What am I doing with my life?
Round and round these thoughts spiral -
Same old concerns, same old complaints;
Any ego left, nothing but remnants
Of something always fragile, never solid, never whole,
Down the rabbit hole again.
Doors close - do any open?
Am I chasing my tail, destined to fail?
Am I losing my mind, trying to be kind?
Are my pipe dreams hallucinogenic?'
Can I overcome these genetics?
Around the corner - who knows what?
Maybe I'll succeed, maybe I'll be shot?
Getting old without a rudder -
Makes me scared, makes me shudder.
In this whirlpool of doubt and self-loathing
I'm drowning - searching for answers, receiving nothing.
Pitiful words are an inadequate reflection
Of someone trying to communicate without a connection.

All americans amply adore adult affairs, as all anarchist adapt alchemy adding astrological anatomy. Again and again advertisements allows affliction adopting and adapting behind ****** beliefs. Besides being boggled, beware big bangs become beginnings. Build beneficial bridges, contemptible courts create credit consuming countries, cops copout. Complement compassion conspire, contact & contest causes constant curiosity can cure cancer, disease & disability. Deep diving dare devils dive deep daring devils designing diabolical deeds daily. Every eclipse emits energy. Employ empathy, empower education, embrace emotion, eliminate elitism. Freedom from forever fetching, fined forgotten fundamentals fully focusing, frantic fools fizzle fast. Gas guzzling gluttons gathering garbage gardens generate generational genes. Gods gilt grows. However hustling hope hype has harmed humanity’s harvest, harboring hateful habits ignorance infects into idiots, idealist imagine, illumination increases imaging. Just join James, Jerusalem’s jackpot, jailhouse jokers, Jesus jumping Joseph just justify Kriss Kringle, knowledge, kings killing kids, ku klux **** kingdoms knowing life & logic loosely. Love loud, live & let live less lords linger, least let light lead loyal lunatics merely mortal magic. Media’s morbid makeover makes morning mindless midnight’s mayhem’s marketplace microwave midfields mixing m16 man made misery muffling many muzzled masses. Newly named narcissistic nations nationalize nc-17 nonsense needing normal numerals natural numbers not nuclear Nazis overseeing oblong objectives orbiting our original origin. Organize outlaws outlanders outcasts overall people pathetically pleased pill popping pissants. Permute perseverance provide physical philosophy preceding prime power, push. Quit quarreling, question quadrants, quests quench qualifying qualities. Realist realize realities rigged, reborn rebels raid reason rejecting rusted routines reducing royalty redoing realities redundant reflection. Reaching scared stars secretes surface scientific simplicity. State symbolism segregates sense spelling spellbound Satanism. Temples trapping truth’s timeline, television tames tons teaching troubling tall tails, turbojeted tanks takeoff targeting trailblazing teachers. Ugly unlawful union undone. Ultimate universal u-turn unites us using unearthed UFOs. Unknown variables vast vacuum, visibly violent volcanoes, vented virus vaults, vanishing voyagers, weather warnings with world wide war warming weapons waking who would watch wandering why x-axis yields yin & yang yet yankees yell yearly. Ziggurats, zodiacs, zen & zion zipped, zombie zoos zigzaging zero zones

How do I hate thee? I cannot count the ways.
That you are a clueless, narcissistic proto-fascist
Are words so true
They make me rue
That I’d not the durst
To use them first.
But here are a few
That well  may be new
To vilipend you.

You move limacine-like
Into the nasty netherworld
Of  our national nuttiness
Spinning whigmaleeries
That you prompt gailliardese
Among those not yet dead of brain.

You are a *******, a blatherskite,
And a fanforan.

So How do I hate thee?
With the breath,
Smiles, tears,
Of all my life,
And if Fate choose,
I shall but hate thee greater
After death.

- Dan Wick

If you see me in the street, just smile,
Then walk away.
You’ll wonder why I fail to speak,
The reason, I don’t care!

You see, when you, were in my life,
I offered part of me
But you had narcissistic traits
So now, you cease to be!

GGx

Narcissistic personality disorder involves a pattern of self-centered, arrogant thinking and behavior, a lack of empathy and consideration for other people, and an excessive need for admiration. Others often describe people with NPD as cocky, manipulative selfish, patronizing, and demanding.
I feel that I am entitled. I need to be the center of attention and recognition needs to be handed to me. Admiration is a most.
I have these implosives that urge me to think, that I deserve more than what I get. I am irrational and over dramatic.
I don’t want to hear it, if it’s not positive or benefits me. I hate hearing the truth and facts,because I hate being in the wrong.
I don’t own up to my own mistakes because I believe, I did nothing wrong. I don’t know why I think this way. I can’t control this way of thinking. It consumes me, and I become this horrible human being. I’m not usually like this, but my state of mind takes over to a narcissistic state of mind.

Society fears
Us looking in mirrors
And liking what we see
Posting 'selfies' online
Is a narcissistic crime
Because we're not allowed to be
Proud of how we look
'Cause in society's book
Insecurity plus jealousy equals pay
And when we cry
We're likely to buy
And the world wants us that way

Hello snorer, I hope you didn't sleep any poorer
when I stayed up all night typing this not-poem
I meant you no harm, but I had to stay up
Because I couldn't make music out of your obnoxiously loud cacophony of windpipe crap, er "music".  Time to not-pretend to absolutely hate your snoring under the guise of being perfectly okay with it for the sake of setting the tone a bit nicer to all who must hear it, so they can BEAR to, for otherwise it would be absurd.  Not as absurd as anyone hating to have aural drills applied to all their chakras all night, but still absurd enough to get a chuckle out of me (I hope it didn't wake your fine specimen here). It was never my intent, though it was always my ethical concern (if only everyone could be as reciprocal as you and I).   Oh, my not-pretend hatred is very thinly veiled.  I wasn't totally defeated by your snore-sound armies so that I couldn't type words, but I may have lost some of my desired effect due to the sometimes wincing distraction they caused to my piece of mind at this or that time when I needed it the most (even though I was awake, which is no crime if snoring at night and keeping me that way isn't).

