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Hi
Hi
I say
Like I deserve all the attention the world has to give

What'd you do today?
I reply
Like there's a grand scheme that's hidden behind locked doors

Oh nice, what for?
Oh what?
No one wants to talk to you?
******* for saying that to me
To me...
Me...

Narcissistic hero
And his friend
The antagonist
Crossed paths in the chat window today

Friends are more like enemies
Because I keep them close
It's not right, it's not right
Always making friends of my foes

It's not right, it's not right
And they're right to be upset
At the narcissistic hero
Whose story isn't over yet

And his friend the antagonist
Postured neatly, types away
All their problems and what
Does the narcissist say?

******* for friendship
And ******* for my problems
I'm sorry I snapped
Now what's YOUR problem

And it flips over
And I'm back again

Hi
I say
Bukowski said
You can't beat death
You can beat death in life, sometimes

And I know that
I've always known that
We all always know that
But fog is thick when the storm comes
When lightning blinds the eyes of
Those that are out looking
For their runaway pet or a shelter to hide under
But lightning is still a light
In the dark
There's a blindingly bright flash
And so storms
Are new courage to me
If I don't succumb to the elements
Those blinding lights in the sky
Can show me shelter
And I'll find it
You'll find it
And the storm will pass
Clouds will go from black to grey
And when you find it
Hold it close, ******

Because like Bukowski said
You can't beat death
You can beat death in life, sometimes
I saw a dead baby bird on the ground one day as a kid. It had fallen from its nest much too soon and must have died upon impact. Or maybe it died in the nest and fell afterwards. That's mortality. That's fragility. That's a god ****** metaphor for everything. And nature beat me to the punch.
Time is a man
Whose suit doesn't fit him quite right
Who has a cat that sleeps with him nearly every night
Time is a woman
Who questions the name she was given at birth
And paces in circles through her kitchen until 2 am
Time is a child
Who was once young but is now hiding in laughter
Behind pints in a dingy bar
Time is an orchestra
Whose sheet music blew away in the wind
And is relying on memory to take its place
Time is a *******
Of willful regret and sinful inaction
Of brow furled unease and gleeful distraction

So I wait, you wait, and we all wait.
Time will make us as we're meant to be
The religious and academic minds bicker
For time is the cause of reason
And the cause of joy
And sadness
And despair
And everything else

Time is a man with nothing on his mind
And with empty pockets
That he says are full of ungranted wishes
Like a little sack of joy purchased on a street corner

And time is in us all and we are of it
So make of that as you will
And I asked him, I said,
"What was the first thought you had as a child?"
"You know, before consciousness took hold?"
He looked at me confused in the mirror
"What was the first thought you had when you woke up this morning?"
He uttered in reply
****** out to deafen the thoughts of
Situations replaying in my head
I said and I meant every one of those words
In these imaginary scenarios
That never happen, a circumstance of my action or inaction
Attention
This is a breaking news headline
One insignificant man thinks he's dying
And now he's crying and calling up his friends
To complain, always the same, always out of luck and out of his mind
I swear to god this **** runs thick
Like every chance I get I hop on board
And then get told to get back off and wait my turn
It's a pain, and I get used to it sometimes
But I'd be lying if I said it ain't still a crying shame
When I get in line on time but still miss the train...
Of thought is off track again, back in
Unhealthy places and I know it's not right
How I'm never comfortable
With the comfortable and lay awake at night
At 2 am, 3 am, 4 am, and the sun's up again
I guess it's time
To pick myself up for another round
A cage match, nothing but fists
And I'm on myself again, boy am I winning this time
Where was I going with this?
Wait where am I at now?
****, man, if that isn't a metaphor for how I've been living my life
It's done, poems up, everyone go home
**** the butterflies while they're still caterpillars
Because they might just be moths in the end
That live for nothing more than soaking in your light
And beating their heads and wings against the bulb until it goes out

**** the optimism that we're all born with
Because it'll sink underground with you one day
And the people, the mourners, they'll all gather to grieve
Reliving a dead man's struggles as if they were their own

**** your honesty because no absolutes exist in this world
No truth nor lie means anything more than you do
And you mean a lot, you know you mean so much
So **** the worries and **** the obligation you put on your poor soul

**** your heart and let it bleed dry just one more time, love
Because no tree ever grew without shedding a few leaves
No tower was ever built without a hole dug for a new foundation
So **** your past and even your present, but live on and embrace the unexpected
Maybe tomorrow will be something new and amazing
And today will seem like a dream I just woke up from
And the sun will shine and the oceans will part
And the fish will flop around screaming that the world's coming to an end

Maybe tomorrow will be the day the skies begin to shine
I'll make a new friend and we'll say hey we have so much in common
And it'll go on and on and we'll hold hands and drink coffee
And make jokes so rancid that every possum will turn its nose up

Maybe tomorrow will be the end of all of these emotions
And I'll wake up in bed as a robot, a mechanical creation
Gears sparking visions of humanity and what it all meant
And I'll see that nothing was ever quite as real as it felt

Maybe tomorrow will be the same as today
And I'll feel the same way, with the same tastes
And I'll go to sleep in the night thinking the next day will be something different
And it'll go on and on and I'll fall into a comfortable rhythm

Maybe tomorrow I'll see my face again
And I'll convince myself to get out of bed before noon
Like I've got places to be or things to accomplish
Or words I have to get out to someone, something important

Maybe tomorrow will give me the foresight I always wish I had
So I don't have to ask myself these questions every night
A light I can hold against the demons that attack before I sleep
And a breadcrumb trail I can follow through the rest of my life

Maybe tomorrow, maybe never
But maybe tomorrow, for optimism sake
I was just another game you threw in the trash
Garage sale splendor
Waiting to get picked up by another lover
It's a wonder that we made it this far
With your habits and my sadness and all
And I love you, I still do, like weeds in the garden that we planted
And I wish it lasted, I really do
I could sit back, and my world view
Wouldn't be this slanted
But I'm sheltered, and not by rules nor virtues
But by my optimism in situations like this
I never got a final kiss
So this is goodbye, good year, good times
Hard times, soft times, and whatever else ******* rhymes
This is heartbreak
For your sake, and not for mine
Goodbye
Clouds, and the ******* sun. The heatwaves leading to this foggy haze, like dreamt days, and I'm here as a shell.

Candle scents and incense and common sense, I don't have any. Like money spent, and time spent, the ******* days we slept away. If I knew, and I knew, if I only knew, I wouldn't have shut my eyes, these tears I've cried, this taste of spite, and I hate it.

I hate the way she sleeps and doesn't talk to me.

It's deafening, the silence, the panic attacks that come beckoning, leaving me a wreck, I sing. Along.

To all these sad songs, the words replace my phone, lit up by her name, and I wish, I wish

For nothing else and nothing more than time away, to be spoken for, no more, it's no more, I'm no more. Than dirt to her.

So pick myself up, to shut up, bottle it in, and march on, I'll march on.

I'm at war with myself, battles fraught in cannon fire. Ballistic projectiles, and I never smile. I haven't seen my teeth in weeks and I can't blame her for that, it's me. It's on me.

But her face is in everything, the window glass, to the balconies of the apartments my bus drives past. Familiar routes, they haven't changed, but I have.

So which way is home, can someone point me there? I'm lost, my phone's dead, and I can't even stand up.

But I'll march on, I'll march on. Infantry zest for the peace they'll bring. And so will I. I'll get there, I'll get there, with the sun in my eyes and a new cut for my hair. I'll get there.
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