The amorphous world hates each and every creative soul
Another, I can't name
Except the idols held in such high regard
Excluding the ones I disavow
Save a few, all ideas are below me now
The masses all bleed but not all bleed red
Some bleed black, and some bleed falsehoods.
Our perfect community has more common ground with the enemy than the elitist ground we've come to sacrafice our lives and time defending

If only for the present my perception is less muddled
Before I cloud my mind with hurdles
To Disincentivize
Future fleshing out
Stout lies, watching promises
Fall by the way side
I will rise
I repeat the faster I sink
This elevator ideology is showing no signs
As it drags me to hell
One intention at a time
Marching round in time
Circling, quickening my pace
Winning a race
Invented for me
By people like me
How about you try me
And then we'll see just how deep
Inside me
The mitre has me
The mindset grasps me
And chains around me
Feel soft as feathers

The wings I fly on are burdens beneath my feet
My brothers and sisters hold the keys to my shackles but have mistaken them for unspeakable horrors.

Be it legal or against the law do it responsibly.
I am peaceful but First things first this isn't a democracy.
Americans thirst for a social utopian ideology.
But they settle for copious amounts of frozen philosophy.
It isn't regal. Americans Constantly Insisting comradery.

I do not belong;
nor would I want to:
to your flags, regalia
and fanfare.
Your anthems of
passion for
plain dull soil.
Bore my mind
and curdle your thought.

I could not sing;
those songs of unity:
the many words
and melodies of
vicarious triumph,
imaginary victory's.
A vague sense
of something,
of which you're too sure.

I will not hoist;
the fabric symbol:
watch it fold, dither
and ripple.
with the imagined weight
and meaning.
That which you treasure so
deep and dear;
is just a flag in the wind.

Cuts in the clouded sky

reveal flashes

blue,

Like moth riddled bed sheets

I see the world beyond,

and it me.

Am I looking out

or they in?

Such silken threads,

bare like my

skin.

Before long,

too long

grey returns

and my mood

as night

darkens.

It was never meant to be

so

black.

It's as gorgeous to see the first stick with a sharp rock at the tip, as well as the last mirror polished heavily ornamented spear someone used to try and ****** another human in the name of that quest for greatness, and remember that somewhere in between Jesus Christ was nailed to a flagpole and stuck with the same instrument.
      "Lives Forever."
      To some rate we stopped making weapons to **** mankind, and started building weapons with the destructive power to **** entire branches of thought, philosophy, ideas, and religions. We committed to Hiroshima to tell the world, "Your future is ours." We committed to Iraq and Afghanistan to say, "Thou shalt not interfere with the moral ambiguity of the nuclear superpowers." We fight the idea of terror abroad with real weapons to unrighteously protect the idea of freedom here, dead black men and children in the streets, and in their own homes.
      
      I'm no longer surprised what little effort it took me to stay alive.

      A friend comes to me lovingly and spitefully because they are depressed. Life is hard. People are cold. Nearly every lover requires a stroke to the ego that tells them they are special or great. We build God in the people we ****, and we're baptized in our ******, not the draining of fluids, but the soft verse that "reminds" us we are "objectively good."

       "Pillowtalk; the prayer for forgiveness."
       She comes to me for forgiveness twice and disappears forever. Jacob calls it, "ghosting". It's casual, really.
       They say the universe is comprised of strings sometimes and it sounds like an idea writers can ******* into dust, but I think they do well connecting human bodies without; part metaphor, part science.
      I attend a party and flirt with a stranger. She says we met before. I make out with her friend. She appears out of nowhere. I flirt with her again. I make out with her friend again. Her friend rubs her hand over my pants around the outline of my steel hard **** and hangs her mouth open to girlishly illustrate shock at her own action. We don't ****.
      I finish twelve hours later into the mouth of an amateur **** artist/cam girl and kindergarten teacher for the second time. Her uber driver told her how ****** took the life of his wife and best friend. We laugh at this. We fall in love to some extent.
      I had a dream I saw my father in a hospital bed and told him I forgave him despite my actions. I wake up fully comprehending that he will die without a son.
     I write haiku for a year because everything else lacks structure.

When the measure is of a greater
worth than that which is measured,
we will diminish.
The grammar of our time will
be perfect.
Our words will be so refined,
but meaning will be
impossible to find.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

We will live for the moment,
but each moment will be sparse,
we will diminish.
Each thought will be magnificent
in structure.
Our hold on “reality” will be firm.
impossible to transgress,
impossible to learn.

The length of us will be the last of us,
the depth of us will be lost on us,
and finally we will be perfect.
Finally we will be empty.

a blossom
smoke to the ceiling
pieces of skull
everyone should just collapse
run their emptiness into the soil
choke on asphalt

they found a girl whilst trawling the seabed
plastic wrapped round her neck so tightly it tore off her head when they tried to remove it

sometimes oil flows out of our taps and we bathe in death

nobody questions it
nobody questions anything.

You tasteless morons;
Gnawing at whatever is
pandering to you.

Swallow your morals.
You eat art alive and you
consume artists whole.

******* cannibals,
devouring the message to
feel accomplishment.

Satisfied by trend
and over indulged by your
ideology.

This hole is a farm.
It's where we cut out our hearts
to feed our egos.