Well, I did ask you if you'd mind if I typed,
I did tell you that you could tell me if its quiet purr of clicks would bother your precious sleep
But I never felt a need to be concerned, because whenever I
was typing, I heard you snore, and whenever I was in the heights of
some new discovery or epiphany, your sharp sudden thunderstroke of near death
corrugated metal vibrating in the torrent of some sudden gale force gust of wind.

These were signs to me of your restful sleep.  So I simply didn't worry about your sleep.  I was certain that my electronic beeps were every now and then music to your ears, just as they were to mine.  This is because in the midst of these I heard you snore, and when you snored, I took you to be asleep.

Ah but then again, then again, these are fanciful constructions which simply say that what is wonderful for me should be just fine and dandy with you, at a bare minimum, and on those grounds of very unsymmetrical attitude about right and wrong I would have to begin my music tirade of words as well.  But I don't view justice and propriety along such selfish lines as these.

What I see is that duplicity is your thesis.  I have anecdotal accounts which are marvelous to behold first hand, but the details of the absurdities cannot be done justice in the language of men, for the intensity of such insanity can only be borne lightly by the frailest frayed ends of my sanity for having lived through your acoustically maddening inanity.

You didn't ever admit to me that my noises were not music to YOUR ears.  Indeed  you claimed never to be bothered by them because you never voiced up against them.  I suppose you might as well voice up against them in the street as well if it turns out not all of you snorers-go-a-viking types like to hear my mouse clicking away like a tapping noises on a metal plate in your skull.  Sorry if it is another non-snorer-who-must-stay-up-late-and-so-be-occupied person whose nocturnal joys were misinterpreted as direct assaults on the dignity, spirit, or just basic mental viability of your wounded snoremonster troop of anti-late-stayer-uppers, because in fact, we used to be sleep-at-night-entities like you, but that was before you showed up, thoracic marching band in tow.  Marching bands are musical also, to some people.  And for some all hours of the night are perfect for a marching band.  Who am I to tell them otherwise.  

Well let me know the next time a marching band is given special permit to come through your neighborhood at night, and I'll be glad to point out to you the first Snorer'sville, because only they should be expected, in all justice to live with the macroscopic manifestation of their personal narcissistic paradises.

Let you all go to your own place and form your own nation, and see if you can consistently demand everyone else find music in your ****** and accursed racket!  But until then I expect some of you will have to take the damage returned by the growing number of people who are very much tired of living under the horrors of your infliction upon us, your demonic and evil tyranny of mind-crushing hate that is your ****** noise.  We will do yoga and breathe, and stretch, and some light calesthenics to relax and seek some focus and composure, whenever our spirits require, and this will be unchallenged by you so long as you are asleep, and it will be unchallenged by you so long as you are awake too.  For in the latter case you are already awake (and so still are we, usually) while in the former case it is far quieter than your snoring, both in its valleys and peaks.  And moreover it has not kept you up, but in fact I have noted that you wake yourself up with your own music when it reaches a certain crescendo.  

Unless you want to say that those crescendos are some sort of involuntary complaint about MY crescendos of spirit, when I start typing about 20% faster than normal, with perfect focus and accuracy while reaching an aesthetic pleasure approaching ****** as I realize that it is almost unerringly in the midst of such an experience that I hear your crescendo resound. And since it was no more intended to be a distraction for me, then surely my music must have also gone undetected by your ears, as well as your spirit. Or is it fairer to say it was the very cause of your crescendo, or at least its inspiration?

Therefore I needn't worry that it is I that is keeping you up, even if for only brief stints at a time, especially by comparison to my all-night vigils.  Not so, but it is you who are so enraptured by my occasional laughs or giggles as I edify my weary, sleep-deprived mind on some bit of morale boosting entertainment.  With headphones on of course.  It's also courteously plugged into the computer to prevent my favorite bit of Judas Priest from hurting your ear drums, or else overstimulating your music appreciation centers, which are verily attached to your ear-drums by a nerve bundle (and what nerve you all have there).  This means I've spared you too much distraction from any already-abundant music of the spheres effect you may be savoring which might have emanated from my bumbling around in the dark (to keep the lights out of course, after all people are sleeping).

Yes but that is a minority of you perhaps, who would lie about that and in fact who ought to say that our nocturnal emissions are not what you'd call restfully mind-relaxing crickets in the dead of night with an occasional hoot in the distance...  But they are a minority, the rest of you are so definitely in good faith.

But then why do I always run into those of your tribe who have strange and unethical habits, such as destroying others' lives by ruining their one perhaps most preciously personal and inalienable need second only to air and water, and that is sleep.  It is, in terms of acute necessity, in many ways more needed than food, though in the long term food catches up.  But food catches up only because not eating food is a  lot like not getting sleep, but just a lot more intense on the body when it drops to some critical point because we know from experience it is on raw nerves that we can go for a while in search of food, but if the food can't be found (perhaps because of our lack of sleep ruining our cognition in some way), then we will not eat, nor sleep, because we'll be dead.  

But either way, we'll be dead, for lack of sleep kills, both directly and indirectly, if suffered over a short time and/or in a diluted form over a long time.  That would be poetically commensurate to the sadistic similitude of the types of snoring sounds with the types of ways to die from being deprived of sleep according to two modes (acute and chronic), over many keys of incident, accident, lost opportunity and ill-stared fate, all of which can be mapped in some way back to that auditory persecution of our very souls of which your kind are in some swelling numbers quite proud.  Just think of all the car accidents, work accidents, altercations, fits of rage, inability to concentrate well or sometimes at all, and other life-damaging conditions of the mind, and also of the body, which accrue from lack of proper and healthy sleep at night!

