will suddenly trees leap from winter and will

the stabbing music of your white youth
wounded by my arms’ bothness
(say a twilight lifting the fragile skill
of new leaves’ voices,and sharp lips of spring
simply joining with the wonderless
city’s sublime cheap distinct mouth)

do the exact human comely thing?

(or will the fleshless moments go and go

across this dirtied pane where softly preys
the grey and perpendicular Always—
or possibly there drift a pulseless blur
of paleness;
                the unswift mouths of snow
insignificantly whisper….

Oceans fish stars, that are overhead, swimming;
those dying masses of sun, looking the night sky
to pieces.  Silver dots barely skimming
deep dwelling currents that invisibly ply sky
netting that makes the sea’s mirror, a gridded
field filled with shoals of stars setting small fires
that out last the jettings of Amber Jack and squid
around a sea turtle who they easily tire.
Filled with eggs, ready to be this moon’s batch
on a brief beach made white by the nights contrast.
Not all turtles will inevitably hatch.
Those who will, will live if lucky and fast.
The stars, that insignificantly wink,
ride the currents that rise and sink

This is not a love poem.
Because
I know nothing about the entrancement of Romance
It’s like watching a mime mimic antics
It makes me panic.
No, I write epics and tragedies.
About political catastrophes.
About the rhythmic anatomy of poetry.
Not about “How do I love thee…”
But let me count the ways that these days
Have grown strange;
The passage of time has seemed to stop.
This black clock’s bold Tock and
Tick have been erased and
I’m still sick with the aftertaste
From the venom of your kiss
Your toxic lips made me itch that
Poisoned twitch One-thousand times
Before my bloodshot eyes
Went blind to your beauty.
“A most unfortunate disability”
Professionals told me
But I just sighed and smiled insignificantly
“No, no, you see this,
Ironically, is immunity.”
Imperviousness to seduction

But this is not a love poem.
It’s a professional epiphany
An observation

All research and annotations state things like
Blind Fortunes and
Heart complications are just
Minor alterations that
Spark fascinations in
Lab coats and stethoscopes.
Isotopes of foreign hopes
Are my safety ropes to cope with my
Distance away from you another day
And there I go again.
Every ******* word I say will start out right
But then convey to betray me with the
Cliché decay
Of a fluttering heart.
And on this day when time has stopped
I’ll re-lock my jaw that dropped
And, with Blind Eyes, this mental case
Will try to trace the chalk outlines
Of  lucid days
With the white spine
Of the brain stem

But this
Is not
A love poem.
Because
I refuse to be Entranced by Romance.
I’m the kind of guy who would Panic in
That Frantic state of mind
And draw away from Sunlight
To find warmth Moonshine
To bite the bullet and lace up these shoes
Because eleven shots and twelve steps
Is the closest I get to refuge.
See, I dream in the Black and White
Of a first version television box set
About Bloodied tragedies
And political catastrophes
Set to a beat based on
The rhythmic anatomy of poetry
Rarely about “How do I love thee…”
Or the bedpost marks of
Fading, Chalk-Laced Memories.

at breakfast
another hotel restaurant
another choice to be made
of mediocre cooked
or bland continental
a fish bowl
of floor to ceiling
panoramic windows
people-watching
strangers passing
insignificantly through
one another's universes
parents desperate
to negotiate the morning
without a scene
suits with shirt and tie
top buttons undone
for now
retiree couples
happy in each others silence
or those lucky ones
who still find words
when alone together
or the curious
solo diners
alone and lost
in their own thoughts
or striving to hide
how they watch
those others
as they go about
their business
of goodness-knows-what
another banquet shared
unbeknownst to all
in attendance

