Sleep with a few of them,
then ignore the rest.
Send late night text messages that read:
"I like hanging out with you the best."
When in their company, speak in your own language.
Get drunk and lament how no one understands you.
Cry often.
Cry all the time.
When they offer you a shoulder,
act as if it's a crime.
Push them away.
Tell them you just want to be left alone.
Don't reply to their invites.
Don't answer your phone.
Unless you're in a crowd,
then stay glued to that thing.
If they play your favorite song,
do not sing.
If they buy you a drink,
don't buy them one back.
If they give you advice,
then go on the attack.
It's easy to lose all of your friends
once you've become a sociopath.

In long lasting fortitude is the fight of the astute.
A lot of effort is made towards the war of the moral.
And a race towards life is the route.
Preparing the endless fit of strength of all.
There is he who is choosing his fate.
Working hard despite all opposers’ bait.
There is he who is choosing life.
Working hard despite all opposers’ strife.
Lost in the dirt, seeking out of the ruse.
Forced towards the light, brighter and rife.
No letting up despite the refuse.

Clean is the proud, and happy, the player of the flute.
A rite of passage for all is the praise of the immortal.
War is the only dispute
Death is not fatal.
The renegade does not enter the gate.
He is stuck outside the city, and left without state.
The renegade does not know his wife.
He is stuck at heart and can’t even play a fife.
In the dirt he is and is with a lot of abuse.
He cannot escape the knife.
Cut, cutting up despite the accuse.

Reality is but the face of cute.
Subjected to falsified doctrine and the immoral.
It is callous and as rotten fruit.
Moxie exists with everyone no matter how small.
Can the one who is happy learn to hate?
Only he or she can solve this debate.
Finally the long absent sky above the Alewife.
Can’t say that I have seen such teeming wildlife...
Swimming in a sea of its Muse.
The lowly continue their sighs
But I do proudly diffuse.


.This plight of mine is hard to toot.
Exemplified by my emphasis on the astral.
With which I dress in an armoured suit.
So my enemies do not mute my oral.
and the skies do tell in high rate,
How esteemed they are on time and ne’er late.
But giving ever virtuous despite
All those dead or dying, without prospect of afterlife.
It is their way to choose:
The dark abyss of guise,
(or) The gentle river of blue

For now I do keep silent, But still I commute,
With those of higher propositions and goal,
So I do instill thyself a deeper root.
In the waterbed truly formal.
Those who truth ‘I do navigate’
and those of lies ‘I do alienate’
At a loss O’ man or mesmerize,
Work harder on thoughts than just plagiarize.
The foes of old are still and sleuth
I show them love and they in lies are baptized
Tradition is there with purpose, don’t misuse.

I see to it the wise stay wise,
For better they will strategize.
And the unwise, wisdom they will pursue.
Giving them their much needed paradise.
And the lost I will use.

True Stories #1

This is the first of what will be a series of little vignettes.


When I was fourteen,
I was the alienate hipster rebel
In a private school hellhole.

Hair long, tie knot never pushed up,
Unbuttoned button-down shirts,
Camus lover,
Siddhartha disciple,
Small acts of disdain,
Expressions of teenage hell-pain.

One day, the principal
Threw me out to get a haircut.
Went to the nearby barbershop,
Which was in the underground,
Subway stop.

Returned to school where It was
Pronounced unacceptable.
Twice more this charade-escapade,
Went on, till the barber cried and would not
Charge me anymore.

Shorn like a lamb,
My mother roared like a lion.

The next day, the man in charge,
Who would marry my second son,
Three decades later,
Called me in and sort-of-apologized.

From that day, I never respected authority,
Only learned to fear tyranny.

See photo of my latest protest!

