A choose your own adventure book
Mimics life so well.
If only I could have a look
At other stories life could tell.
I would peak into the different plots
Where reality would diverge.
I’d probably begin to notice lots
Of new problems which emerge.
Though curious, I’ll remain content
With this narrative I am in.
May the future me not want it
To be contrary to how it has been!

I never seem to stop thinking
It is the worst when I find myself alone
Memories sprout from the past like weeds
Their misguided roots reach bone

They love to watch me squirm
With complicated scripts and plots
It's not fun to be kept awake
By regret that contorts my organs into knots

Every little secret, wish, and lie
Stress concealed carefully during light of day
How I long for company other than the clock
Lonely hands desperate to interlock and overlay

The purest type of painful suffering
That which takes control of my mind
It takes its sweet time drowning ideas
I choke, oxygen I cannot find

As steadily as life goes on
My foolish head feeds dark scenes
I am a projector expressing miserable emotions
I bring motion to my brain's blank screens

A rainbow of silly mayhem
I long to escape taunting greif
The twinkling sky offers a chance for salvation
Amongst stars I see small shreds of hope for relief

By Arcassin Burnham

My body and my soul is not luxury,
I'm glad to take a loss since I took so many,
I would die for you if you're a friend to me,
The inner parts of my life might end up in an agony,
Does it cost to me?

**** me off and become a pile,
Of rotten flowers on the floor smothered in the nile,
Not a savior or your brother,  not looking for a smile,
Pull a card out of the deck and take me to being a child.
Is it worth while?

/

In my own element, in unwinding sentiment,
The peace and the life of an uncritically punishment,
Hear no evil,
See no evil,
But hear no one when they're on that *******,
Trying hard,
Eachday,
Not enough,
To not end up in up the devil's pit,
Slaughter house,
Corporations,
Secret society,
They've been plotting on us all,
Trust no one,
Use your sight,
Stay awake,
Hope we don't all fall.

Scribbling, never stopping,
Spinning stories you criticized;
Tales you'd call lies.
My truths born from my fiction,
A character of my creation,
The protagonist of my plot;
Making you the antagonist,
With minor characters conspiring
Towards my denouement.
I am the author of rising action,
Embedded in the argument;
Conflicts arose, decisions made,
The crises ensues,
You got saved.
And I am but an afterword
In your novel life.

Maybe the 'plot'
Is
To find a 'plot'
To lose?

Dear Emma Watson -
Shall we make love
The object of
Our spiritual quest
Together?

Surely an altogether
Better option
Than pairing you off
In a commentary box
With one John Motson
Discussing twenty two
Pairs of socks
Chasing a piece of leather?

If spiritual questing
Is not for you
I will make do
With tightly tied pairs of shoes
Existential emus,
Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

Whilst hoping you find
Your Sherlock Holmes,
Miss Watson
I will content myself with
Cataloguing my collection of
Black and white combs.

I also have plots on
Which I need to work -

Wednesday Addams's love of
Moon dried tomatoes

Or Erica Roe
Somewhere in Portugal
Growing sweet potatoes
For sale.

Don't let anyone tell you
There ain't no perks
To being an Omega Male.