We sat in the back of science class
bored out of our minds; we'd hit each
other with pencils across our forearms
until we were striped red and white and

we looked like dancing shrimps. We found
comedy in hurting each other, playing
both sadist and *******, feeling
the power of inflicting damage
and the humility of pain.

Years later not much had changed—
the pencils now needles, blood striped our arms.
The classroom, like my home—now a car, we joked
about burning a library in Alexandria. The humor remained

but it had changed; no longer about what lied ahead
we joked about what was;
architects of a fallen temple
that never stood yet continued to be raided.

Once the jokes became stale
I couldn't swallow them anymore
spitting out a poppyseed after
receiving the Heimlich maneuver

yet others choke their whole life
on a hollow humor tumor
benign until malignant
the ruins of their adytum
cover the hill to die on.

People keep killing one another over religion
So we analyze the apocryphal texts
For differences that could explain the turmoil
And **** one another over the answers we find

One strike from the air should be considered one airstrike
yet here in America we conflate air raids with airstrikes.

We say one plane dropping one bomb is an airstrike
but five planes dropping twenty bombs is also an airstrike
obfuscating the definition of the term
to lessen its rhetorical effect
and the statistics of our shady war efforts.

In terms of airstrikes we should count every explosive munition
because on the ground people are dealing with individual impacts
but our imperial aerial view makes it look like just one big explosion.

If we could observe no other organisms with wings
how much longer would it have taken us to achieve flight?

Distant coddled
alabaster runs wild
savoring the vortex of a
muscle mired maelstrom
Caligula's throne sits in the eye of the hurricane
we write letters to ourselves—self absolving sin
rhetorical ramparts squelch responsibility
free wind tickles the tips of branches, the trees stay still.

Broken bastion bereaved
bunkers are built for sandstorms
whether we weather the weather
or fall victim to the tsunami
there's a climate change in our self addressed letters—
they become less about love, more about death
after we see the treasure chest in the executioner's cache.

Devastation hollows the oppressed
a free agent becomes a Super Bowl champ
by defeating those who traded him
a letter sent home reads—I joined the winning team,
equality is inferior to superiority
those in glass houses throw stones
once they're invading stone houses.

Race to the top                sink to the bottom
of a valley where black sheep roam and scapegoats graze
waiting to become predatory lions
gnawing on the structured bones of lost wildebeests.
Wild animals don't write themselves letters
their only signature is their presence
an aura of selfish instinct.

I'm loaded into the yellow tank
alien abduction
concrete mothership.
Matchsticks
floating near the bottom of a puddle
awaiting transportation through their designated tributaries
they want to be burned out
yet they float damp and unused.

Find a foxhole
head down dig in
no fortified bunker
crosshair jersey.
Snakes slither in the breezeway
sinister squirming tendrils
pervade ventilation shafts.

Pathological spores infect the air
pheromones drive creatures crazy
after the zookeeper injected rabies
cages banging at all hours
never loosen.
Hiding from a buzzsaw
every edge its own blade
all cutting in different ways
through hardened skin and molding clay.

Crouching in a crevasse
as a stampede tramples through
dirt is kicked in my face
but a lion's teeth cannot reach.
The herd keeps moving
but comfort isn't found in the current
raccoons and skunks wander bat caves
after mastering the scent of ammonia.

Hong Kong protesters out in the streets
It's there they clash with police
Fighting to avoid legislative defeat
That would put them in the reach
Of the government's gripping grief

Hong Kong was a place to hide from fascism
But became a mad schism
Driven by hedonism
Justifying a decision
For China to make an incision

Meanwhile in Mexico
They're telling the rest to go
Back to their own country
Because a fascist is hunting
Using social issues for stunting
To distract from economic punting

Mexico was a tolerant purgatory
For those avoiding a death so gory
That nobody would know their story
As the drug cartels take all the glory
With the police and politicians they're affording
Using all the drugs they're exporting

These places used to be safe havens
From corruption laden
Militant ravens
Who are actually craven
Hiding behind guns and the arraignment
Of any other tribe walking their pavement

Now there's nowhere to escape
From the horrible hate
In this globalist state
So the noblest slate
Is to no longer wait
And set things straight

Life is full of wonder and curiosity as a small child. My eyes see. My tongue tastes. My fingers feel. My fingers feel as much as they can hold. One day my fingers feel a pepper. I'm fascinated by its texture. I roll it around in my hand to try to understand this wondrous world and its glorious gifts.