Are we listening,
     Or are we judging what we hear?

never in my life,
Or in the span of the last few weeks

have I ever,
and yes I could go even further

felt so starved,
really I mean starved, vexed hunger

for some sort of notion,
reminder of a working heart and lungs

a feeling of substance,
something I search for fruitlessly

in a world that works,
in its subtle enigmatic ways

to alienate,
or provide an artificial basis for it

but that is so very beautiful,
and I think I really mean that

I want it and I want it now
I want the world at my throat
I want women and all
Other embodiments
Of all things beautiful
at either side of me

Adoring eyes, widened and excited
scanning in disbelief
waiting for the dream to end
because a dream so pure and good
will never last
and it doesn't and it won't
because it doesn't exist
to begin with

but a thought so pretty
forever forcing itself into existence

I want my dream to begin

I want these things to be my end

We can often alienate ourselves from each other
Its very easy to close ourselves off
To shield ourselves from each other
To shield us from ourselves
We carry these shields around our hearts
That keep us safe
Keep us separated from each other
That keeps us from connecting with ourselves
Sometimes we have to be willing to remove our shields
To let people in
To let yourself in sometimes
So that you can really get to the hurt
That you have been shielding people from all along
Until you can get to the point in yourself
Where you can heal yourself
To know and love yourself enough
To be able to be open with others
To share your heart freely without fear
To be able to interact with kindness
Trying to offer yourself wherever you can
It's also good
To be able to make yourself strong
So that way you can deal with the rolls and the punches
That inevitably come with living
But if you shield yourself too much
You can cut yourself off from yourself
But most of all from other people
Becoming distant from people
Not being able to trust anyone
Or even trust yourself

Acquiring the libel of critics
Internally at times I bleat
And snarl, brow furrowed
Like an actress when filming a major motion *****
“Originality bid us farewell” screams my advanced intellect
Nothing more than a social outcast who lacks a catalyst
(though thankfully the universe is an object of open ended philosophy)
The voices of such a generation fail to carry notes
Beyond the octave range
Only Canis lupus familiaris feces, in its rejuvenated appearance,
Delivers abstract imagery
What was once honorable has dissolved into media sewage
Virginal darlings now dissolved into marionettes
Shall my poems alienate the public
They shall at least demonstrate bravery

Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate!
Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind!
Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate
Masonic!Prolific piece of mind!

Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate!
Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind!
Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry!
Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind!

Derange, insane, crazy and mental!
Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind!
Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal!
Parasitic!Infected infested mind!

Thou shall not plagiarize other people's work
The first commandment for a poet
It's a shame that some people do it
While others simply don't know it

A poem doesn't always have to rhyme
The second commandment we must obey
But some people choose not to listen
Regardless of what others might say

A poem can be about anything you want
The third commandment sends some people reeling
They think it can't be a poem at all
Unless it's something to do with our feelings

Thou shall not criticize others unjustly
The fourth commandment we must adhere
They don't need their creation destroyed
It's constructive critisim they want to here

A poem can be any length you choose
The fifth commandment we all must follow
For if they were all made the same
It would surely be hollow

The vocabulary is strictly up to the poet
The sixth commandment is the poet's choice
He alone can decide the words to use
That will best give him his voice

Inspiration can come from anywhere we like
The seventh commandment we all hold true
Everyone has their writer's block moments
So whatever helps us get through

The poet can write any form they want
The eighth commandment is a must
The poet knows the style they like best
And their choices we're obliged to trust

Poetry is all a matter of taste
The ninth commandment is just like the rest
The reader must choose what's dear to his heart
And the poems that he likes the best

Never alienate your readers
The tenth commandment speaks for itself
Cause if you act like you're better than them
Your books will stay on the shelf

Addiction to alcohol,
took its ugly toll.
Everything was
grey and black,
while sipping
pint after pint
dead of night,                                  
nothing would go right.

Waking up to morning migraines,
bruises on my swollen legs,  
pains in my chest;
shaky hands and sweats,
with no money left
except for a few penny's
memories of the night before a knew the score! some were good...some were very bad... but usually not that many I can remember.