Good thing for most of you though, right?  Because surely our music is also sweet, and I really hope I've inspired many to face this need for equality, and be on their guard against any unjust whining or groaning from those who seem in point of fact to value their sleep just a good deal more than they value anyone else's.  Not only because they really really love to get those zzz's but because they think that in the natural order of things, before people suddenly went mad and evil, people went to bed and slept well even partly BECAUSE of this brachio-esophageal orchestral lullaby.

But we'll be on our guard against those complaints, because we know you have plotted to take to the streets against us to defend your noisiness-all-night-every-night rights.  So we'll be on guard to defend ours, TO THE LAST FIBER OF OUR BEING.

Because you insufferable ******* are cruel, and cruelty no one should abide.  No one in my world, in my society of people, will be allowed to inflict cruelty on another person, nor be callously prejudicial in their own favor when injuries do occur because of their actions merely on the grounds that the damage it causes coincides with the fulfillment of a need on their own part, even while that fulfillment is of a need which is obstructed from satisfaction in the other part, and by THAT VERY SAME REASON, so that your sleep depends on keeping others awake.  UNLESS you can somehow con or coerce them into developing some form of Stockholm Syndrome and confuse the torment you inflict upon them with a sign of your love and wonderfulness to be around.

Yes, I know you hear me typing now, through your well-behaved proxy.  I feel it. If not he per se, then in a parallel universe not too far off, there's a version of him who does.  Perhaps not the one I know now, on day one of having moved into this room, but perhaps one represented in this universe by someone who has found himself in some sort of circumstances found later on during his stay, this mixed with the fact that familiarity breeds contempt... He'll start making some righteous demands of some kind, and I might not be in a such a good mood about that due to lack of proper sleep, and this will coincide with said contumacy against my own rights (such as to breathe, type, surf the net, or do other nocturnal things other than snoring which might keep others up).

As to that last point in parentheses, snoring is an activity which you perform in conjunction with your getting sleep, and it therefore means not well for your notion of fairness to say things as they are, and simply say the truth, which is that your getting sleep deprives others of theirs, but it can be logically deduced.

It can also be logically deduced that the don't give flying **** if you don't like the fact that we don't like your ear-**** night after night, which is a good name as any, but should perhaps at times be amended to body-demolishing soul-****** of a mortally sinful nature, and with an ethical incongruity to good character of a person to maintain it, all the more to sings its praises to us and call it "good poetry".

There once was a boy, slightly altered, possessed by greed, and terrified of failure. His mother and father seemed to only care about one thing. After he was born, his parents became possessed by wealth. His eyes were the colors of the sky when darkness would fall, the color only the devil would welcome. The vermillion circle stretched to the outskirts of the violet black horizon. The violet black seemed to hesitantly corrupt the vermillion as they intertwine through the abyss of the newborn darkness within his soul. Where his mother and father saw a demon. And from then on they were taken by his nonexistence, and slowly their love began to fade. This boy had a name, a name his parents soon forgotten, Dracoleon.
Dracoleon's mind always averted to wealth. The only time his parents communicated was when taxes were to come. They spoke solely about coins, gold, and work. Draco was soon consumed by it. He was then always busy, always working, counting money, he had nothing get in his way, He never seemed to see the scared, suspicious, and disgusted faces that walked by him, the dream of wealth consumed his entire universe.
It was one day, the king was said to be roaming about town. His parents would talk about the king often, father would say that he wished to be as rich as the king, or be the king himself.  But he would shake his head and continue. The boy wandered about the town indifferently as he searched for his father’s idol. It was once he turned a corner, he saw him. He ran toward the crowd and progressively landed in front. The king road in a chariot, the glistening white horses carried ropes dragging the golden chariot behind, As the silver knights followed. Across the street he saw his parents seek in awe of the glorious presence the king beheld. Then saw them grasp hands as if they were grasping a chance of hope as the king road by. In Dracoleon's eyes the king seemed narcissistic, he looked to be bathing in the jealously, the awe, and crushed hopes around him.
Then, suddenly, the king stopped in front of him. Then strode out of the chariot and stood, twenty feet away, then pointed directly at him; “Come my child!” he said. Impulsively,  he walked then stopped in confusion. “Come; kneel before me!” he yelled. Quickly he snapped and continued towards the king. He knelt three feet away. The king knelt down and looked into his violet eyes and whispered in his ear: “You’re different from the rest.” Suddenly he gasped, quickly stood and started humming a melody as if he was hypnotized; Dracoleon saw a slight gleam in his eye. A few moments later, he stopped and stood awkward and confused, then said “you’re going to be excellent.” At that he spun around, entered the chariot and continued on his way.
The boy stood dazed by the king’s presence. The villagers were glaring at him for minutes till he finally came out of  his hypnopompic trance. It was then he saw a man, just about thirty, wearing a cloak, carrying an odd looking box. No one seemed to notice him. As the people continued on their lives, he decided to wander to the mysterious man that caught his interest. It didn’t take long for the old man to notice the boy stalking him. He confronted the boy. “Hello” He said. “I must ask, why are you following me?” The boy froze in his steps, “w-what’s in the box?” he whispered. The man chuckled, “would you like to find out?” The boy managed to nod…. The man took the boy, not by force, not by manipulation, but by the man simply walking away, as the boy follows.

