Why do you invite me to destroy my shelf? the other
Was it jealousy of my lack of good sense? the self
Did my speeches ring false in your church bells? the group
Perhaps I had beauty in your eyes taken up by it ? the hungry
I proudly displayed by egotistical selflessness before you changed? the it
Old tricks on new friends ending friendships with absorbtion! no soul?
yes , a setup that was painted and written and signed in tears .  unslept?
recording  the sun and then recording the image on tv of its light.
repeatedly.

I want your off-tempo
scratched fluidity
the initial absorbtion
shock absorbtion
to immedietly dissinigrate

and I do not feel guilty
i feel normal
and no different
but rather
confused
and curious

i do not remember much of it
a triad of points
that grow
upward *****

Where were we when you quit the sound?
Caught in distance while you hung around
Encased inside of our own menial pursuit  
Flaunting desperation as a constant survival
As you battled death in your combat boots
There is no glory with fate as your rival

What were you seeing in your distorted mind?
As you ate your last words and ecstaticly dined
At the chemical festival of illusions' absorbtion
How far did your gaze stroll onto the other side?
did you meet with an end or the start of damnation?
In which lonely drawer do your dreams now reside?

Where have the remnants of life made their grave?
Are they in the lingering regret that you've paved?
Through each flash of your face and casket sight
The delusional rebirth of your presence revealing;
Fragments of ended realities giving spark to night
Burning sigils into visions of a broken feeling

Flame lit sketches etched across a charred eulogy
Only a name remains lying in the wake of a memory
Pieces scattered amongst an unfitting resting place
Conflicting beauties molding a divine contrast
A devil laid to rest in the midst of holy space
One shade of diversity on a bland earthly cast

Echoes of descension from this dimming black sky
Adorning each reflection with your hollow eyes
Complexions left searching for an answer to hold
As to how lifes' vigor can so swiftly fall to decay
And,The aging of dignity resembling every tale told
Seems to shine a reality check on this tragic play

A nulling backdrop for this cemetary playground
Where the kings and queens become tediously crowned
With a sickly ailment that reaks of dalipidation
The stench of the end atop an eternal retrospect
Glaring back with the most sincere of validations
That the fallen live on as our recollections resurect

I haven't yet realised the ease
With which the poet allows intimacies
To slip away into the welcoming
Embrace of the reader.

I am no wild Byron, sowing my seed
On all grounds, stony and fertile alike
(Though perhaps that is just as well
For posterity).

I have no cause, no plan, no scheme,
Nothing to fight for or even espouse:
A true postmodern product of a time
Lacking imagination.

A constant running commentary
On myself - a work which does the jobs
Of critics and academics alike -
They must surely be grateful.

So I sit and write myself a letter:
"Solipsism and self-absorbtion
Are a circular labyrinth
With no exit.

"Look outside.
- Sincerely, C. Treacy."

Vindictive viral inception,
Sneaking in my thoughts pretending
ta be the Ego inside o’ me
No!Free! Digo me,
Quickly

WHEN,WHERE,HOW, WHY? come the questions
“No answers” quoth the clouds as they transfigure by.

I am done defending why
I don’t think I need to take my slice of the pie.
Take a look; exclaim ow, oh my
I got a piece of SKELL truth in my eye

Sincerely instead of me, so trickster
this shadow amphetamine

But my light is gone
A denser Vibration I adorn

One of Absorbtion,
no reflection ever
since this inception

…of attachment
…of suffering
…of another love

So in love it tears me apart
So in love it wears my heart

so instead of being asleep
I’m desecrating thoughts, tainting delete.

Making others worry and weep
as I sweep my gaze

From external to internal
infernal extension

referral to station
impatient inflation
we stand together in the dirt o’ the nation

so in love I seem to flirt
So in love I always hurt

I read the text on the screen….and **** NO!
It can’t mean…eye look, I scream.

Shock sets in, while I’m translated in the hug of a friend.

We lock eyes and she knows why…
Darkness sets in and she helps me cry;

tears from near realized fears,
tears from the suffering

desire steers.

My boy is in trouble
I’m in a hurry and on the double
STAND BACK
PLEASE SLACK
this information noose is too tight to *******…and my throats so t.i.g.h.t I can’t taste the air. This isn’t fair! What a cruel affair to send me into such disrepair.

Mental suffering burns like a flame, so I use cigarette burns to tame
the Pain in my heart…………..fading away.
My body cools off and with a different pain I can face the day.

So often I pray for the day where my loved ones can stay in zion with me, oh wait hypocrisy risin inside o’ me
please state, the ideas deriving me, Caged in my psyche, found the lock, but lost the key.

gotta get outta my mind, gotta get outta my body
opaque and dense, and way late for defense
Wee wait in such suspense for LIFE to dispense, of us and our love.

WhyohWhydotheseideasresideinme, if i leave my body will i be free, they think you justgottado1morethingtosee.

I just hope to god they don't try again.  I just can't take that part of the plan....
Please live. and be glad for it.

self-reflection churns out an image of a clicking cicada of an aggressively ****** young girl, who due to the pressing weight of a blue silk chord around her throat possesses

a shiny dark, green exoskeleton (refracting light and resistant to moisture)
(SO ******* KAFKAESQUE) (!!!)

who sings as she rubs furry legs together and has decided to spill pain whenever possible onto screens and sheets, throwing up wherever she lands, without true cause in a careless disarray, breeding narcissism (let's throw a party)

biting into shattered satin, like a moth feeding off of human wetness and stains while punctuating words with mispronunciation and self-absorbtion
because she is deathly afraid of being boring and a daily routine, how predictable

(the crowd looks on miserably, fanning their faces with paper plates, sweating profusely)

this poem is predictable;
sorry.