Being the servent to devil's brew,
can lead to the darkest of avenues,
when you can no longer pay,
for the lifestyle,
you drink in the street,
sell yourself cheap,  
relationships are abusive,
opportunities are missed.  
You argue and alienate yourself
with the ones you love,
being the loner;
you feel no one cares
no one listens to you
no one is home.



My personal hygiene was the first to thing go,
my hair was greasy.  
over weight
I was constantly sweating  
got tooth decay                                 
ashamed to bare a grin
in case people mocked
and laugh at me.   

And mentally I felt drained;
nothing was ever worth the fight,
I felt nothing inside
wanted to go bed and hide.
Unable to turn off the mental abuse,
I couldn't write or think logic
threats, voices and paranoia  
consumed my head,
jump to conclusions
before anything was said.

To conquer a dangerous cycle of
emotional toxic drinking
is to start thinking smart,
To forgive not forget, 
Bare no grudges,                                                  
self awareness
meditation,                                        
write your triggers.

Drinking for me
was a way of socializing
with friends,
dealing with anxiety,
to help me forget the bad,
in the end all drinking did to me
if anything made me sad,
live my life in regret,   
live my life in shame,  
live my life in fear.
I didn't need alcohol to fit in
with friends in the end,
I lost interest in all my passions in life. Music, Dancing, poetry  and Open Mic.  Nothing I tried excited me no more; I felt numb.
I no longer able to write
or recite anything,
words and thoughts became jumbled
and abstract in my mind.  
I lost the way, I lost my identity
I lost my self respect,
pint after pint;
every day suffering from amnesia,
more confusion not knowing
who I am?  where I am?
I became angry and irritable
at even the slightest thing,
emotionally hurting people
that got in the way
only mission for the day
was to survive and                            
chase the next fix.

Was it really worth it in the end,
chasing that unachievable high
when in reality you felt like you were really going around in circles
over an cliff.  

I believe the hugest high in life fulfilling the ultimate purpose,
An real dream,
being the mother to my
beautiful daughter Sophie,
having people in my life that loves
and respects me and of course being able to communicate and write again.

Love is stupid,
love is blind,
it is selfish,
jealous
and unkind.
Love is abusive,
love can hurt
it will scratch,
and pound
into the dirt.
Love will snub you,
call you dumb,
and alienate you
from everyone.

Running amok whilst standing in place
When we pretend to strive for something, we actually slow our pace.
Defiantly we try to resist our fate
Defiantly we deny true happiness
What is it that drives us to this?
Fear
Nobody wants to alienate themselves from their best friends
Even knowing they won’t judge
We are afraid that, on some level, they will
Why do we fear the judgment of man more than the judgment of God?
Lack of faith
This is what I lack most in life
This is what I seek in life
But I’m afraid.
I’m afraid.

The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.

G'day from prison!*
(before I knew he lives on):

I see you there, My Maple.

Your little skirts; your peroxide hair.  Sweet, quiet Maple... I see your fishnet, maroon, little sweater. How I loved that thrift-store garment; it gave purpose to us both. For you, an excuse to see, without being seen. A voyeuristic excuse, for myself, to see without being seen.

If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know this.

I picture your starkness. Dark, ten year old Maple. Listening with wide eyes - as I validated you.

As no one else had before.

I nurtured that Goth infatuation that no one wanted, fed you music: your Evanescence covet. Your black fingernails... Even then, I understood what no one else could.

Yummy, tasty, Maple.

How good you smelled; how fresh you smelled. Clean, and sad. Searching for reassurance. Searching eye's, searching for me.

Searching for someone. Anyone. A real person; content to SEE you, and love you anyways. Not like the rest; all of them - who'd only ever cast you aside - pick you last - call you names, spit in your face, lock you out and alienate you; who’d kick and shove you.
The *someones behind why you, at age ten, began to wish you were dead.
I was there, and I was your best friend.

Me.

I was the best friend you'll  ever have. Someone who loved an anomaly, and understood, and loved you best; over your mother - your sister - I told you I had a crush; a crush for only you.