The wizard and the boy traveled in his single horse wagon in Europe for many years. The wizard showed him a whole new world, and left Draco's behind. The wizard filled his mind with adventure, and fed him excitement the boy had a purpose, but the wizard had rules, ones that cannot be broken. The wizard taught him his ways. And slowly, the boy became a wizard.

Six years later, the wizard was fading, he told him a story, a story about the great wizards long ago, The world was approaching something non existent, the wizards couldn’t escape, he was the only one who wasn’t taken by the darkness, and he watched as the rest of the great wizards, imploded and were trapped by the void. Silence, infinity, timelessness, nothing, it was hell. The great wizard gave him a puppet, it looked like the wizard. “Its the story of our past, a past not to be forgotten” He had whispered and he slowly faded away, joining the great wizards in the void.

It was then Dracoleon became the last wizard in the world. All of the wizards power, all the rules, and all the memories, his, And his alone. Dracoleon only had one thing to do, the only thing that will carry the wizards memories, becoming a puppet master.

The wizards shows became well known, He would come into town and there would be a few people going in and out of the wagon, watching the puppet shows. It was then a strange man came into the wagon, tall, pale, a dark presence around him. He asked to stay after the show.  He walked Beside and ran his thin pale fingers along the small stage the puppets played on. “You're different from the rest.” He said in a death toned voice. Draco froze, and suddenly his past flashed before his eyes, his parents, the money, the king. The king said he was different too. “ You're going to be excellent.” He whispered. “what if I told you, I could make you excellent, forever? Nothing absolutely nothing would get in the way.” Draco was mesmerized by the corruption of his past seeking out through his mind, and setting around him. The money, the greed, he forgot how great it was, to be in power, now that he's a wizard, the only wizard, he can do anything, change the rules, take over the world. Then suddenly, he was frightened, He wouldn’t have time, Time to do all theses things, Suddenly the man's words caught up in his mind, “What if I told you, I could make you excellent forever?” Draco then looked up at the odd man, he was smiling. “what do you say?” Draco manged a nod.

Draco was near death. The man turned out to be a vampire, he altered him. But it was all a blur, “ A three day slumber, and a new universe comes at your feet with a path set to follow” The vampire had said. Then he disappeared, and the pain began.  Draco felt his soul leap out of his chest, the intense burning sensation followed throughout his body, And then, nothing. He felt his soul go on a  journey to comeback with a plan, A plan that would make the universe his, forever. Draco opened his eyes....

The puppet maker became very popular, But to Vincent, he was a question, a mystery, Draco The wizard caught his interest when he saw the villagers walk out, excited, happy, and longing for more.  But that’s not what intrigued him, The villagers stepped out of the wagon, with a look of confusion, but only for a slight second, then there eyes, they fogged over and then reverted to normalcy. As they walked, most hummed a melody, A repeating melody that seemed to be engraved in their throats.
Vincent was a magician. One of the greatest, He owned a magic shop in the middle of the town he was curious on what the puppet maker was to do when he brought villagers into the wagon. When the last of the villagers walked out, Vincent quickly got in line.

Dracoleon brought five villagers into the wagon each time, In Vincent's group there was a little girl, her father, a woman, and an old man.  into the wagon they went and  they sat down and he began the show.  Vincent and the others watched the puppet maker bring his puppets into play. They were familiar puppets, ones you would see of people walking in the streets. His voice matched that of the puppet, the personality’s seemed to fit perfectly. It was nothing like they'd ever seen before. Then suddenly the candles went out, and it was dark in the wagon. “ Time to play” Draco whispered. Suddenly, They felt something behind them, Then, the candles flickered on, the puppets were restraining them,  Smiles on their wooden faces. Slowly, Dracoleon pulled out a watch, a small watch, he whispered something into it, and it glowed blue. He walked over to where the little girl was restrained, he took her wrist and with a small blade, he slit it, she tried to scream, you could see the horror in her blue eyes, his lips pressed against her wrist and he began to drink, you could see her rosy cheeks go pale, He left her gasping for life. “the youngest always taste the best.” He laughed. “ The taste of blood so pure.” He whispered. “But shes not a ******.” He looked at the father. “you see, its sick men like you that deserve to die.” The father looked at him in terror. Dracoleon whispered in his ear but he was still to be heard. “but I've something better than that.” A tear ran down the father's face. “Humans are so faulty. So filled with sin, sickness, you should be thanking me. But you may never understand” He looked at Vincent. “And you, you think you can defeat me.” He chuckled. The puppets grip grew tighter. Blood started dripping down each one of their faces, the puppets were slowly attaching themselves to the humans their strings tightening around their neck and the mouths grasping their skulls. The puppet maker continued laughing “ Let the games begin!”  He opened the watch, the humans fell limp and the puppets disappeared into their bodies. The puppet maker began to hum the melody.

Come one, come all!
I invite you now to the narcissistic ball!

A herd of manipulators will dominate this masquerade.
It will be a sight to see, get your ticket now and don’t be late!

The theme of tonight’s event is sociopathic tendencies,
preying on other people’s vulnerabilities.

Infatuated with themselves, lack any feeling.
Making love to their reflection is what they find appealing.

Mirror mirror on the wall
who is the grandest egomaniac of all?
They will be crowned tonight, didn’t you know?
You will find out if you dare to show!

I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and pseudonyms
and there's certain things I can't say
won't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
pointless
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
but me
has ever seen
will ever see
Even now
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
never met
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
absolutely true
absolutely honest
absolutely Me
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
without Witness?
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
total strangers
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)

*******
I'm leaving it in

While I don't suffer, or suffer from
Normal, eurocentrism, northern malaise,
Nor, academia, a blood disease,
I do mind manners in which doings
And not doings are done or aren't,
As it brings life and light to them,
Or it doesn't, for those most attached
To living or dying are most closely death.