The pepper's provided productive perplexing pondering but I'm done with it now. Once set down I feel a twitch from an itch in my eyes that see. Eyes don't see my fingers as spicy. Fingers don't feel the pain that resides within them. Ears don't hear the silent marauders invading the grooves of my fingerprints. Satisfying my itch is my instinctive reaction. I'm in for a painful surprise once fingers meet eyes.

All I see is pain. All I feel is pain.
Disorienting pain that makes me sink to the floor. The cold linoleum offers no solace for the hellfire in my eyes. Blind and lost, wandering through agony, father picks me up. I can sense the hands that crafted and nurtured me. He is the solver and thus, will solve my pain. The jubilation of rescue is washed away as he shoves me under a running faucet. Surely, he has betrayed me. Surely, he is trying to ****** me. He throws me into a waterfall and asks me to swim up it.  Between sputtering out water and trying to turn away I feel panicked anger. He created me yet he gives me pain and death? I curse him in my wrath. After hope has been lost the warmth of healing comforts my eyes. The turbulent waves I thought I was drowning in were actually washing the brimstone from my eyes. Father forgives my curses as he forgives all things. Yet, I feel guilt for my lack of loyalty. If I cursed him while he actively rescued me, what will I do when the time comes to fight for him?

I know Christians and sinners
misfits and winners
sprites and spinners who fed me my dinner
while we weathered the blizzard
of the grand wizard’s
****** trigger.

We watched in dismay
as Satan decided to stay
to beat the enslaved
and show them their grave.

Their white hoods brought fear
because they killed the queers
and those who chuck spears
we saw the Bible smeared
yet steered clear
because a black man’s teammate
was just as good to cremate
so we figured we’d leave fate
to those who only see hate.

Not our problem
was our solution
we let bigots call them
this world’s pollution
while we built an illusion
of a country of inclusion
yet punished any intrusion.

I saw
and didn’t help
just prayed to God
to avoid those welts
worrying about myself
the Bible went on the shelf.

I saw my brother murdered
yet stood still as a girder
knowing if I went any further
I’d feel the end of their burner.

I wanted to speak out
but there was nowhere to reach out
in America’s deep south
so we put up signs saying KEEP OUT.

The job is wrangling
a constant cascade of containers
filled with everything I can imagine
some totes more full than others
on a never ending conveyor belt
all must go to their appropriate cart
softer objects like clothing go on top
while the hardline items go to the bottom.

Unloading these bundles
becomes a tedious tennis match
where the score remains the same
stuck playing a familiar game
every tote must be dealt with
before they start piling up
and lights start shining
as everything shuts down.
I scan the baskets; I scan the carts
never letting items drift apart
crossguard meshing prevents spillage
the contents pressure the straps
I'm always expecting a collapse.

Once a particular cart has been filled
I push it away and carry back a new cart
to be filled with new items of the same nature
I hope people get the things they need
but every day something else breaks
every day something goes missing
those customers will have to wait
on me to do better next time
I hope I can too
I don't want to be taking
the same orders for
the rest of my life.

Late night chore
****** score
can of sardines Toyota Camry
cigarettes are thrown out the window
after they’ve burned to ash.

Life is grueling
money pulling
social circles are salesman circuits
items in stores can be sold by anyone
money belongs to whoever is holding it
the rabbit outruns the fox
because the fox is running for its dinner
and the rabbit is running for its life.

Wheels are spinning
not winning
up and down Hopple Street
cash clutched in clenched clinging fingers
swivel squirrel seekers scan the street for swine
snakes slithering to ****** sparrows with clipped wings
flashing lights bring fame and shame.

Lifetime of disappointment
hedonistic enjoyment
outstretched arms receive god
precarious stones in the water mark the path
murky liquid lies beneath       lies within
murky thoughts from beneath lie within
murky dreams from within    lie beneath.

Cycle of looting
then shooting
concession consolation
paranoia prerequisite
thievery theology
potholes collect in the freeway
vehicles begin to fall apart.

The dead go to another planet
one inside of ours
The dead go to another planet
outside our fleshy bars
The dead go to another planet
floating around the stars.

The dead go to another planet
a place they can call home
The dead go to another planet
one of earth and bone
The dead go to another planet
one we're never shown.

The dead go to another planet
and I can't stand it
how the information demanded
is never implanted
as lives are disbanded
with tickets we're handed
leading us to another planet.