I never have tried to **** myself, it would be silly to think that not killing yourself or killing yourself would have an actual influential impact on most of the world, except in rare cases.

Death is looming, I am grinning, I have not yet seen it so I guess I will live forever and subside off the hearts of men (no, not really, I'm kidding).

Why don't we pray
Until we're sick

Do we not love another
Until death

Why have I not sent a thought or found that which is bigger than me?

I smoke, cough, drink poison
I stay up all night
I bleed, I cry I love
Repeat
And still find it easy
To sleep

Why is it this amnesia?
Why am I fated to pretend?
Year after year
To find yourself alone, purpose unclear
Needs become beyond selfish
And wrecklessly bored
Without a healthy tinge of fear.

No son's head was clear
For Sunday mornings
We all found the time
When the towers fell

A new day comes, horizon clear
The poker master calls my hand
Another year, another wrinkle,
becoming wiser yet it feels like complacency

I guess I'm trying to say sorry
And thanks for the love I feel
And everything that I know is real

Nobody prays
Until self tragedy, all alone
Years of survival, carnal absorbtion
Will then just be like waking from a dream
And a voice unleashed cries " you left me"
"you forsake me to this suffering"
Or was it god, unfortunately?

So today I pray
God, universe?

Thankyou for giving me life, undeserving
Help me not hurt me

I'm tired of meeting god, unfortunately

I want your off-tempo
scratched fluidity
the initial absorbtion
   shock absorption
to immediately disintegrate

and I do not feel guilty
I feel normal
and no different
but rather
confused
and curious

I do not remember much of it
a triad of points
that grow
   upward
      *****

As a child I had come to the belief
That the color black
had no friends.  
Starring at my ceiling in the night,
I would fight,
trying to find the hues of blue, red and green.
Trying as if I were flying without wings  
And all I could think was black is mean.  
Other colors run away  
Because black has no day.
It is the unknown
the future
the past
It is the person that finishes last
-the supposed worst
It is the person that finishes first
-the one that can never quite quench their thirst
It is hatred.
It is love
It is difference
It is normalcy

Black is the friend you are always with.
The moth attracting a flame.  
Hiding from the rain because water washes things away
Our troubles
Fears
Joys  
and Bliss
Who would we be if it were not for everything?  

Black is the absorbtion of all colors  
Instead of being none
It is one

Black is everything I never could be
It hides the flaws I never wish to see.
Black is anything, but me.  

Black is the end of the spectrum we'll never know.
Black is the color with not much to show.

Take your own life
violently by the scruff,
and LIFT.
Once you have its undivided,
wholehearted attention,
stare it straight in the eyes,
and say 'Enough!'
'This is a self-interest intervention.
'Get over this,
shake yourself free
of this mid life need
for a preoccupation
by hostile thoughts
and self-absorbtion,
put to one side
self-indulgent fictions
and get real,
get serious
and get a life
that is true to the person
you now are.
And start by ending the comb-over.
It's a non-starter.'

~ Narelle Atkins' book Falling For the Farmer changed my outlook on farmers. I thought that they were all bloated, cow-****-stinking retardates married to toothless crones plagued with sub-clinical glandular abnormalities, syndromic mal-absorbtion complaints & chronic-fluid-retention problems. But, according to "Narelle," farmers can possess good qualities. Indeed, for any broad who'd choose to suffer with endometriosis forever rather than to roll in the hay with an analphabetic, sister-*******, tobacco-chawin' hayseed, this novel will plug (and clog) your barren ports tighter than a Cuban baseball. ¡Viva Fidel y su hermano Raúl más la revolución de Irán! Come on masons: Hurry up & bury Luciferian Billy F. Graham as I can't hold my bowels much longer! Hurry up & plant the self-professed-demon-possessed Robin F. Williams as I won't contain this bladder much longer! Demanding queers demand that the perfectly-normal commonweal of Wisconsin change its inoffensive name to *Wussconsin.

Being captivated by abundance of light sounds as if it would produce more light. Shadows pull both recipients down from The Whole and into the void. Placed with the intent of creating confusion buried in the subconscious. All memories wiped leaving a shell, will little memory of the fall aside from the strongest of emotions present; love followed by deceit, tailed by defiance. The destruction afterwards is the most captivating because of the need. Absorbtion of all in the path to fuel the fire of transmutation.

~ Narelle Atkins' book Falling For the Farmer changed my outlook on farmers. I thought that they were all bloated, cow-****-stinking retardates married to toothless crones plagued with sub-clinical glandular abnormalities, syndromic mal-absorbtion complaints & chronic-fluid-retention problems. But, according to "Narelle," farmers can possess good qualities. Indeed, for any broad who'd choose to suffer with endometriosis forever rather than to roll in the hay with an analphabetic, sister-*******, tobacco-chawin' hayseed, this novel will plug (and clog) your barren ports tighter than a Cuban baseball. ¡Viva Fidel y su hermano Raúl más la revolución de Irán! Come on masons: Hurry up & bury Luciferian Billy F. Graham as I can't hold my bowels much longer! Hurry up & plant the self-professed-demon-possessed Robin F. Williams as I won't contain this bladder much longer! Demanding queers demand that the perfectly-normal commonweal of Wisconsin change its inoffensive name to Wussconsin.