This while acid rain from your closed eye
And an acre of rainforest falls each second.
Thus Earth's tears bleed for all you see is gray.
As machinations of travailing winds,
Miraging, veil, mirror narcissistic nihlistic
False-ego as self, do "..we(e),.." evince to be?
A republican chides, "put another poet
On the barbie", his idea of conservation.

Prump has had his exec. branch criminally:
Edit the official video and script of his
Helsinki news conference where tutin was asked,
"Did you help prump become president and did you
Have your gov't do the same", with tutin's answers,
"Yes I did, yes, I did..." + premeditatedly separate
Latino families at the border to torture them,
Dictate that "if they want to see their kids again
They have to sign away their rights and leave".

He just said, "don't believe what you hear, see",
Almost a quote from Orwell's '1984', in which
Is written, "this dictate of the gov't was most
Important of all, don't believe what your ears
Hear or your eyes see".  Since altright universe
Invaders were installed in the Blackhouse we've
Known things will only get worse, what other
Reason could his "military parade in 11-18" be for
Except military rule, will the American daymare end?

Ignorance is bliss,
really,
more like Stupidity.
an aspect,
benefiting a person,
like cold sore,
irritating,
an annoyance,
peevish to your life.

Face it, honey,
you’re as fake,
as your personality.
You’re plastic,
I could melt you,
if I truly desired,
setting a lighted match,
to your artificial body.

Please, take some advice,
lay off the make-up,
you look like a clown,
maybe a *******.
Tanning is acceptable,
but looking dark orange,
is outrageous.
There is no need to look,
like you just rolled in bag of Doritos,
that’s Snooki’s Job.

There is more to life,
besides appearances,
waking up like P. Diddy,
sweet heart, don’t like be Kesha,
it’s ******.
Partying is enjoyable,
but not necessary every night,
consisting of drinking,
frat boys, jocks, pretty boys,
saying “oh my god”,
or “I broke a nail”,
and precarious ***.

I know you were raised with Barbies,
but you don’t have to be one.
Barbie is a piece of plastic,
containing no originality,
with an unfeasible body,
and isn’t real,
much like yourself.
Stop with the act,
no one wants to be,
around a person,
who is often intoxicated,
narcissistic,
and a ditzy *****.

You can be a girly girl,
but be genuine,
stop being a follower,
if everyone jumps off a bridge,
then you’ll be splattered,
upon the ground with them,
no use to anyone.

My words are probably useless,
going right through the holes,
of yours ears,
attached to the plastic head of yours.

Anyways, I tried,
as excruciating as it was,
to reach out to you,
who are living this life,
of alleged greatness,
more like a travesty,
in my eyes.

Hopefully, you’ll change,
wake up from this social stupor,
become yourself,
regain your individuality,
and cease to be,
a Barbie doll.

Millennial
Millennial
Millennial
Some idiot coined that for those of us that weren’t born yet
What happened?
To the baby boomers
Groovy hippies

Manson getting married, what about me?
Generation X
Generation Hipster
Assassin
**** yourself
Nobody said that I was a millennial until I read it from the internet
Something that should be shot dead like those on TV
“Everything was better when we were young”
No it wasn’t
It wasn’t me it wasn’t me I didn’t mean to die because you hated me for what I was
Are you still racist? Prejudiced
in America?

Millennial
Millennial
Millennial
Narcissistic
who are you calling self-obsessed when you were always dangerous
we didn’t want to live from the womb which was like our tomb
Catastrophe
Legacy
( I spat out some computer wires today and I’m not going to apologize for it as I’m a millennial, we got to call Frank Black tonight)
Millennial
Millennial
Millennial
Millennial

I’m in over my head
We speak in acronyms and random slang
She had a baby and the baby’s going to be apart of the next and final generation
We’ll be dead we’ll be dead we’ll be dead

Millennial
Millennial
Millennial
Millennial

you bloodied me with your lack of concern

you pushed me with your false realities

you wounded me with your cynicism and judgment

you destroyed me with your selfishness

you embarrassed me with your entitlement

you offended me with your blatant lies

you chained me by making me your slave

you chased me when I finally tried to leave

you terrified me when I thought I was being followed

you cut me when you dismissed my hurt

you assaulted me with anger and violence

you weeped at me to come home

you obliterated me with your being

you slaughtered me because I still love you

you were supposed to be my mother

Coming down and over
With a narcissistic tide
Daddy's little nightmare
but to momma she's alright

Punched with independence
to hide her own stigma
Breaking hearts left and right
Out for lust, not love

Regurgitating phrases
as if anything was new
Somehow I was blind enough
to ever be with you

I'm never turning back again
You're only burning time
You have taken happiness
But you'll never take my pride.

NEW YEAR INTROSPECTION PART FOUR

the air of maturity 
is breathed today
with such rarity 
that what is termed 
the age of majority, *<
is in reality not, 
it instead being 
a place of minority; 
it's occupants being 
the selfless lot who 
give freely of their proffering, 
offering themselves an offering 
and considering themselves 
adequately advantaged 
as they willingly 
position becoming likely 
to be taken advantage 
and taken for granted
hearts ready for breaking 
yet give, love, share
heal, they do, 
and freely so; 
therein standing 
in stark contrast to 
the narcissistic hoards
who protect, 
with pirouetting steps, 
their barren nests, 
empty hearts,
and meager pockets, 
ever failing to realize 
that nature’s law 
bestows abundance best 
at the selfless giver’s behest.