10 years have lived and died between us.

10 years without me.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

I still feel your warmth; the little bundle of you.

You.

You in your cozy, blue bed, with your
curious eyes and porcelain face. I would slip five dollar bills under your pillow; tell you, “I’ve hidden something secret.”  

I adorned you with money, pampered you with special trinkets, allowed rare privileges disproved by your mother... A mother who hadn’t a clue you’d worshipped angry rap since the age of eight. She didn’t know. You idolized Eminem. She’d yet to learn his name. You wanted to see 8 Mile; your mother said no – Rated R – so it was our little secret.

But you betrayed our secrets, didn't you?

We have no secrets anymore.



I see you there.

The soft, supple skin of your back . . . of your stomach . . . and of what lay below.

“What’s down there?” I’d inquired.

So enamored, exploring the secrets of your little body.

My demure, sad Maple.

I was your one and only true companion.

I was your one, and only friend.

Yet, here, in this cell, you will never see your best friend again.

You will never have a best friend again.

For in this cell, I have nothing left, but to remember.

I have nothing left but to write.

All my love, my presents, my company. All to end up here.

Here, behind bars.

And the weight of time has yet to alleviate.

You still wish you were dead.

But you and I - we've become synonymous.

Together, forever.

Just as I said, ten years ago. For, no matter what, my existence will always define you; and yours - you will define mine.

Forever.

You'll never be rid of me, and you can never leave me.

For I'll never leave you.

Our bond is solidified.

Perpetually.

Together forever.

Ten years. Eleven, twelve. The calendars change, but you and I? We’re right where we left each other.

So you'll never be anything. Anything at all. Anything else but mine.

The weight of time won't ever alleviate.

And you STILL wish you were dead.

- Thomas Gregory Brown, G'day from prison

I think the reason why we live is because of death. We fear death, we fear the unknown. One could even dare say the unknown is the future. It's the reason why we cling onto the past so much, we fear the unknown the most. I believe without a doubt that reincarnation happens and some could say that people's souls grow older and wiser. Yet why do people commit suicide? One could say that they are new souls, new creations of life. However as I think about it more and more, could it possibly be because the soul is starting to realize that life is too unpredictable and too unbearable? Maybe those who commit suicide are the souls who are actually a little mature. Maybe the reason why some people look forward to the future is because they are actually new souls. Then there is those who are wise beyond their years and still look forward to the future. Perhaps souls that grow too old become energy and become recreated into new souls to continue on. Perhaps the evil people with souls are being cleansed to create a new start. Perhaps that's the reason why sociopaths exist. Maybe they're just old souls who have seen many lives and are starting to lose the vitality it once had. Perhaps they are in the process of getting their souls cleansed from all they have done after they have been punished. The real reason why we would seek immortality is because we fear death. However I believe that even after we erase the fear of death, we will end up growing a new fear. Fear is inevitable. We will end up growing to fear love. Sounds funny, why would we fear love? If you're immortal, you will start to see the beauty of life and death. You will watch the people you grew up with, you laughed with, you work with, you care about, and you loved die. You will start pushing away all of them, everyone for fear of getting close. If you're immortal, that doesn't mean that you don't have a heart. Your fear of death is nothing like the fear of love. Unlike the fear of death, you will be alone if you fear love. The fear of death only makes bonds between those who also fear death. However to fear love will cause you to alienate yourself from the people around you. A soul cannot live on it's own. It will only disintegrate and get it's soul ripped inside and out. We must have death in order to live. Because life without death is miserable and lonely.

Our differences do divide us,
They keep us parallel.
Apart.

Our differences don't alienate us,
They keep us unique.
Unparalleled.

There are differences between us,
They maintain our unity, and affection.
Perpendicular.