What if it's a matter of faith
You have it and I
Do not.
Perhaps that is the line that you
Refuse to cross
It's a thick deep line
Drawn in the sands
You stay on the shore
Yell to me as I'm pulled out to sea
You think I drown here, in this body of fluid doubt
You're so sturdy, strong, safe upon the shore
Do I need saving?
I'm fine swimming on my own
Though you may see my treading water as
Drowning
I assure you, I'm not
It feels right here
Saturating myself in salty waters
While you sit and hold fast to flowing sands through your fingers
Worrying that I don't know what's out there
Thinking I'm a lost cause
A man of land,
I myself, merely a wave
I kiss the shore only to be pulled back out
Two worlds that collide at the line
I don't need the oxygen that you need to survive
There is no island,
No Oasis
This is all it can be
And so I'll meet you at the line
Begging you dip your toes
Hands
Splash your face
"No" you say
"But please" I beg.
"Don't go."
I promise there is sand at the bottom of the ocean,
Land isn't all there is
There is infinite sky
We can transcend this
Maybe
Sure we could try,
But what's the point?
There is no middle ground
There's a line neither of us will cross
This can't be it.
But it could be.
I can't survive in your world
Nor you in mine
It's a matter of faith
You have it and I
Do not.
It's that line in the sand
We
Refuse to cross.
But I want to.
Just to have you.
I'd sacrifice my life
But not myself
So yell to me from your precious sands
We'll remain like this
Longing like this
Until this dividing line
This insignificantly significant line,
Is washed away by my
Persistent waves
And you're anguished enough
To tread with me.

Self-studying is the dichotomy of enthusiastically knowing more and insignificantly knowing nothing, along with the roots and branches of motivation

I’ve got a thirst for a life that I can’t live
And i’m stuck in my head again
I guess it’ll all have only ever been daydreams
And when they find my body
They’ll say reality tore her apart at the seams
Her hands were too small
To catch all the rain that fell
So she drowned in a river
Of empty pain
I didn’t know it was possible
To feel empty
And to hurt
At once
My limbs sting
With everything
I never was
With never having been enough
And you’ll say
Baby (maybe)
How could you do this?
And I’ll whisper
From my ***** grave
I loved you just the same
I love you just the same
Sometimes
Life
Is just too much
Were getting overpopulated you know
Too many of us here
It’s a big planet you know
Give it a hundred years maybe
And we’ll all be gone
You can forget about great-grandchildren
I’m doing us a favor you know
One less person on the planet
I don’t want to live insignificantly
I had big things planned
I was going to do everything
And more
I don’t know how I ever believed this when I have trouble walking out the door
Or taking a crowded bus
Or looking someone in the eye
I’m doing us a favor you know
I only ever caused you pain
And dismay
And you only ever pushed me away.

quietly
please don't look at me
fill me
with immense anxiety

i'm not here
i'm not real
intensely numb
cannot feel

unimportant to you and your day
please don't acknowledge me, stay away
the background - let me become
it's all i really want when the day is done

fade away, throwaway
is all i'll ever be
i'm impossibly unimportant
insignificantly me

There's a well of disappointment
In observing human nature,
For regardless of the colour,
The religion or the creed;
There's a metabolic failure
Apparent in the makeup,
And it's all about ego
And materialistic greed.

I see it in the corporate's
And the hallowed halls of banking,
It drips like grease from politics
And stains God's children too.
It permeates the populace
With a cloak of ashen pallor
And extends from Kings and Demigods
Through humanity to you.

And even little children
Are caught up in the maelstrom
Through television's fanfare
Of fashion and excess,
I feel tragedy unfolding
In our hedonist behaviour
I see brother clawing brother
And the future in distress.

Take a look around you
At the evidence of trouble
Observe the calamity
Of Wall Street's greed.
Feel the discomfort
Of intrusion by Government,
Feel the pain in the pocket
Of taxation's bleed.

The war drums are pounding
All over the planet
Greed and anxiety
Run hand in hand,
Corporate warmongers
Driving the politics
Flailing for more
As their empires expand.

What of the people?
We ordinary people,
Who invisibly strive
Insignificantly?
Pushed and shoved
Bought and bartered,
....In this tempest of greed
What chance have we?

