Nothing can help me
but that beauty

I still remember it was dawn
and
all what the moment did was
recreating love
which I always needed to do myself.

Collecting the paper ticket,
                   I was there alone
                                at the bar.

A place of singles and I had a
                      receipt,
                      to show how
                      lonely I really was.

It said entry for one...

                   Exit for few,
who walk with more than they walked
                                                 in with...

But I only ever went home,
with a
          receipt of regret.
      
I made It in to a paper aeroplane,
           making my loneliness less obvious.
          floating in the wind, dancing on its own.

my brain vomited
onto the page
all squiggles
and misspellings
unpunctuated
heiroglyphics
a secret language
only i
could understand
not prose
not poetry
not correct
just me
my pen
wreaks havoc
on unruled
paper
i am errant
i am irritable
i am irreverent
i am making
my way

Ruled paper bleeding
ink scribbles shrieking
open lacerations
into blue and red
arteries.
Veins pulsating curiosity
but cornered by anxiety
assuming that the
dialect I use to write
is ill with idiocracy.
“Idiot” screamed in
bold letters from a
fountain pen,
permanent pollution of
this ocean that I’m drowning in.
Scissor-fanged sharks
circle ‘round the toxicity,
chew my paper submarine,
a vessel crushed beneath the sea.
Vessels to my heart julienned,
cut open during surgery.
They couldn’t pull me from the deep
in time before the flatline
beep.

Hello,
Poetry.
I see the
fangs between your lines
snap shut to disguise
wrinkles revealing
traumatic speeches
scribbled without care
yet shouted so scared.
Words scarred and slashed with
swords of
insecurity,
blue and red bars slice
the tale you tried to
save for me,
bleeding out stories
through the tears in these
ruled pages,
pour them in the cups
of the audience
so they relate with.
I take just one sip.
I’m already drunk,
cut out my favorite lines,
pasting phrases to my life,
******* away my pain,
rejected in recycling,
cycling confessions,
crying on my recollections,
sponge away my sorrow tears
and squeeze it on the stages.
Claps of the people
start evaporation and
the sensation serves me
confidence to condensate
the ink off my dissertation.
Final salutation,
spotlights off and
goodbye,
Poetry.

you are nothing but the cause of blood on my fresh wounds.
i am nothing but the cause of your fatal demise on paper.

but you didn't just cause bleeding,
but i didn't just cause your demise on paper.

funny how things come to be, my love.

Marno T. Rupert had nothing to lose, or so he thought as he sat on the moon. He held he breath. He didn't want to die so soon.

Marno T. Rupert had only gotten his powers about an hour or so ago. What he didn't know is though the river flows so slow up unto this point he grew so small.
The waterfall slows his fall but, Marno T. Rupert learned nothing at all.

He jumped back to earth to examine his worth.
He felt lonely, being the one and only under the sun... the only son of a gun who got super powers.

Marno T. Rupert could jump over towers, but he felt like he wasn't particularly great or good.
He always was late and misunderstood.
He didn't like "fate" or his neighborhood.

And so...
He went back home.
He zipped his lips.
After all, Marno T. Rupert was a pacifist.

He decided to become a scientist, a friend to society even though he could throw a car for miles and meanwhile bounce bullets off his chest.
You see?
He was super but a man.
Changed his brain and used his pen.