Catatonic expressions
On a
Schizophrenic adolescent
Bipolar bearings
Helping ‘em stand
On both sides
Of the argument

Arduous Amore
The Mental Asylum
Silences me
If I speak
I’ll show how weak
My will
To not spill
Crazy thoughts
Is
I remain thoughtless
My conclusion
Signifies delusion
I hypothesize
My hyperactivity Is a hyperbole
Constructed
By psychotic psychiatry
Sigmund Freud
Prescribed *******
And left
The remains
Of white dust
On the brains
That trust
Like the kid
With ADD
Who adds pills
To feel
Emotionless  
If too much emotion is
Not a enough
To be a human
I’ll alienate
Myself from
You men
Few men
Understand
The acumen of Wisdom
They fear
What they don’t know
I’m unknown
Anonymous
Synonymous
With the Question Mark
Who am I?
This question marks
The beginning
Of most journeys
Mine began
With
I know who I am,
But how can I show it?

I became
An open book
That was over looked
By the minds
I tried to reach
Read
As comic relief
For
The Intellectually Elite

I never wanted to wither
I never wanted to fade
I never wanted to lose my light
I never wanted to create a mess

So I decided not to bloom
I decided not to feel
I stayed in the dark
which complemented my light perfectly

I never meant to fly
I liked the solid concrete I was standing on
in the darkness, with no way to distinguish myself from my shadow
- I felt satisfied.

But you came around;
your light a lot brighter than me
you dazzled me by your brilliance
and showed me there was another way to be

Your words pulled me out-
one step at a time
your light kept me blinded enough
to keep me from seeing where i was going

Slowly and slowly
you took down all the walls
i had put up
to let my spark in

Together we burnt
bright enough to light our own little galaxy
somewhere along the line
i started losing myself in you

Like a star twinkling in noon
like a drop goes unnoticed when it falls in sea.
We talked about our future
you told me about the place you came from

And we planned how the walls of our home will be decorated w my poems, how you'll sing me to sleep
and make the wind jealous

But like every sweet dream that ends too soon
the bitter reality came crashing in
and the storm took away my light
you somehow managed to keep yours still aflame

Right after the storm had passed
you promised
your light will be enough
to keep us from drifting apart

But in the middle of our laughter
your mind would go to the place
you had come from
and it was then when i started losing you

The more i tried to hold on to you
the more burnt i got
i was so scared to lose you
that i realised one day i will

I could never be a part of your world
but i no longer wanted to alienate you from it
so i withdrew back to the darkness
i had always known

but this time with no spark to help me coexist w it
i felt myself getting swallowed
with my last breath
i wished you nothing but happiness

I never meant to witter
I never meant to fade
I never wanted to lose my light
but i admit i made a mess

**your love ****** me
more than You'll know
but no sweeter damnation
I could have ever got

sometimes i drink tea as a substitute for your hugs
almost desperately sipping,
wishing, hoping,
dreaming of you (holding onto my ceramic cup so delicate)

sometimes loneliness creeps in like a stealth burglar
when you realize what it is you freeze,
suddenly too aware of yourself
but pretending it doesn't exist to cushion yourself from
these ugly emotions
who, like old fake friends whom i try to alienate,
i hide from, trying to mask myself by emulating
everything i love

in the hopes of becoming something beautiful,
something you might love.
(pour myself another cup,
dream on)

It came back.

It was gone for so long and I had straightened up everything and things were actually even better, and the second my back was turned too long, there it was. The Jabberwocky.

I knew the second I saw it how it had gotten in. I had been in the front, tending to my new garden that I had acquired, with beautiful roses all about. I had never been so happy. And while I turned away, and left my back door open to tend to the outside, it came in and ate all my reserves and made itself at home again.

Unlike before, though, when I went inside it didn’t coax me into letting it stay, letting it swallow me whole. It began to shriek at me and attack me and I was so scared and I kept on telling it to go away, that I didn’t want it anymore but it stayed and fought and chased me through the house, wrecking all the scars I had repaired and pretty new things I had put up since its last visit. It wasn’t until I let it scratch my legs that it listened to my desperate, hollow pleas. It went away, slinking back into the darkness it came from.

