There’s a daily ritual
of pain habitual
a desperate visual
when I fall in love
and you don’t return it
so I find a drug
and decide to burn it
as I try out discernment.

You only became hotter
after my ritualistic slaughter.
You cut me open and read my innards
informing you that you were the winner
as you ate them for dinner.

After your painful x-ray
I skipped the next phase
of averting my gaze
so I’m diverting to craze
through my ritual of shame
where I feel despondent
from the response sent
in our correspondence.

All my peers
act like seers
showing me their crystal ball
where I stand tall.
But the Ouija board
had me seething toward
a demon *****
who seemed like more
to eat my core.

The other animals in this zoo
are trying to be you
but I can see through
when they say “me too”.
They can’t impede blues
the way you easily diffuse
so I just drain the goats’ blood
at the shrine of no love
where I cry and eye rub
as they die in the dust.

I kneel before the altar of sorrow
that is my lonely bed
I lose all vision of tomorrow,
it’s replaced by red
and images of the dead
who never really lived
all they did was bled,
that’s all this ritual gives
a million shivs
poking torturously into my sides
I try to use one to cut off a piece of the pie
but end up gouging out my eyes
repeating a ritualistic chant of why.

Candles and pentagrams
are where the deadened land
fed up with the rules of man
I bring Satan my demands,
him and regret hand in hand
offering advice to the damaged ******.

I gave a blood sacrifice
to the needle
I stopped acting nice
to be evil
to deal with people
and their oppressive steeples.

I became cold
danced around an Asherah pole
then begged for mercy for my soul,
the one my rationalizations couldn’t hold
after breaking the hypnotic mold
of having my humanity sold.

These rituals I’ve performed
have summoned a storm
and left me forlorn.
My harvest of corn
came in barren
so now I watch ****
or go to a harem.

I’m an immature insectoid in a *** void
a walking stick wandering annoyed
looking for a hole to burrow in
escaping the cold is a win.

I connected through love
we connected through ***
you connected your shoves
through physicality and texts.

I held your thorax
through all the attacks
through the dotted tracks
until the **** started to stack.

I thought you were Don Cheadle
but you’re just a dung beetle
preying on the dumb feeble
putting a ****** needle
on the stinger of Weedle.

Parasite envelopment
Isn’t good for development
so I decide to stay celibate
and not ***** for the hell of it.

Detaching my proboscis
makes me sad I’ve lost this
but the aroma made me noxious
and your insect bites are not missed.

Vestigial limbs of a memory forgotten
itch like bicycle shoestrings tapping every spoke.
One day my brother asked me to visit someone with him
he said the guy was my age and feeling down
because his cat ran away
I said sure, that sounds like a nice thing to do.
After 20 minutes I realized why the cat ran
I was planning my escape route as well
this guy was miserable
completely negative
—it was annoying
and then he said it:
"System of a Down sold out with Toxicity,
which was a garbage album."
the layers of stupidity sent me into a k-hole.
Millions of fans would **** Serj Tankien's ****
if only SOAD would make one more album
but yeah, their sellouts, and your cool.
Clearly, screaming, "banana, banana, terracotta pie" repeatedly
is just telling people what they want to hear.
I tried to change the subject to politics
but he made it clear he had absolutely no interest,
well no **** he doesn't understand SOAD, it's pretty political,
but because art is subjective he thinks his opinion has value
and it does—it lets me know to stay away from his negative idiocy.

Kind of like a car ride I shared
with an older right wing friend of my father.
He scanned the radio like a crackhead
searching for a song in the shallow pool he enjoyed
his lexicon limited, our selection scarce
like a lost cat trapped in a garage
unaware of what is and isn't food.
We came across I Got A Name by Jim Croce
and he said, "Nope. No Jim Croce in this car."
Really? ******* Jim Croce?
I guess I wouldn't like his music either if I voted for Leroy Brown.

