you don't deserve a word
not even a poem
how does it feel
when you lost the people
you confessed you "love"

how did it feel
when your own medicine
ran through your throat?
how does it feel
to steal so much time
from someone who treasured it?
holding it close to her chest
against her rib cage

how does it feel
to steal something you don't own
from a family you "care" for

and how does it feel?
to see someone who loves me
better than you do
because you thought
no one could ever love me like you

When we dress in phantom finery,
we can only expect disillusionment.
Choke ourself with all our fantastic desires.
Complete mental malnourishment,
from our heart deep self harassment.

Let small smiles slither away.
Gut with tender savagery,
aversions to avarice.
Self-servile self-worth denial,
wash small magic away.

I'll try my hardest to refrain from mounting this phony high pony and preach to you,
and to keep from using ******* rhymes and fancy lines that do little more than convolute the truth,
but the fact remains that there's a certain amount of irony inherent in all things,
and I can see it clearly raging inside of you.

Blah blah blah.
These and other platitudes.
You're struggling and you're sad and you're lost and confused.

Don't you realize that you're just climbing up and sliding down the eternal staircase that the rest of us have already grown accustomed to?

Of course not,
and that's why you're smart.
Giving up on the race before it even starts.

What do you want?
No, really.
Out of life,
out of love,  
with hell below and the stars above,
where exactly are you aiming for?

You don't even know,
and somehow,
that's what makes it beautiful.

scraped knees and
blurry vision;
romanticizing nothing
that really mattered,
but it doesn't really
matter anymore; you
used to take me too
seriously and now he
laughs at all my jokes.

you can hear her dog
snoring from your bed-
room; i can hear you
whining from your
rocking chair. you
keep saying you are an
artist. i don't know
about that.

****** Bag in sunglasses
donned indoors where
fluorescent sunlight cannot justify
the obfuscation of haughty eyes
so the visage is one
of pure pretension
and cockiness,
dichotomized
as self-assuredness
and the colloquial term for the phallus,
a literal ****.

(I see him strongly in the memory of a high school field trip returning home school bus late night he sits sideways back to the window head leaning back sunglasses donned smug grin I rendered him the vessel and the scape goat bearing my burning hatred for the inflated ego wrapped in an undesirable chic I deem deplorable, hate hate hate)

Smug grin,
I wrote this poem from a bean bag
in the corner of the library third floor
whilst wearing sunglasses and
a taste of irony
on callous lips
twisted in an invisible sneer.

We're here'd,
we're weird.
Get used to it . . .

In the morning he feels the weight,
The pounding rhythm of the hour,
Where he starts his day
Having to bear the effects of getting such jumbled thoughts
And mixed vain feelings
Where are the answers to the questions that do not wish to have answers?

Inside the scriptures of mind
No thought is second guessed
The reasons of the rhythm stand true
There is something inside of him that moves
* ~A heart he claims to not have *
  The one that lingers and vibrates
At the bottom of the sea
Aligning with the coral shelves
Worrying about whom he's yet to meet
Whom will figure out
That in his heat lies a soul
In his hell lies a prophet
yet to reach potential
   Having to
Push his door open
And burn the envelop that cages him

But he fears
Letting go of this hatred
Would waken the realization
Of how alone he really is
For that hatred
Is what keeps him from cracking
Is what helps him maintain
His make belief life of dark love
But in actuality
It's just clothing on the lonesome truth
Of his scarred
Made of Steele
Lonely Lion Heart

-fir.m

On this anopisthographic format,
Seems contradistinguishable
To my previous puerile verses,
Disharmonising against contrivances
To be intelligibly indicated,
Through dimunitive confabulations,
As habitually optated by
My personal preferations.