Marshalg
On another sick, sick day.
@theBach
Mangere Bridge
12 February 2010

This train ride
Is the only thing that connects us now
It is the only thing left that’s running
From me to you
It is the only thing that’s still moving

For once I am back,
I am not leaving again
Once I am home
I am not leaving it behind

I made this mistake once
Of thinking I could have left
Everything that killed me
That tortured me and pursued me
All of the pain that subdued me
But escape isn’t possible for the thing
That is in me
You need to know, my love
Because I know, now
This pain created me

And I owe it to this pain to let it destroy me

See I am sitting and I can tell something isn’t right
This train moves too quick and the breaks seem too tight
And as a whole the train itself is shaking to be loose
And if this train tips over, there is nothing you or I can do

We have to let this happen
We have to let us die
I keep thinking of how many people are on here
With more valuable lives than mine

It’s not because I’m lonely
And it’s not because I’m me
It’s because even back in my small space there with you
I’m so insignificantly free

I’m going back
Because I realize this is all I’ve known
This feeling of being nothing
Makes it so much more plausible

Makes it so much easier to understand
I have lived this way forever
And it only makes sense
To go back to feel it there

It only makes sense
To leave you behind
Because if I take you with me
Then we’re both going to die

This train ride
Is the only thing that connects us now
These tracks that run through the one island we’re on
You are on my island, the island I’ve lived on my whole life
And there’s so much of it you haven’t seen
And there’s so little you know of me

Your entire life in a different state
Is my entire life with you here
Because although you have come to me
You know nothing of what I used to be

You know nothing of what I’ve done,
What I’ve become
Where I’m going
What I want
In this life that keeps insisting otherwise

I realize this train is my lifeline
Once it stops, the movie is over
The song is done
And there are no more wonders about
If we’ll ever be something

No more worrying
No more drinking
No more thinking of me
But never being open to talking

Maybe you don’t think of me
As much, I thought you did
I thought you would
I thought I could do it

I thought I could do this

This train ride
Is like my veins in my body
Like the alcohol that runs throughout his sitting next to me
I am looking away from him and pretending it is you, instead
I am pretending the smell
Is the taste and array of your breath
This is our connection
Watch it go, farther away

Watch it disappear
Watch it get smaller and smaller
Watch it move on to something other
Than what’s always been right here

Watch it sway, watch it crumble
This train is me
And I realize you’ll be sad
You didn’t get to see it leave

Once I am done,
I am not starting over again
Once I am here,
I am not ever leaving

Once I am alone,
I have pounded this road in, jack
Once I am home,
I am not coming back

this is how it is.

lover of the moon, red nail polish, and my body
poetry passionate
anaemic
patient listener
book worm
creature-infatuated
exotically home made
gutter-student
in-toe walker
ignorant genius of nothing and everything
insignificantly significant

this is me.

She's hoping to go back to the light soon
Spending summer nights, returning home
Ever longing, staring at the moon
The sun, stars, present time
As days stay in form
To witness the show
Of an intergalactic presentation
And with a long applause
Break their silence
At first dawn

She's hoping to go back to the light
To see her leading stars
Shine so bright
And take their chances
On a second deal of cosmic proportions
To take the hand of the dusky dancer
Who'll secretly romance her
With his many rings of ancient stones

She's hoping to go back to the light
From planet earth
Where she stands
Looking so small
Staring insignificantly
Into the Source of it all

She's hoping to go back to the light
Where it all began
To meet her maker
And create a new deal breaker
Of significant power and force

She's hoping to go back to the light
The unconditional love
That breaks through her heart
Slipping through her fingers
Sending messages from above

She's hoping to go back to the light
No more to be reborn
In physical form
But to rejoice on a higher plane
With no more trial or pain

She's hoping to go back to the light
Where clouds are no longer formed
And the sun is the only star she'll see
Where through the darkness
There's nothing endless;
Only the promise of being free.

I find these days my head bows down,
Lost in trees which bear no roots around.
We all continue to strive for their peaks,
That we might find the validation we believe speaks.
Because in a forest of hard line and concrete,
We think all there is, is a standard to meet.

Our bodies are young, but our souls are so old,
And craving some place wild and bold;
Where the forest which hems is ancient with moss,
And the rivers carve streets no foot can cross.
Tall mountains send out the wake up call,
That every man and woman will fall.

