We are afraid of new information
for fear of what lies in the unknown
fundamentally
this is expressed through horror movies.
New information is a chance to scare the audience
utilization manifests in
turning on the headlights
(What is in front of us)
or closing the medicine cabinet
(What is behind us).
Some people tell themselves what they’re seeing isn’t real
others use comedy to cope
with the new information acquired
and the horrors that lie within it.

I feel depressed
I need to get out
but once I join the rest
my head’s filled with doubt.

I go to a party filled with fluff
and people worshipping stuff
is just going enough?
Or should I act like a ****
to get out of this rut?

I want to be me
but I want to be loved
how do I get free
from anxiety’s glove.

Should I be the crazy guy?
Or the wild card?
If I use charismatic lies
will they be charmed?
I look for ways to disarm
my anxious self harm.

I tell myself I’m trying
but in my mind I’m crying
laying on the ground writhing
wondering why I’m not finding
an interpersonal binding.

I start to wander
without a responder
I’m at the Battle of Gondor
and can’t find an orc
I see the flight of the condor
but I’m just a stork.

Do I need to stay?
Or should I lead the lame
and flee away?
I bleed out shame
at the speed of rain
when I see my game
bringing pain
to my strung out lane.

I tell myself I don’t fit in
so I grab the gin
to grasp a win
putting my paralysis
through dialysis
to try some bliss
yet something’s amiss
so I clench my fists
and start getting ******.

I say I’m above this
these people are loveless
I blame my brothers
and name them others
as shameless lovers.

I develop an air of superiority
as a defense mechanism
I feel them stare toward me
after I’ve made my decision
this is the attention that I crave
this is my version of being brave
no longer shall my presence be staved
and I’ll take this mentality to the grave.

This world is defiled quite
when the wildlife
try all night
to exile light.

A bunch of pompous pawprints
mark cacophonous coffins
where differing dolphins boxed in
fell to a bomb with topspin lobbed in.

The waxy ghosts
make flaxseed toast
while black sheep boast
that they’re lacking most.

The hyenas just laugh
at the beleaguered giraffe
sticking his neck in the path
of a snake oil salesman’s trap.

Now the derelict spiders
are perilous fighters
but carnivorous biters
lit them with lighters.

The alabaster wall
makes ever-after small
and lesser actors tall
through the collapse of all.

Now Cerberus
returns to us
as we burn to dust
for serpent trust.

So the deadened world is dismantled
like someone stepped on an ant hill
with a deafened anvil in a stampede standstill
because killing animals is the jaded man’s will.

I walk a delicate line
down a hallway through time
the facade bends along with my apprehensive movements
to reflect my subjective individuality
until the walls are penetrated by insane interlopers
—zillions of zombies of zero—
their hands reaching into my thin corridor
shattering the windows I use as mirrors
giving way to a banshee hurricane
intimidation disorientation
kissing the wailing wall
heavy seas pervade my proximity
barely breathing under a wave of seething
manipulation is found where I drown
channeled beneath a turmoil spill
that fossils fuel through hostile schools
of thought advancing their plot
flooding this face down floater
so they can send a conniving boater
to enter my hall and lean me on the wall
to turn me into a mindless voter.

They say it’s darkest before the dawn
failing to mention dawn only lasts a few moments
before light illuminates what we’ve become in the darkness—
dumb and heartless.

Dawn is used to clean oil off penguins
who are grateful to wash the muck away
they feel they are able to keep trying
only to end up feeding sea lions.

We used to fear a red dawn
which gave way to a red dawn
the sun goes down on my right
in America’s tumultuous twilight.

After the dawn of man
we waited for the dawn of reason
only to find the dawn at hand
marks the end of that season.

You asked me how I was doing
my answer was good enough
so you left well enough alone
until I didn’t feel enough home.

I post my death on the internet
and am told it’s good e-*****
but good enough ain’t good enough
so I’m not good enough.

How much is enough?
It’s never enough
my coward’s reach is too short
so good enough is my only export.

They called my bluff
of good enough
so I wear these cuffs
of good enough.

I’m writing a threnody for a friend of me
who became an enemy after his entropy entered me
transferring pain centering around chaotic energy
mentoring me developing this melody.

This ode is a code for the road
so I know where to go when I’m alone
to avoid foes in your afterlife glow,
they’ll just slow the big show.

This lament will be a vent
for all the dents in my tent
you lent wherever I went
until I bent into descent.

I draw my rhythm from our schisms of derision;
constant decisions to steal my vision
put me in prison until an incision of division
helped me listen to what glistens.

I write a sad song
for a bad dog
who stabbed God
once I grabbed on.

The record starts to spin
once I inherit sin
humming hypocritical hymns
so long as I win.

The CD stops
once the heartbeat drops
like the fish when they flop
dancing until they finally stop.