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.

Drifting forward hard
drifting toward car
lifting off the tar
near a shifty corner bar.

The engine sputters
the radio stutters
between my mutters
cursing others.

Headlights flow like a waterfall
down this upward incline
without vision I start to stall
unable to read the signs.

Control and vision are lost
like traction to the frost
contraction’s chaotic cost
I keep drifting until I’m tossed.

Your algorhythm cracks the code to my cacophony
like a benevolent newspaper journalist columning
the dismantling of an atomic bomb solemnly
with letters and integers seemingly randomly combined
until I learn the language of your musical mind
performing tasks and functions digitally designed
to use a soft science to become a deity divine
savior of a pixel in a programming line.

Amongst a hedgerow a vulpine den
lies parallel to the road and ranches
in a burrow where the residents lay
between man's best friend and vermin.

Imperial hunters track serpentine paw prints
that lead underground; a temporary home.
A permanent grave; a house for humans
must be built here, even if it means

eviction by execution
foreclosure by fire.

Smoke billows before American Foxhounds
drool dripping from canines; saliva trails lead
to their master's boots; the tactical militant kind.

A hollow existence is paved over
cementing a subterranean legacy.
Now the smoke billowing before the foxhounds
exits through the fireplace rising from the grave.

Last night I slipped into a nightmare
you and I were deep into a game of Madden
when my player fumbled the ball
and my emotions overtook me
as the controller flew from my hands
breaking on the unforgiving tiles.

You looked at me incredulously
your disappointment apparent
I fumbled for the words to call a timeout
as I could feel control over my image loosening
and falling with your respect onto the turf
where everyone feels free to pile on.

Unwilling to fumble any more moments
I texted you when I woke up
fumbling for the right words
to tell you I love you
and you called me a ******
as the phone fumbled from my hands.

What's up?
Not much
what about you?
Not much too
I have bad luck
and work *****
my life is stuck
and I'm out of bucks.
I know right?
Good night.
Maybe we can talk tomorrow
filled with guilt and sorrow
our connection is this hollow
I wonder why you even follow
I don't want you to stall though
because I'm there as far as the wall goes
but you got me singing alto.

I just want to know how you're doing
and be a part of your beautiful life
but to frivolous things I'm gluing
when I only hear about your night
because the things out of sight
are our real plights
tightly sealed fights
with shame and spite
this game gets light
with someone else carrying the weight
not of what celebrity I hate
but my mental state
and fears of fate
let me hear you say
you know a better way.

Let's relate through culture
to avoid the vicious vultures
that make our souls hurt
and focus on what bolsters
our growth and development
for love and the hell of it
to observe your mellow wit
between kissing your fellow lips.

We have personalities
we're allowed to see
crying and howling
to be accepted proudly
instead of constant doubting
after a not much text
a rock rough hex
leaves me vexed
not thinking or learning
I'm sinking while burning
for my secret yearning
of a way more journey.

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.

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.

Tripping on acid
I feel a strong urge to talk to my father
My authority figure
Out of the chaos
I depended on him to create order

How do we fix this? What can we do?
The answer stands impatiently in front of humanity
echoing how each person must always become better
but then the question becomes
what is better?
Something learned along the way.

White *****, red spikes,
flight stalled, death blight,
tight walls, bed bites,
night falls, headlights
burn in my brain
I learn from the pain
and my burdensome shame
that this quarantine game
feels horribly same
to life in my lane.

Everyone wears masks
everything is sanitized
I have one simple task
and it’s my ****** demise
while the planet cries
I stand aside
infantilized.

I hide in my holler
counting my dollars
counting on scholars
to make me taller
but for each one that builds me up
there are three to cut me down
so I’ll drink from their cup
and hand them their crown.

If I go outside I’m browbeaten
but I feel boxed in
from the callous crowds’ treatment
pulling my **** skin
promising it’s not spin
until their battlebot wins
then their cattle **** grin
spreads like coronavirus kin.

So I sit here homicidal
inside my domicile
thinking God is vile
for this awful trial
that some call a pandemic
but it seems like my existence
where I look for a grand medic
but only find social distance.