At the end of the day, the wild remains,
And strives to survive through mans foolish claims.
Yet I am lost to the toil and to the strife,
Of simply trying to make it with my life.
But make it where? As what? And why?
Because I try to escape the fact that all will die?

No solace can be found in the wealth of a king,
But give me a glimpse of an eagle on wing,
Amongst valleys and coasts where few eyes see,
Where the snow melts and brings new life to be.
A morning crisp with dew, and a chorus of song,
Some place wild where our old souls belong.

So short-sighted, so corrupt and insincere,
We try and conquer all that we claim to hold dear.
Even though we are but fleeting on a beautiful plain,
We are determined to burn, to clear and contain.
What if we were to become who we could be,
Honouring and reverent of all that is unbound and free?

To feel insignificantly small again,
That is the amazing gift of summit and glen.
A simple reminder that we are all but participants,
Not gods, completely unaware of our littleness.
Sitting in awe of the symphony of life abounding,
Lost in our utterly magnificent surrounding.

So I choose to take to the trails, the ridges and paths,
Which lead to the furthest and cosiest hearths;
To meet other wandering souls who have left behind,
The confusion and delusion of a self-obsessed mind.
And be prepared to lose and find myself again,
Away, into a wild embrace, her rugged domain.

My soul cries for freedom, some vision to see,
New life bursting as a bud on every tree.
Swept up in the miracle of a tale much bigger,
Than the measurable wealth of my yearly figure.
For in the wild, can be found the perspective I need,
For my searching soul to truly be freed.

I travel daily
To chase the Sun, it's radiance empowers me
For things that lose meaning.

I , insignificantly scurry along my labors
under the Sun's demanding gaze.
"Make haste," Said He,
" For I will not remain fixed; I must fly."

I labor, weary of his glare.
And yet, where work is through,
I journey west, in vain of his flight,
hoping for his purpose in warmth.
Instead, I am faced with the harsh reality:
The Moon is cold and distant, and will not suffer herself to give warmth or purpose.

And so, I repose.
Waiting for the race to begin anew,  
To renew my spirit within the purposes of the Sun.

i’ve heard that black holes eat stars for snacks
i wonder if black holes can die
as insignificantly as a fly who sat on my arm
or a butterfly who splat against my windshield
alive one second and gone to some other place the next
maybe gone to nowhere
where do black holes go when they die
where have my old eyes gone to
where are you
and do you ever think about
what happens to the stars that blackholes swallow
like the tongue i swallow into my throat
when i’m kissing someone i don’t want to
do you ever wonder
where a black hole goes to when it’s gone

The Breach Interpretation: Is a mild chemical defect, found on the losing side of painful guilt itself.
Making (or, causing) such troubling acts of kindness, the very rhythm (full of justifiable results...), on the biggest possible gimmick...that could ever be committed.
That's just a rough outline of the very interpretation (of "The Breach") itself.
But the Breach part, is truly insignificantly broken from the deep inside out....
The Breach itself however, fully adopts the very different struggles between both "what is right", and "what is wrong" (with one's own personal image, and their own personal struggles at large).
But that doesn't mean nothing should be any different, then when it came to how right that very someone's personal image was, and how awfully wrong their own personal struggles were...when they interpreted it into millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented individual pieces, (of their own collection). (And that's just the tip of the iceberg, when you finally console the very dynamic realization, of eventually, coming to terms with the long acts of perspectives...) That then obviously shows that those millions upon millions upon millions of different fragmented pieces (with their very own different properties and meanings), because nothing is truly conclusive in ALL these specifics areas and points (of a system that has more to offer, then any other order of things which could tilt at ANY moment...) Revealing a mere simple reaction in their form upon an even simpler side-effect.
Which tips the balance of power...and creates the most unsteady order of chaos that could become either an unstable universe (that could hypothetically become "stable", anyways).
Or just another standard, simplistic, normal sense of self full of such logical wit, (or the smallest of components of each), could then finally define both each others strengths and weaknesses.
Once this happens, everything becomes much clearer, (of course with time).
And this very interpretation of ("The Breach"), can then become fully "self-established" towards just what truthfully surrounds this very Breach itself.
Nevertheless, things now become more founded upon.
(When once it was truthfully subjected towards an unfortunate one-sided enclosure that didn't know how to officially become as one.) Because it was simply missing its other half that was an entirely unknown placement that didn't know it even existed.
The Breach Interpretation is full of all sorts of unbreachable flaws!
But for how much is truly unbreachable...fully depends on the sorts of acts you commit towards.
That's entirely why, this very interpretation is fully masked by the intentions of either others, (or your very own, intentions).
Because in the end, intentions lie their way too victory!
And that's the start (not the finish), towards an act of serious possible violence...(that truthfully defies the very expectations...), of what The Breach...truly is!

