your eyes are not oceans
and you are not a natural disaster
you are manmade and you will topple
and i will be the one to topple you
because you are a literal bag of human ****
and if you think that telling me
that i deserve ****
will impress your fellow man friends,
you had better watch the **** out
because i am coming for you with a taser
and a buzzsaw
your mra t-shirts can't help you now,
****

The Space Age saucer at LAX,
you know the one,
hovers overhead,
a retro-futuristic Jetsons-like totem,
a shimmering stucco vision of a far-off future
in which an overbearing security state
shuts down a well-regarded restaurant with a view
that landed smack dab in a well-trafficked area.

LAX, and LA generally,
reminds one of how much time
amounts to a buzzsaw shredding everything
into a mist of fine but coarse-grained sawdust.

The voice in my head isn't mine alone.

It belongs to the demons that possessed me and never left,
they tell me the fire here is hotter than back home so they sit in my sweat and
eat my misery.

I can be alone with my thoughts but never truly
because their cackles as I try to feel normal are the soundtrack to each day.

I've been trying to love myself more,
my demons like to laugh when I say it.
They can mimic my voice but choose
to be the voices of people I know.

Telling myself that I'm
a good person feels like lying.

My father's voice screams out through Beelzebubs maw and I am a boy again.
Trapped in a buzzsaw of insults and comparisons.
Never good enough to be your
Son.

Unable to find a voice inside of me that
disagrees.

Abaddon tastes the years of misery
caked upon the sides of my bottomless pit,
he takes the voices of my family in his,
forces them to be who they used to,
reminds me that I can't escape what was
by pretending that I am someone new.

The rest of the devil's that breathe within me
play the same games.

All I want to do is tell myself that I'm okay.
To remind myself that the past is not forever.
Those voices screaming out against mine
just don't seem to get any quieter.

Self care is a battle against the past.
Self love is harder than trying to **** myself.

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.

Pretty are the eyes that tell the most dangerous lie
I love you
I need you
Their tongue is the blade hidden in disguise
As it dances down your throat
Don't choke
But their love is too big to swallow
They left you there feeling hollow as a log
Their vain excuse feel like hollow points or a buzzsaw

Dangerous are the curves that talk with no lips
Got my endorphins throwing a fit like a toddler
Baby I need to see you strip
Cause you carrying weapons that shouldn't be legal
Got me stuck on repeat like a seagull from Nemo
You so bad, you deserve a sequel
Now sell me the fantasy I came to buy
As I try to escape the pain from the pretty eyes that told me the most dangerous lie