Heavy rain falls in torrents
Flooding my gate
With weather abhorrent
In a vulnerable state
My mind is absorbent
So my defenses are down
On the muddy ground
In this ****** town
Unfortified
Dead inside
I’d like to hide
From the rain I cry

I like it
I love it
I lyk it
I let you show it
if you don't loll me to sleep
by only responding with lol
from inside a black out crowd
you back it down to a bracket brown
then wait to text "guess who's back in town?"
to try to catch-up without ****
so I can see your vacant eyes and barren scoff
when you tell me lies to tell me off
you think you're sly but you're just a cop
abusing power until I pop
you build a tower to watch me drop
while I'm falling you ask wya, eta, etc.
while I'm just terrified of breaking my femora
talking on Snapchat with a broken camera
after you ask me to send nudes
like that's all that men do
so I bid you adieu to get rid of the rude
member of the brood to which Cronnenberg alludes
you respond with kthxbai
I wonder why I even try.

Imagine there is a room
That holds extremely controversial information
But the nature of this information is so intense
Everyone who goes inside the room to learn
Immediately commits suicide after coming back out
Would you go in?

Some people would have no problem
Avoiding something like that
But some of us just need to know
Making the same mistakes others have made before us
We think our uniqueness will protect us
Minimizing risks to us relative to those before

Interest resides in the back of my mind
Maybe the people who commit suicide
Know something I don’t
But if that were the case
What knowledge could they hold
To make suicide worth it?

At what point does caution end
And curiosity take over?
Perhaps the answer lies in that room I wonder if I’d go in
I imagine I probably would
Because what I know is already hurting me
And what I don’t know is what kills me

You didn’t sway their heart
you didn’t change their ideology
you got them to agree with a statement
that the two of you interpret quite differently.

I think you’re neat
So we meet in heat
Between the sheets
But after the feat
We begin to speak
And smell what reeks

I don’t want to lose a catch
Because our views don’t match
So I become too attached
To the ruined batch
Of fumes I hatched

We try to force a square peg into a round hole
Until we’re a pair of legs on the ground cold
Trying to sound bold
Like we’ve found gold
While we’re down low
Where we drown slow
With a brown nose

You force the issue
So I dismiss you
Making a lit fuse
Out of my bliss muse
That I misused

I force your hand
So you take a stand
And follow your plan
Brandishing a brand
That’ll make me grand
If I live off your land

I want to run free with the horses
Away from the illuminating torches
Of your controlling forces
Acting like college courses
That don’t require sources

We’ve explored this door
To its core
Let’s say no more
While we’re on the shore
Instead of hitting the floor
Of what’s in store

We simply weren’t compatible people
So let’s move on to our sequels
While seeing each other as equals
That weren’t forced into a deep hole
Of the other’s blind forceful evil

My employer is leeching all it can from me
and I’m leeching all I can from it

it’s a competition
a gentleman’s game

where the stake for me is my life
and the stake for it is like 37 dollars.

The sun saturates—maturates my family's backyard
like clomiphene for chlorophyll.
Swords emerge from my sward, harboring mosquitoes,
the edges need to be filed down.
Father would edge the lawn, trimming its sides
to make a perfect geometric shape.
The wind would push the grass down,
like God patting the top of the field's head.
I would cut that grass—each blade sent through my blades
dispersing into a green mist.
Clippings are thrown into bat cave black garbage bags
tied tight to avoid leakage.
But when I go inside, I notice that green powder
has collected on my shoes.

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.

I am haunted in my sleep
By a series of surreal scenarios
I have a nightmare problem
A mare is a malicious goblin
And the night is when he visits me
He straddles my chest
Until my brain divests
All my hopes and comforts
Replacing them with fear
My body he magically steers
With his mystic voodoo potions
Through the mountains and oceans
So I wake up cold and wet
And a negative mood is set
For all day I constantly fret
Worried of the goblin I’ve met

My tormentor rides a steed
Through the field of dreams
Of my unconscious stream
Showing me sights I’ve seen
And that my plight’s unclean
By displaying giant girders
Keeping me trapped with murderers
And people I love
Giving me shoves
My dreams compare pain
To dying in an airplane
How many miles will it travel
Until my brain finally unravels?