Kanye Got Got

Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually,

hundred years ago we were all playing flutes,
we’re all guilty as charged even without proof,
and then we play ourselves that’s the truth,
because those in control have nothing to prove,

They pull up the trains and tell us to move,
get to your job gotta quota to fill,
these politicking capitalists are making me sick,
and maybe I’m one too and that’s why I feel ill,

but I’m better than that getting better in fact,
and that’s why my cup overrunneth when filled,

to the brim ballin’ all in,
swimming in sin still blessed as Mary The ******,

first programmed device was invented in Baghdad,
but we’re all caught up in these narcissistic sentiments,
we’re in The Greatest Time in Human History,
and all you can think is the narcissistic thought that “I’m sad”,

Yeah we’re all sad,
and that’s our own fault,
got me mad as a cam in Baghdad,
which I guess was the results,
of being over optimistic with bad math,
and being on the war path with a sadistic cult,

but what’s the cult called,
does it even have a name,
and how’d it get Kanye,
and what’s it gotta do with Jay?

Well I guess They got Kanye,
I suppose They’ll get me too one day,
and I can try but can’t get away,
because They get everyone eventually…

∆ LaLux ∆

The New Book Is FREE Here: https://www.scribd.com/document/367036005/The-Sydney-Sessions-12-Steps

she told me that this is what it was like to be a firestorm,and i believed her.youre not golden sweetheart,
none of us are.we're not meant to look nice.
this is for our eyes only.dont look me in the eyes
and pretend that you dont know what i mean
take me to the cathedral pour holy water over my shivering shaking bones
build a baby grand out of my corpse,honey,its the only one ive got.
dont pretend you dont feel it too
and even if ill never be as romantic as you,at least ill try
at least i wont leave you here
gasoline on pavement,dying the only way you know how
they told me i could be anything i wanted so i turned myself into a gun,
hollow like your stomach when all youve had to eat the past three days is stale ******* bread.
dont look at me like that.
i know all of your secrets and youre the one still forgetting about my jaw,the one you broke.
i see it in your eyes.we both know how this ends
but I wont pull the trigger on heartbreak hills
not until theres more whiskey than broomsticks beating us ******
cigarette **** wrists against a concrete wall,you always were one for a metaphor werent you?
jesus,babe you look so beautiful in this light.would you let me take your picture with the old kodak we pretend doesnt exist?
im sorry if this is forward of me,but i think id like it if you dug bruises
into my throat
loving the only way you know how,and this isnt the kind of love you see in movies
cause its not really love when neither of you can stop chainsmoking for a ******* second
to look at the way the sun glints off hair at just the right time.
maybe if i had sinners hips youd kiss me,just the way i like
too much,all at once.this,you say,
this is what its like to be a firestorm.
we tell people we're just close friends,like in the way real people are close friends,
we tell people that the bruises on both our mouths are just from the red wine,silly,isnt it obvious?
the train station is too crowded.im fidgety
and the woman in the dress sitting next to me is reading a newspaper article about string theory
i wonder if it tells her about the way i sewed my mouth shut one winter
(or maybe that was you.whatever.its the same ******* thing anyway,isnt it,you say.stop ******* smiling at me like that.you know its not funny)
i wonder if she knows that the needle does not have to be very sharp to pierce the skin.
lesson one:stop pretending that youre the dragon.
lesson two:god.god.god youre ******* annoying.cant you keep your ******* mouth shut?i told you not to tell anyone,you ******* *******.if you show up outside my house again ill **** you.
dont leave someone voicemails after they leave you for the subway station. they will not reply.
this is normal.
you called me a narcissistic ***** and i think you were right but at least i think im worth something,right?at least i havent given up on my collarbones,thrown
them away like they're ******* trash.but what i mean to say is,
at least im not like you.at least i dont have a scar on my upper lip.
stop telling me that the ******* is a ******* metaphor,
this isnt a novel and im not a vampire
and last time i checked your eyes were brown,not black.youre not a monster so stop trying to be one.
the woman sitting next to me on the airplane wont stop reciting bible verses but i dont feel any more holy than i did three hours ago.
this isnt a ******* contest.you cant compete with someone to be the most ****** up,god whats wrong with you
havent you read about cain and abel
this will end the only way it possibly can
stop hanging grave markers on walls,cant you see the marks on your fingers
this isnt a ballad for a dead man and i dont mean to be condescending
but i like the way you kiss people,ten days after the time of death
and maybe ive left you too many voicemails at three in the morning
and maybe i stained your pillowcase with whiskey and secrets
but listen up,honey,you need me more than i need you
dont lie to me,you know its true
youre lying down at the bottom of the gymnasium swimming pool
and somehow youve managed to find comfort in it
dear reader:im sorry.im sorry about the mixtapes,okay,you were never supposed to find them and-and ****,ive messed everything up.bye.see you soon,
i guess.

There are lobster fisherman
There are those who catch many fish
with big commercial boats and big nets
Many like to fish for the sport of it
for trout
for bass
for perch

But the only catch I like
on the end of my line
are compliments
That's right
Maybe I never got enough praise
A shy, nerdy kid with the low self-esteem
Maybe it's just a narcissistic need
to be noticed

I can sit there for a while
in my sea of creativity
Sometimes I might snag  
an old boot
an old tire
a glob of seaweed
or a message in a bottle that says
"YAWN!"

Kidding aside
I write because it keeps me sane
Whether or not I have an audience of one
and that audience is me
or whether I can entertain others
I cannot stop or start the flow of my pen
for any reason but the love of writing

They say one man's junk
is another man's treasure
So when I feel that tug
on the end of my fishing line
with the paperless technology
we have to express ourselves
I know someone was hooked
onto the end of my invisible pen

So I am not too proud to admit it
I toss "modesty" out of my boat
for a bigger, shameless fishing experience  
Grabbing my pole to reel in
the sweetness of those kind words
and I say, "Thank you!"

We do **** culture in uhmerica.