I don’t know how this happened

but here’s a brief summary of what I do know:
At some point in history
a rodent belonging to a group of large ground squirrels
known as marmots
peaked it’s head through the ground
and fell headfirst into the all of mankind.
Observant as we are
we watched said rodent,
presumably for decades,
we named that rodent marmota monax
we named that rodent woodchuck
we named that rodent groundhog
and then
be it because we were drunk
or tired
or deliriously confused by our purpose in this life,
we decided that the entire pendulum of winter
swung on one insignificantly particular day of the year
when a groundhog with a proper name
emerges from his burrow
and either does or does not see his shadow
because the sky either is or is not overcast.

It’s that kind of thinking that brought us here
into the swell of feeling like we are designed to repeat ourselves
same way train tracks prove that most circles are not perfect,
a freight train and a record player tell similar stories.

It’s that kind of thinking that brought us here
into the shape of a species who even on our best day
is literally not satisfied with the everything that has ever existed
same way our taking of selfies is a detriment to releasing ourselves
from the all that we ever were
when all we have are these constant reminders.

I never asked you to be pretty or handsome or perfect
just ready and honest
and willing to take nothing to bed with you
just knowing how to emerge from your slumber
with the entire pendulum of a season
pivoted on your correlation with a specific source of light.
Look at me
my eyes are trying to tell you a story in real time
about how I’d give up the sunburn to live in your shadow
so long as I was never a cloud in your sky.

You are a needle
touching the spiraling grooves
in every square inch of this earth
picking up the vibrations
which you then translate into the sound
of your existence

I’m all ears.

I don’t know how this happened
but one morning I woke up
at the exact
same time
as I woke up the day before
with a song
stuck in my head—
it was you

it was you with a harmony
it was you with a record scratch
it was you with a slow fade

it was you
and you kept telling me,
you said, “Frankie,
if you keep waiting for Bill Murray to show up
you're never gonna make sense of anything."

As I look at the faces of other people
Struggling to survive the whirling winds of life
I knew I wasn't special
I'm just a cliche seeking attention
And I'm no special to be treated like one
I am just a little piece of humanity
Significantly living on my own but
Insignificantly existing to the world.

I know what it's like to have everybody there
But just feel like you're completely alone.
As if you're talking, they don't listen,
Are you even there at all?
Are you dreaming?  Are you sleeping?
Insignificantly small.

I am screaming, I am crying, I am tearing up my soul.
As I'm dying, they're all lying, there's no further left to fall.
If I lay here in the dark,
No one would blink, no dog would bark,
Because I'm alone, lonely, lone.

When lust turned to love
I was stuck in the Sea between,
fighting the single wave that held me in place.

It crashed over me and I was under it looking up.
When I tried to ask for help, all that escaped me was a cloud of smoke
destined for wherever, spreading thinly and insignificantly throughout.

As the smoke dispersed, so did I.

My torso sank quickly from the weight of a heart conflicted,
scraping the reef and leaving cloudy red trails suspended above it as it plundered,
finally hitting the deepest, darkest ground like a common rock.

My arms slithered away like eels,
swollen with stinging electric courage as they ruthlessly pursued their prey,
feeding off the triumph of the tangible path of destruction in their midst.

My legs walked back to the land they were used to,
where they tried to get everything back in line; but the line was blurred.  
So they went in all directions-- left, right, and wrong, and they got nowhere.

