this just to vent, or to better human nature?  Chances are, by tomorrow, it won't even be remembered - reminding me again the time is now to savor -  get going creator, show the world your flavors.

Nothing saddens my heart more
Than a dog who eats my poem
And a tree that is burned down
And a cog that does not turn

Nothing saddens my heart more
Than a book that is sold cheap
And a cousin that is hurt
From the roof eager to leap

Nothing saddens my heart more
Than the earth so full of trash
And myself who is asleep
While the years moving like flash

I felt a soft pulse under a young boy’s
neck within my grotesque hands,
felt his breath escape his lungs like
a frightened snake in burning sands,
watched his eyes frantically search for a savior
but instead find my vile complexion.
My heart swelled with revenge against this
world that only resents me and yet
his shrill screams against the thunder,
the lightning outlining his still silhouette--
he was innocent, this I always remember.
I don’t deserve the pleasure of this hatred.

My next sin I committed against a cheerful man,
a sightseer in a beautiful, foreign land;
I closed my gruesome grip around his slender throat
and left him sleeping forever on the sand
under the luminous moon with his heart still, yet full of love;
how jealous I felt that he should die
and have someone to grieve for him, while I’m reprimanded
for living, or rather, simply existing,

My final mark I left as charcoal fingerprints
on the sweet skin of a new bride.
I instilled fright into her perfect wedding night
and, before a lake’s gentle rolling waves,
behind the watchful Jekyll to my vengeful Hyde, I
stole her life.

Her groom, a bright, scientific architect,
thought his monument a magnificent, malicious failure.
In his eyes, I am a virus upon the Earth’s body,
a hideous figure copied not in God’s image, but in the devil’s.
I should have known I’d always be alone
as my creator wishes I weren’t his own.
Doctor Victor Frankenstein, I hate every ****
inch of your perfect human frame, and I hate
the imperfections you’ve bestowed upon me.
I swear, I will reciprocate these bitter blessings
you have given me, and when I’ve ended you
once and for all,
only then can I rest;
I have nobody to love,
but I’ve got nothing to lose.