It turns out that gobbling up gaggles of desperate souls is a perfect way to con humankind.

I really don't mind being wrong, and occupying the space of the poor.
That's nothing more than asking me to be who I always was.

What does bug me is offering hope from the top of Olympus, and then patting yourself on the top your back,

when in fact,
You're the weakest.

Finding the slightest pimple on your face in the morning would set
you back so many hundreds of years,

It makes sense how selfish and petty people can be.
Because life is so hard and blinding, it would take a chosen person,
so special, so real.

It would take a real human being for us to realized what a human should be.

Monitoring past economics and diametrics has tossed my peasant

corn-fed, sorry brain into a frenetic existential disdain that will never

be solved, even when we marinate it in a sea of self-actualization,

separated nations, insolvents, indignants, malignant social tumors,

coupled with pills of american bills, hamburgers, drugs, and ***.

I had planned on heading to Home Depot, because my way of life had required a gross of wooden stakes.

144 ounces of hate made of wood would construct a plank of self hatred that I would keep harbored away until judgement day.

Likewise, I had hoardes of rotten twinkies to sink into the soil.

Sink away and sink, boil away the toil of broken hearts an overboiled sunken sweets.

Seep into the grown, the sullen sugar can and will boil away in the hate soaked heat that made the life of our ancients so gay and disfrayed.

Mild emotions and ambitions only manage to feed the hungry monsters that have ensconced themselves in power have yet to abate their desire to gobble up everything that is not them.

Pasted a "Help Wanted" notice on my local community wall

without following proper protocol,

because I was in a crisis,

and stalling emotions is a perfect, impatient way to

stall and stay away natural feelings,

while instead,

letting them ferment in a rotten brain until it all winded up dead.

Blessed and arrested are the bales of prays at leave.

Shelved off a leaf everyday had made room for more blood to bleed.

Avarice and greed made a grassy *** casserole dotted with

kisses forged out of milk and peanut butter cake.

I pounded an ounce of rice into a fryable patty.

I knitted, ratted about bits of **** made of laughable brads brazed.

Shatter what could be in normal clotted cloueds shrowded in holes of
fire and acid.

Creaking in fast bending dealings.

I hate it and hate you too.

I placed a well woven blanket on the edge of a window sill.

It was well made and warm.

I stormed apart because impactful starts had shorted out holy night.

I shared a napsnack of overdigested hellholes branded in fire patches.


It's ok.

I'm left forgviving hell in firepatches made of dust and stool.