I stayed up in my room for a while, tending to my small wounds and thanking God, Gods, anyone for letting me live. I looked around and cuddled into my bed and thought it wasn’t so bad. I smiled and even laughed a little bit. No, the Jabberwocky could not get me now. Things were different. It knew I didn’t want it, that’s why it fought. That’s why it lost.

But eventually, as I finally descended back into the rest of my home, I saw the damage it had caused. The stairway was scarred and scratched, the living room was a terror, and the kitchen worse. It had left me bare, empty, raw once more. I had been careless, reckless, stupid. What had made me think it wouldn’t come back again?

I started to clean, to paint, to polish, trying to rid my house of any of its signature marks. Maybe not fully, leave reminders for myself of its danger, but tidy enough no one could tell just by looking at it. Everything was a dandy cleanup, until I saw my legs again. The Jabberwocky may not have destroyed me, but I had given it something. I had let it have a part of me.

The rage started to build. I had left the door open, I hadn’t made letting the Jabberwocky in a non-option. I had let myself flirt with its darkness a little bit every once in a while, letting it think it was welcome. I had let it scratch me instead of telling it to get out more forcefully, instead of pushing it and fighting it harder. I had given it a token, a present, to make it leave me alone. That only teaches any good monster to come back for more. I had made the mistake, I had made the choice, I had ****** up. I, I, I am selfish, stupid, wrong. It wasn’t long before I was screaming.

My rage was so strong as I angrily cleaned my house that the Bandersnatch caught the scent and almost stopped by. Bandersnatches convince you to take the fire out on those you love, at any drop of a hat. They play practical jokes that benefit them and them alone, laughing their souls off while you alienate yourself. They were good friends of Jabberwockys.

But when I saw it near my back fence, I silenced.

No. No more. I didn’t want any more monsters, not after how long I hid them in my basement and held them in my heart. They weren’t allowed here. This wasn’t their home. It was mine.

So I locked the back door, and closed the front gate, and bolted the first door, and never stayed up too late. When they barged in for my head I was at no fault, and had every right to call for help, but when I let them waltz right in like an old friend I had some blame in my heart. But those monsters of Wonderland, I had never loved. I had merely no memory of a life without them. Now that there is a fence and a door and they’re not allowed anymore, I must do all I can to keep them away. They don’t deserve my heart, nor my head. Though I am a person of Wonderland, I don’t deserve to be dead.

You ruin me
You suffocate me
You alienate me
You taunt me
You tempt me
You devastate me
You cheat me
You anger me
You educate me
You challenge me
You change me

Life,
You have made me

Hard Topics more or less Essential?
To speak your mind raise your voice
Your choice

Life fundamentals which are potentially not fun to mention or list them in a Corrupt System
That is Systematically
Problematic

Absurd to merge these choice words
with opposing verbs
To please the Masses

Seeing how The Watchers watch
and observe from an Orbital distance

For they have their Watchmen and henchmen but not to be confused with
Jehovah's true or 2 witness

For the rings of Saturn have
dangerous curves

These here I recognize as anti-Christ like
or anti-Christian affiliated or anything
remotely anti-Christ or anti-
Christian

Like a one world Religion

I'm talking NWO false prophetic enlisted
Tricksters mixed in with vicious
Political figures

No figment of my imagination
hearsay or a conspiracy with a twist

I'm just down for exposing
Who's Who
Call me a Conspiracist
with a list

No.. better yet
I'm more like a Realist
with a real list

And no I'm not Heaven sent
or Hell bent on the descension of
your opinions

Because I have my own Ascension
to ascend to

With other worldly entities from other
Dimensions against me
Who hate me for being Christ affiliated
and Christ opinionated

With a whole unholy Nation sanctioned
to alienate me with more hatred?
Big Mistake

For I'll just debate it as being Under-estimated
And hold true to the Essentials
of Life fundamentals
Unabated

Strange times I live in
The age of social media and social struggles
my attention span is slightly longer than three lines of poetry

Stranger still is my moods and thrills
What the days have in store, nothing but the old tale of man and death
It keeps me running, forever asking for more, and here comes more

Must I become God, alienate myself, condemn our sins for a cheap righteous thrill?