I live in a flurry
Of a world of worries
Where I must always scurry
So when I sleep
I need to escape
But the goblin creeps
In my meek state
It causes deep hate
The inability to relate
And a singular choice to deflate

Negativity has me bested
When I’m not well rested
From my mind infested
After the demon tested
The bed that I’ve nested

The nightmares I’m catching
Seem to get quicker
The pain that they’re hatching
Makes my light flicker
While I hear trolls snicker
As the time on my ticker
Keeps counting down
No matter how much I bicker
I still hear their sounds

The demon imp
Gave me a limp
To make me a wimp
Cowering from the flak shroud
That is my black cloud
The goblin slapped down
I want to back down
But there’s no back now
Once my mind’s a packed town
From all the goblins I’ve found

Jesus didn't say the meek would conquer the Earth
Nor did he say they'd taunt for self worth
He didn't say blessed are the conquerors
Nor did he ask I trade my bomb for yours
Whatever he did say
We didn't listen
This death machine stays
And we are its pistons

You’re a heavy hitter
and I’m just a runner
afraid of getting tagged out
so I avoid the other players
and their neutralizing touch.
I don’t have a proper stance
hands drowning in my pockets
to avoid a strike zone
shoulders wide.

The force
field of romance
rebukes all contact
causing loneliness
limited to lying
low in the dirt
dour and hurt.

So I avoid your touch
to avoid your warmth
to avoid your essence
because I’ve learned enough lessons
to know on the other side of your silk skin
lies my skeleton.

My fingers will form barbs
that will cling to your hand
and sink into your skin
until you see my sin
is in holding on
and your presence is my prison
I’d commit crimes to remain in.

Your face is the Behemoth
that roams my mind.
Your words are the Leviathan
that swims through my blood.
God loves both of these creatures
despite their destructive force
He transposes that love into me
yet when I approach them
I am gnashed in the teeth
of a gargantuan beast.

It's time I sail away
You've given me validation
But I must tide the wave
Of my salivation
With separation
So I pull the anchor
To embark on my journey
On an oil tanker
That'll likely start burning
Around the corner I'm turning
Trying to get off your gurney

I see serenity
Ahead of me
Beckoning
And lessening
Your deafening
Reckoning
Nagging incessantly
Like a referee
After ******* me
Recklessly
You wouldn't set me free
And got the best of me
But that let me see
I could barely breathe
Under your tree
So the way to be
Is separately

Your chaos blocks me from peace
I'm falling out of Heaven's reach
Marooned on your beach
Where you continually teach
Me to practice what you preach

I'm trapped in Dunkirk
With my stunned hurt
From your gun spurts
That would come first
Before quenching one's thirst
So you always won worst

I'll burn with rage
Until I turn the page
From this infernal mage
And his hurtful cage

I need to find a boat
To cross this moat
Without getting soaked
By your quotes
And your jokes
Making me want to come back
That'll just be another attack

I’m glad people make art for people like me
who have a bramble thicket in their garden
that constantly becomes tangled
and must constantly be untangled.

I’m glad people make art for people like me
who’ve learned to appreciate
the beauty of their knots
and the satisfaction of becoming untied.

I’m glad people make art for people like me
spinning a crystalline web of entanglements
knitting through a network of knots
clearing the cobwebs from my garden.

I’m glad people make art for people like me
trapping me in their wondrous web
facilitating my becoming
the kind of person who makes art for people like me.

Our world passes another at close range
we can see the inhabitants of the other world
waving to us—planning on passing through
but our gravitational fields switch
and we fall into each other's worlds
seeing the beauty of what the other has experienced
before we hit the ground.

We used to watch our lives together
then you got tired of the show
yet you wanted to keep up with the story
so you downloaded my life on audiobook
narrated by my friends and family
cropping out sections to protect themselves
skipping chapters to give you the plot points
you get the fan edit of my life
and critique a children’s book.

There are cracks in the pavement
messages the grave sent
the dead are beyond containment
escaping earthly enslavement.

Their absence in the adytum
brought by the *******'s gun
leaves a black star sun
burning the master's son.

He's burning alive
he's burning to die
he's burning so I
burn one and sigh.

The burnt coal
on my burnt soul
burnt whole
until cold.

On one side of me lies one
on the other side of me lies the other.

The one is the one
the other is the other.

The one separates me from one another
the other turns the one into just another one.

There is no other one
so all the others are ones.

Stay with the one
or be the other.

One or the other
pick one.

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.