It'd be naive of me to think these people
don't work for The New Yorker
calling Ford V Ferrari "empty and hollow".
**** dude, I hate to break it to you
but if you can't find emotion in that movie
that's a flaw in you
and the hordes of imbeciles
approaching art with a "this better ******* impress me" attitude
tearing apart any movie that aims for anything elevated
to be just generally miserable or to show how "smart" they are.
Meanwhile, sniping at an actually empty and hollow movie
is seen as punching down and a waste of time
so a subculture of cynics is developed
infecting others with toxicity
to see art as a challenge to one's intelligence
rather than honest emotional expression
then people miss out on the full capability of art
and consume it improperly
and regurgitate it in front of me like a feeble feral cat.

What is Free File?
Not someone sexually attracted to the inexpensive, that's a freephile.
Not the potions you start Diablo with, those are free vials.
Not a useful new shower pan, that's pre-tiled.
Free File is a deal between the government
and tax preparation companies like H&R Block
for the government to not create its own tax prep software
this software could be released for free
and the uniformity would benefit tax processing
but this would hurt—maybe destroy— the tax prepping industry.

The government capitulated... obviously.
The government asked for a concession from the tax preppers:
offer free tax prep to people in lower tax brackets
but clients are marks for siphoning
and the poor contain the largest pool of marks
so of course these financial advisors did everything they could
to hide financially beneficial information from their clients
of course Intuit just got in trouble for hiding TurboTax Free File
adding code to block it from Google and other search engines.

What is Free File?
A capitalist's answer to subverting capitalism
their product is antiquated
so they anchor down society
so it doesn't pass them by
multitudes of businessmen halt progress for selfish gain
automation frees us from soul-draining work we need to live
to pay bills to shysters who nickel and dime us.

In this age of hypercapitalism
where entire industries are built upon
lobbying the government to make progress illegal
the government's solution
is to ask these capitalists to sell their product for free.

The piano towers before me like a black monolith
its keys are the bones I'm learning to swing
teaching technology tediously
until I can explore space
between man and self.

I put myself in stasis
while I battle my machine.
The piano assumes autonomy over my command center
cutting off my air supply
until I'm completely disconnected
floating in space.

The piano requires my focus and dedication
so I go to boot camp
to pay my dues.
I see everyone marching in the same direction
I want to put soap in a sock
and make them stop.
But they willingly wash out one by one
the commitment too demanding
they **** themselves in the process
but I'm able to survive
because I view myself as a joker
allowing me to accept abuse.

Applying the skills we've learned
becomes war
everybody's trying to shoot me down
and firebomb me.
How am I supposed to compete
when they'll **** the audience's **** for five dollars
or snipe at me from inside their homes?
I'm safe behind the cover of my piano
but they've got me pinned down
and I can't move.

I need a nightingale to nuzzle up to my ear
and chirp the secret chord or lyric
that will allow me to enter the gates of Beverly Hills
with one simple word. Fidelio.

I want to be so successful
I'm able to get into Illuminati ******
and walk around looking like a witch doctor
saying, "Yo, they're really ******* on the coffee table, nice."
until I'm ordered to get back to playing piano
and start wondering
if at my highest aspirations
I'm just a rich man's *****.

Orion's Belt is all I need to find Orion
three stars show me where to go

Alnitak brings frankincense
Alnilam brings gold
Mintaka brings myrrh

their constellation brings consolation
they bring their gift to me
—an introduction to Betelgeuse
(who I'm told will explode someday).

Three stars connect the top to the bottom
a sparkling connection helping us
connect the dots in the roadmap of the sky
showing a grander perspective
from that of the Earth.

Some see Earth as a desolate mountain
ignoring the burning bushes
building barriers of banality
but those who look toward the sky
are guided by three kings
illustrating a bigger picture.

****** treadmill
run fast
life of dead will
can't last.

Druggie dreaming
money scheming
problems teeming like goblins screaming for honey feeding.

We play the Duke and Earl for employment
we're tarred and feathered for enjoyment
cracking our avatars of annoyance
we learn townspeople avoidance.

Drifting like a raft on a river
the Mississippi becomes the Ohio
a bridge extending from Kentucky
enters Cincinnati over dormant currents.

Addicts wander like an incomplete
translation of a foreign language
unable to understand their anguish
society deems them brainless vagrants.

A card to use
play dumb
light the fuse
draw gun.

Treadmill running
looking for something
hedonist hunting
life is about one thing.

I've been warned for the first time before
I'll be warned for the first time again
just trying to ignore what's in store
death is not a matter of if—but when.