What is uhmerican culture anyway?
I'll explain:
it's like,
irrationalized entitlement,
moral decadence on every side
of every fence &
sick narcissistic pride
to be parasitic,
a louse *******
the life out of
the whole **** planet.

Men who have
everything
still die from depression.
Women who call
freedom co-decency
bold faced oppression.

**** first question later.

Hermits complaining
about the rain when
they know **** well
they don't even go outside.

Everyone lies to
everyone lies to
everyone lies to
everyone lies to
everyone.  

See?
It's a cycle.
A spiral.

Maybe it'll go quiet
into the night, or
maybe it'll ignite
the whole **** planet.

Has anyone else noticed
the rise and fall of
Napoleon & the Romans?  

How every worldwide empire dies?  
In a fiery gust of embarassment  
that was the special from the start.

I've grown numb
to the disgust I felt
towards everyone else &
the fact that they're all
kind of beyond helping.

Now I'm just waiting
for it all to fall apart.

Funny men in tall chef hats
Marching about so wildly
Stone soup and humble pie
Main course and dessert delight

Give me a dose
And that girl two
Vanity, her dream come true
Narcissistic uncaring and cold

A mid-evil blunder
So daring and bold
Spoiled brats
And rotting Brauts

Sugared too sweet
Not telling the truth
The gossip
And all

The Court jester
The village idiot
He sinks to the bottom
She cheers to the top

It's amazing the wonder
The high school scene
The many things
That relate to its sheen

The short stout bakers
Making profit from weakness
Some goods so smooth
Some just the opposite

The geeks and nerds
Hackers and slackers
Jocks with jerseys
And rebels with rock

Serve up course two and three
Let's make it a festival
Just you and me
Vanity and sheen

Were just getting started
This is high school
This mid-evil concert
For four years we live it

A new melody
A new song
It's not the end
But the struggle

Is on.

why do we care
who follows us
narcissistic popularity
with faceless friends
who we have no hope
of ever catching up with
they’re not coming round
for tea and cake
you’re not cooking dinner
opening the wine
laying the table just right
none of them really give a ****
because like you
they want your likes
like for like
liking you living your best life
in the two second spotlight
of their stream
these are new friends
avatars on a screen
edited to oblivion
so you can barely see
where the cracks begin
we live in the moment
and report every movement
hoping someone will love us
so we can lead them on

Wow... she may not be innocent, but he is an absolute *******.
DON'T BURN ME!!! (continues grabbing at a burning cigarette)
pure ****** ***** !
I would've slapped the **** out of that ****
Burning someone with cigarettes is a terrible thing to do.
I'm glad there's a great big ******* ocean between me and these *******
you can't really expect anything less from such low-class people.
very classy.
Will they just have *** already?
close your legs....*****
he is just upset that she doesn't want to **** him

I ******* all of my friends,
I drink all of their wine,
You think I’m an angel but you’ll find out in time
And the rivers run high and the rivers run deep
You want me to bail you out, with promises I choose not to keep
I’m just a fool for self preservation,
Taking self-prescribed drugs for a vacation
From this hole in my mind, now I’ve ****** you off too
Oh well, I’m a demon, now pass the **** *****

Throughout the course of this life, I, just like you, have made my fair share of mistakes. To compensate for this & also out of a fear of letting others down or causing pain or suffering to anyone other than myself, over the years I have tried to hone to almost perfection, the habit of seeing down the line when it comes to the decisions I make and the chances I take.
But alas, no one is perfect, especially not I.

Although I was compelled to grow up long ago, I feel as though I am still a young man, a young man with old values. Values like honor, loyalty, dignity and a wonderful sense of shame. A trait which I feel compliments the first three aforementioned values quite well.
Traits far removed from the gooey 'Quick’mix’d Battered' personalities we find ourselves standing shoulder to shoulder with in the oven of today’s irreversible societal meltdown. Everyone seems to have forgotten to teach their off-spring of that which makes life worth living & keeps the world turning. Which is of course, living for others just as much as we live for ourselves. Unfortunately, due to the selfish pace of today, rarely is anyone noticed for their gestures towards humanity. The reason for this phenomenon, being of course; Man Kinds evolution into the Narcissistic Vampire he is today. And as a result of this, not only do our efforts towards one another merely go unnoticed & unappreciated, it's far worse than that, courtesy is no longer even recognized for what it is, is rarely reciprocated, and has thus been phased out completely. And as a result of this; Man Kinds new triumphant mutation, 'The All-consuming Ego', is free to simply **** the meaning out of all that was once so valuable to the fabric of human society, while arrogantly presuming to be deserving of it all anyways, regardless of it's contribution to anyone or any thing.
Now the ego acts as a new type of biological O rgan,
an invisible 'Iron Lung'. Processing the very niceties that once separated us from the beasts, as if they were just like any other natural resource. But there is a difference & that difference is that these are human resources and in my opinion are just as valuable as the air we breathe, and just as nourishing as the sweet waters we drink. Manners are things to be noticed, cherished and savored. They are decency's. Gifts, that when given & returned, should impart on us the feeling of being recognized for our own decency and our own efforts towards our fellow man.
However, since Man has placed his Ego at the forefront, where once stood the Human Heart, 'It' now sits at the receiving window of human courtesies, absorbing and indifferent. So instead, it all goes unnoticed, unrecognized and underappreciated just like a gulp of air and is simply exhaled without a second thought, or a shred of gratitude as to how precious it really was.

If you were able to ask a fish, to name one thing which It considered to be both the most obvious aspect of his environment and also the thing most essential to the survival of its species, the last thing it will mention is the water.
Ask a man today the same question, but replace the words “his environment” with “humanity” and the last thing He will mention is another human being.