Strange times I live in, I want to be 21 for entirety
I must become an established author
So my words may sink deeper in the pages of history
But all I have is my unnecessary sufferings
To translate my passion into fortune
And money is still worshiped
And nothing's sincere in things we worship

Or maybe I will join the actors up on that stage,
To get paid, busy myself and to ignore life's questions
I can almost her them shouting "giddy up! here's a mundane thing or two, I hope you can multitask"

I want to be a spectator on the side
Lingering in shadows, waiting for my act,
Forever waiting, even if I had no calling
For I hardly find a motive to get out of bed

So please, send in your warships, for man has outlived their Gods
And these strange times, are getting stranger still and I do not wish to live them through

Why must you crave love to replace a hole in your heart or are you just unsure of what you are and what you want?

Why must you obsess over something you have the rest of your life to find or are you just that bored of who you think you are?

Do you know yourself really deeply truly know your being or do you just see the outside of it?

Do you know your core being the person that you are the person inside you or do you just see alone insignificant person in the mirror?

Why worry about a significant other, their is always another person waiting for you, or do you just feel that alone that uncomfortable, that insecure that you need to give your heart to someone just to have it broken to peices in your face?

When you say "I'm stupid" are you stating that your mind is below your peers or are you saying that you don't want to learn your ignorance will conqure your life and world as you know it?

When you say your lonely do you say that your alienated because your friends aren't the way you want them or are you really left out unheard, invisible, misunderstood, and labeled?

When you say you have no friends is it because they won't talk to you, for some reason because you constantly said possibly "No one wants to be my friend, no one will stay around me" Even though that one person that you chased off with your acidic words left you for that reason or is it only skin deep in your eyes?

When you lie is it only because you really don't know who you are and how great you can be or is it because of the sheer thrill of hurting/disappointing people?

When you diffrentiate ugly and pretty do you look at the lust beauty or the person deep within?

When you find "love" does it hurt you because you don't really know what it is or are you just confused on what your heart, mind, and soul want?

When you alienate a person is it because of what you see or is it because of what you feel they are?

When you reject someone is it because they aren't what you wanted, they are to different for you, or is it because you didn't want love in the first place?

When you lose something of value to you, a friend an animal, do you deeply hurt over losing them or are you hurt because you think your alone once again?

Sometimes I think I'm not from this world.
I can't understand how to connect with humans.
All my wires are tangled, frayed and broken.
My brain is forever fizzling,
I'm short circuited and twisted up.

I have a constant headache from just processing how to live.
But all i ever see are cryptic codes and error alerts.
It's exhausting feeling like you're made of metal.

I have this hard, steel shell and I'm incased in it.
I don't know where it came from.
I feel like a scientist's test subject.
What happened to me in those test labs framed who I am today.

I talk as though I'm automated.
Stuttering and zoning out like I haven't been charged for weeks.
I'm begging you to hook me up to your mains support,
make me feel real.

I'm introverted and alienate though my insides feel forever exposed.
Every 'emotion' I feels like fresh scar tissue,
it hurts so much to feel.
My cognitive heart can't take it,
I'm malfunctioning at any given moment.

Would you please be my new scientist, I know it's a lot to ask.
In fact I'm terrified of scientists, so let's scrap that.
Would you please be my alchemist, I know it's a lot to ask.
Could you conjure up a potion to turn me from alien, to faery.

I'd rather live in a fantasy world than these extraterrestrial plains.
I'm sick of floating within a barren atmosphere,
take me to enchanted wooded lands.

Use the glitter in your eyes to cast a spell,
fill the sky with stars and comets,
I just want to smile without an aching jaw.

I think you can help me.