I got lost in the road map creases of your palms,


and the stromatic streets of your irises,


and the bar needle, compass cracks of your lips,


and as I looked for shelter,

I found myself walking in circles;

wrapped around your 


finger.


((((((((acquiesced))))))))

An ardent following,
superseded by disdain
that comes like the aligned
sadism brought by you.
Feel like a failure?
Like the weapons in your brain
have finally run out of power and
that they were fabricated
from day one.
Feel like a failure?
Not yet?
You will never find a joy in
A brusque portrayal of success.
Because you have failed.
They will find out eventually.
They all will.
The trickster is not the manipulator.
You joke.
You are envious, envious of
others, how superficial!
Just like you want to be,
because you fail to elaborate
upon your own promises.
You surrender to the gift
that is moving on.
Just like anyone else!
How could someone like you fall so flat?
High functioning, or lack thereof.
You can fool the weak,
but so can any glimmer of hope.
Superimpose your lies
as you run out of time
and play the demi
in order to fornicate with
the incessant drive rather than
the polished joy that is success.
Move on.
You are a failure.
You are beginning to run out of options,
your only option is surely deceit.
Manipulators driven by the harrowing
sense that tomorrow will bring
inner motivation for another
night of fulfillment.
You, my friend,
are no different.
You resort to illusion because
you cannot create your own world.
You will die by the hands of  another.
Another just like you.
Weak and powerless in the eyes
of those who a greater
than your desire
of
being as great.

And, what the **** did you expect of me?
I'm sorry.
Pardon my french...
I can't help but cuss, when these mother ******* got me pressed
Ill be fine after this commerical break,
But until then,
Let me lay your facts straight.

Need I not remind you,
It was our first date
the moment I said I was obsessed with love
I heard your chest scream
Your eyes spoke of forever
Your sternoclaydo mastodon pulsated
Like orange juice after a blood drive...


***** I revitalized you.
I think you got the  script wrong
Wipe ur frames down,
I'll put this very slowly, now
Your love for me burned so hot, it was no longer a fire, but wild.
You smothered me.
You wanted to watch my flames dance,
But only under your command

My love is rotten?
Spoiled?
Selfish?
When out of the two of us, you just wanted me to yourself?
Your own insecurities is what made your inferiority become true,
maybe that's why your eyes burn,

You never accepted who I was.
My spirit knows no bounds.
Your spirit, wasn't fast enough.

Respectfully,
you bowed out.

You ignorant *******, you did not know a **** thing of me
I guess I'm mad, I thought you did

Pure love is not of possession,
Instead, to be greatful for every cent spent
My presence is a luxury,
Did I make you feel inferior?
To feel as though you almost could afford it?


****! Right! One last thought, before I go.

Women are mother Earth incarnate
Chaotic creatures,
Who never seem to lose.

Do you think you're upset,
because deep down,
you knew, you bite off more than you could chew?

You go snake
Spit your ***** venom
All over the room
Staged performance
With puppets
You aren’t yet tired
Playing
So much effort to destroy
The ground I send on
Seeking my exposed vulnerabilities
With your cold eyes
Sore for misery
Forgive me snake
I have a yawn and a laugh
To give but not to share
My face perfectly relaxed
As I imagine
Your anihilation.

I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
            Indentions such as these never stay
            Yet eternally we press against the world

        Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
                    ~

           I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
      With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes

       Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
                And it ONLY screamed.
        
         ~

   I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny and Stephen King
      And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.

      Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.

He sculpted himself
Into my "perfect person"
And I loved it

Till I realized
It was an act

And I was nothing
But a toy
To play with.

l.v.s