But I digress…

You'll have to excuse me. I am after-all a true romantic in every sense of the word and I have always been quite partial to dramatic effect.
I consider myself a realist, a term all too often confused with having a negative outlook. I beg to differ. In a world gone mad, I just prefer to keep my eyes wide open and my head in the game, as opposed to having it shoved all the way up my own a$$ like most. And although the world may not be so pretty out here, at least it’s real, as am I.
Allow me to make something abundantly clear, I never have been, nor will I ever be, anyone special.
And being aware of these facts is still far better than pretending that both of them are anything other than just that, facts.
I find no comfort in self-congratulation, delusions, or deliberate oblivious ignorance.
I am what I am.

What more can I say?
Another year come and gone and just like the rest of the world, it seems things for me too have only grown worse.
I am full of regret, all old, and none new. And for the exceptions of my Daughter and the Almighty Himself, I apologize for nothing and to no one else. After a lifetime of experiences and lessons learned, all that I am truly certain of, is that I am still here. And unfortunately, so are most of you.
And I am also still standing. Upright, with both feet planted firmly in reality and God willing, that is exactly how I intend to remain. There is not one ****** thing in this world which I have any control over and everything I have ever wanted, I have never gotten, and everything I have ever had, has been taken from me.
And yet here I remain, standing till the day I die. And when that day comes, the depth of the grave will have to be dug twice as deep, so as to bury me upright & on my feet.
Immovable-

The affairs of humans I find amusing
and I keep a dragon entwined about
my thumb to do my bidding
let the blood fall like rain and
burn the bodies as kindling
ashes
let their glare and the fogs of war
abolish the very sun.
listen for the sound of hunger in the silence
of my approach
cower in the shade of shades
let the fiery blaze of your hopes be eclipsed
at the sight of the sightless void that is me
for only then will I halt
only then will I lift my blood-wet mouth
and then shall I howell the futility-
of my nothingness.
for then I will see where I stand
in the necropolis Golgatha
and alone shall I perish.
amids carnage and oblivion
For I shunn the vulgarity of the maimed earth
I may not have company of myself for the
ocean no longer bears reflection
As for Fire, its blaze drives me beneath
And the wind?! it speaks unintelligible babble

I walked into the cocktail party
room and found three or four queers
talking together in queertalk.
I tried to be friendly but heard
myself talking to one in hiptalk.
"I'm glad to see you," he said, and
looked away. "Hmn," I mused. The room
was small and had a double-decker
bed in it, and cooking apparatus:
icebox, cabinet, toasters, stove;
the hosts seemed to live with room
enough only for cooking and sleeping.
My remark on this score was under-
stood but not appreciated. I was
offered refreshments, which I accepted.
I ate a sandwich of pure meat; an
enormous sandwich of human flesh,
I noticed, while I was chewing on it,
it also included a ***** *******.

More company came, including a
fluffy female who looked like
a princess. She glared at me and
said immediately: "I don't like you,"
turned her head away, and refused
to be introduced. I said, "What!"
in outrage. "Why you ****-faced fool!"
This got everybody's attention.
"Why you narcissistic *****! How
can you decide when you don't even
know me," I continued in a violent
and messianic voice, inspired at
last, dominating the whole room.

Yes I have my ways
And through the days
I hurt them they my prey
As I say things that harm
I farm more ideas in their head
And embed them till they dead
Corruption will take their brains
These fools are stains
They all die of their own pain
They will be tamed
Narcissistic brain
They will know my name
I feed off of my own fame
Life is just a game
Death and life are the same
Shooting for goals I aim
Knocking you out of my way
I will stay and play
Until I am bored with you
What will I do?
Destroy you
So rude
Attitude
Will not move
Ha
Look at you
This is how I think
No but they all say
I think
I say
They all think
They all say I think
Ugh help me please
On my knees
I wanna be free
I plead
Please just see
I think
Not do but you
Say I think
See it ugh
I give up
What is this
In my head
I wish
I wish I was dead
Sometimes can't lie
But idk in my brain ok
I say they think
They think because I say
Ugh
Its a chain in my brain
I'm a stain that hides pain
Loves his name but looks the same
Loves fame full of shame
And claims he is targeted
But he is just paranoid
Of judgement
Of fear
Producing tears in his own eyes
He can't lie but hides
Wants to die sometimes
Can't fully cry
Yet no one knows why
Why?

Romance was a bullet to the temple, he may as well have been sentenced to death as he approached his gluttonous desire. He couldn't nearly last another day at this point, unquestionably desperate he gave in to the feeling.
Oh, the glory he felt as he held others in the palm of his hand.
The day he satisfied himself, he truly died, the day that not even god wanted to remember who he was.

Depression,
I caught you swimming in my sorrow, you were drowning in
my tears.

There in my mind I laid down
my life but you stole my heart instead and I lost my mind amongst the shadows.

In the battle of my chemical imbalance I fight for my right to be happy again.

I am dancing in the dark
with myself, my heart beats
in the shadows as my breath
stands to the side, whispering
to me keep dancing.

Exhausted and frade sorrow
follows me, my flaws abuse me,
my mistakes scared me.

Society forgot about me,
I faded into the pitch of nothing.

A void of me, frightening memories
of taunting accusations from a
devilish monster.

Those eyes of blue devoured
my hopes and dreams,
he had no love for me.

His teeth bit into me,
his harsh lashing of accusations
embodied hate and broken ideas,
from the narcissist who said
he loved me.

The narcissist invaded my dreams,
with grinding bones from the
skeleton's he stored in his closet
of screams.

Scratching my brain with his
narcissistic rants and shoveling
wants trying to steal what
I achieved for himself.

The narcissist knows nothing of
love and passionate embraces.

For the narcissist only
knows how to break things.

A narcissist gaslights until crazy
devours everything.

©️ 2022 By Amanda Shelton