My head was carried off by the current,
until I suddenly thought to lift it up to the surface.  Thinking about surfacing was hard
but after I did it, I realized that the wave looked farther away.

I think I’ll make it through today,
but tomorrow I woke up bleeding and breathing smoke, wondering

Who I am.

I crumble
Into insignificantly small pieces
And spill
Through the cracks of insanity
Insuppressible
Falling so slowly
It feels almost as if i'm floating
Dispersing
Once i reach the callous bottom

I was once surrounded
By brightness
Never acknowledging
The precedence it didn't receive
The light was always a given
A requirement for life
It was never anything
Extraordinary

Captured by crazy
I lay still in the dark
Watching beams of light
Flicker
Through the very cracks
That made everything
Vanish
After i fortuitously invaded

From this angle
They look almost like
A possibility of hope
A way to reclaim life
Infiltrating
The dark that suffocates me
The rays sweep over
Just long enough
For me to inhale

Every glimmer
Now imperative

in the last 6 years
I have learned the hardest part of all this
has been forgiving myself
and desperately hoping that
in the big picture,
some how all of this will make sense
or at the least,
through the passing of time,
the pain will have lessened
and acceptance
and healing will occur
making the idea that maybe,
just maybe,
all that talk i'd been taught,  
considered,
relied on,
believed in,
questioned,
doubted
but eventually rejected,  
about life after death
and of souls that go to Heaven
might actually,
possibly be true
and  that he is ok.  
Probably more okay than the ones he left behind.  
God,
and I pray there is One,
I hope Colton is ok.  
If there is no hope of ever seeing him again,
his death will never make sense to me
and life here on Earth
is simply pointless
and insignificantly meaningless.
However,  
I've chosen to believe otherwise,
and If I am to gain some lessons
and use my life for a greater purpose
rather than to continue living
as that all too comfortably familiar self centered,
ungrateful,
entitled person that I was
before that Friday morning,
6 years ago today,  
and am still but hopefully not as much,
his life
and his death
weren't in vain.

If I had to describe you, I’d describe you as a short Summer
Fact one: I hated Summer.
My most distant memories were that, I feared summer.
The heat intimidated me.
My mom took me out to the beach once on a warm Summer.
She, herself, had mixed feelings about summer.
Then, I clanged on to her so hard because the Sun refused to look away from me.
Mom made the night rise earlier.

Fact two: You came and went.
I heard people talk.
Summer meant fun.
Fun meant drugs.
Drugs meat jail, I learnt later.
Which is where you went hiding in Autumn, Winter and Spring.

Fact three: Summer always complains.
When I refused to answer Summer’s calls to go hiking, Summer would constantly message me to come out to go for a swim.
When I tell Summer that I hated the Sun, he’d weep about how I loved all but him.
How can I love the Sun when my name means Shooting Star?

Fact Four: I don’t have one.
Insignificantly,
Shooting Star,
Your only daughter.

Suffocating under this hopeless violent shade
of an exotic violet
Peeking through the clouds of all divine nature
saw
The tiresome one dragging his insignificantly weightless soul
and deeply profound mournful shadow
over the wisely aged support of ground
and
under the heart condensingly
sole comforting warmth
of the frightening sharp sight of the assuring moon's gaze
and
while he ever slowly decays
with unshaken belief of his haplessness
what turned from a sudden and short view
became a never more enchanted relief
and
REVEALATION

from life's start
to life's continuation
here the story lies:

Habitually crossing the windows

One can’t help but notice the existence of two brothers

Although, residing under one unfascinating roof

With all frustration, one will definitely notice that

The place of residence is not one

But in reality two by division

One main, one sub as it is under



The elder of the relation

Appears sadly clueless to the other’s existence

Having never doubt, in all possible faith, his loneliness

Though, the younger, might be well aware of the duo

Nonetheless with pains, anger, and the uttermost speechless helplessness

All his doing, or knowing

Is always credited to the elder

While the latter accepts the acknowledgment in complete bewilderment

the tale In oneself
without the deeper implication is enough of misfortune
for us to pity the Self