I don’t ever want to sleep
Consciousness I must keep
So I may reward reap
The alarm clock beep
Marks another defeat
Because time has leaped

I’m so wired
Ignoring I’m tired
Because I’m inspired
By the idea I’ll expire
And fall asleep under a funeral pyre

I’m drowning many leagues
Under the sea
Because of fatigue
Plundering me
Sundering me
Into a million pieces
Connected to my leashes
Made by the mental breaches
That society teaches

I fall asleep
I fall behind
I fall in deep
I fall in line
I keep falling
From purpose calling
While my search is stalling
And I’m perched in tall weeds

I can’t count the number
Of all my slumbers
Hiding from sun burns
Hearing the fun birds
Outside my window
Where the wind blows
And the grass grows
Through the sun’s glow
I avoid at home
In my sleepy tomb

Competition is ingrained in us
from the very beginning
in its simplest terms
I live / they die = I win.

Enveloped by evolution
everything progresses
competition no exception
pervading the minds of the sentient species.

Humans understand there are shades of grey
and know that you can live more than someone else
they see the difference between kings and serfs
and how this dichotomy shapes our self worth.

There are metrics for everything we do
measuring our productivity, our efficiency, our importance
which affects our self esteem
which effects our productivity, our efficiency, our importance.

You can run faster than me, so I say at least I’m smarter
or have more money, or friends
if I have to face the fact that you’re better off than I am
I’ll rationalize my life is harder—so I win.

When you know something I don’t
I feel inferior—this epiphany stings
enough for me to run away in my mind
and believe my wrong ideas are right.

If you choose someone over me
then you’re a fool
I could love you better
as long as we perceive better the same way.

There’s a self-replenishing buffet
but I eat off their plate
ensuring I eat more than them
and when that’s not enough, I eat them.

Anthrax says who cares wins
while internet trolls say who isn’t mad wins
but I’m too mad to care
stuck in a last man standing mentality.

We’ll see who’s winning when I’m ******* on your grave
in this world where crossing the finish line amounts to a loss
there’s no use in crying over spilt milk while I’m milking the clock
waiting to be victorious.

The world is a waiting room
where we wait for the end
there is no ending to all the endings
the reception desk is located near the exit
in case of a fire
while the doctors sit in the back
arched over their notepads.

The waiting room is getting crowded
as the mosh pit inside
infects one another
jockeying for position
like horses racing to their stall.

The waiting room is getting hotter
from clients with essential oils
and patients with black lung
the air conditioning works overtime
eventually breaking
leaving us overheating—suffocating.

Sitting, staring into space
waiting in the flatline
watching decay repay
our waiting room ways
the building starts crumbling like a glacier
while we wait for its weight to fall upon us.

Two lanes
two lines
two trains
two times
two blunts
too much
to lunch
too rough.

Two taxis
two cabs
two backseats
to dad
to dinner
two grinners
too inner.

Two hours
too long
to cower
to home
to something
too nothing.

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 want you to course through my veins
but you shoot into my muscles
bringing subcutaneous agony
not getting me high the way you should
a dagger twists inside
missing the mark—maiming me
leaving a hole in my arms
I must live with the inflammation
but life without you makes me sick
so I find a new guy
who has his own needles.

“Hey, I heard about your accident. I’m here for you if you need to talk.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll keep that in mind. By the way I heard about your breakup and I’m here to talk if you need to as well.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

...

...

...

Bitten by rejection, I became a wereman
I'm a dog by day, beaten if I don't fetch
but at night I become a man, and enter the world of men
I become a human, or at least a humanoid
I'm likened to a lycan, yet I stand on my own two paws
searching for a fairy's tail to hammer in my coffin's nails
the sphincter of the sphinx is the ***** of my cat
my clothes tear off as my body starts changing
howling at the moon as my elongated limbs bloom
salivating over the feast of flesh, hackles raised
shackled slave of the bite, I tried to stave off the night
with a witch's brew but my twitches grew
at the sight of a full moon reflecting off the eyes of a lamb
reminding me I'm a man who needs to eat
or maybe I'm just a dog in heat.

I want to be part of society
I want to have proper propriety
but I feel woeful worry inside of me
in the form of anxiety.

What will they think?
What will they say?
Would they even blink
if I told them I’m gay?
Or would peace be betrayed
by the revelation I made?

My thoughts are hurried
because I’m too worried
they come in a flurry
vision obscuring.

It’s a slow grind
in this snowblind
I don’t know why
I can’t grow wise
so my nose finds
blow lines
until I glow like
a strobe light
turning on and off
like Jared Goff
because apparent cops
who share my slop
scare to stop
my stairs to the top
so I get impaired and flop.

The only person not allowing me
to share my personality
is myself acting cowardly
fearing they’ll respond sourly
I want someone to empower me
so I can conquer this task towering.