Aren't we a minute   •
in this world?        
Just a moment     ▪︎
in the universe.
But, this moment
feels like a whole eternity  ■
to our tiny insignificant souls  
that we hold so grandly; entitled   ●
transfixed on playing roles
in this enigmatic reality  ○
Searching for meaning
in such a quantity ■
of the unknown¿

Repetition of small
Moments
To enjoy them
Is the greatest task
Leading to true contentment
Warm smell of chicken roasting
Kissing two little heads
Worth more than life itself
Television filling up the silence
Airplane noise
Smell of spring in the air
Freshly green leaves
Soft carpet under my toes
Headache reminding I'm still alive
What insignificantly
Important pieces

it didnt matter to me that
you had itchy poison
under your arm, I still
would have held you close
while you say that we can never
be anything more than
what we already are.

It didnt matter to me that
I was on the outside looking
in while on the inside
you're looking up at pulsating
tree leaves while there is
lead socks in your shoes
as the peanut gallery wears
funky hats when you told
me you loved me insignificantly.

It didn't matter to me
you wanted other opportunity,
I knew you'd hang around and
I'd hear your vocal sounds
even if it rained during
shining sun, even if winter
had no spring, I'd linger
and be a singer of your lore.

I vehemently try to trace the lost pieces of my heart
The ones shambled and hidden behind all the exterior
One's not accepted in the eyes of our society
These pieces, that awoke my soul and once made me who i am
Now insignificantly veiled, as if they were garbage
I try to find my insignia
One that differentiates me from the rest
My ambiguities, my hopelessness might as well be the root of all this lurking
Putting an end to my peace
And the constant rage n war that i so got caught up in
This could be my way to cope through this ghastly phase
All this vandalism and all these changes must stop
For i am the maker of my persona and i am the destructor of myself
I must rise, for its my time to ignite and shine
To once again show the world my true colors
I must embrace it all
Be it deadly, be it ugly
Yet, that's who I am, me!

see...
   (sniffing sound) -
the problem with tiki torches
when compared to flares?
  you haven't experienced
football hooliganism...
one has the assumption
of being menacing,
the other? an assertion
of being menacing...
     oh i know a football chant...
ooh ah! cantona!
and ł.k.s.! jebał pies! -
        even though i originate from
an insignificantly small town,
we still managed to play
with the "titans"...
               hooliganism...
hmm... a type of mafia, right?
a group effort not riddled
by bloated ego?
              which is the exact point
why tiki torches are funny...
  and a crimson flare so menacing
in comparison...
you can't nuance conviction...
appearance is politics...
             Louis XIV knew that all too well...
foolery, double standards,
and the must of every earthly court
to boot: a jester to serve
compliments of ridicule...
          the sort of punching bag
that punches some sense back
into the lead head...
given: heavy "hangs" the crown.
i can't believe that i lived
in england for over 20 years
and spent most of those years
rummaging between the irish
and the scots...
                  the only english person
i've had "intimate" time with,
is probably mummified
by a t.v. screen...
              i'm actually jokingly
convinced that the english
are not even existentially valid,
in the sense of: lurking in shadows;
it has also become a "game" of:
and who the **** would want
to **** this pyjama party of
              walking Madonnas with
their exuberance into faking the fashion
of 15 minutes later:
          trash in hand, donning
    cling hair rollers
(10 minutes trying to find the correct
term... how autistic of me)
  buying a bottle of *****...
yeah, really,
              no wonder i drink
to define excess...
              about as desirable as a
penny on a pavement...
mate with what? that?!
               make it short,
        i'm done with dramatics that
have no memorable quote.
flares still feel more authentic than
tiki torches...
                   then again,
american football is so stupid
                that cricket makes
sense, and
there's no need for a hooligan
making a stance.
seriously... american football
is the most idiotic game in encompassing
the need for a coliseum!
               i'm authentic
in my bewilderment at the complexity
of cricket, that, i get,
  american football makes
   about as much sense as
american foreign policy outside
of the poker face of f. d. Roosevelt;
i must be ******* or something,
   or, something else, i just don't know.