Don't pull this self sacrificing ******* with me.
Leaving me behind is not whats best for me
So let those words rattle in your brain
As long as you know they are a lie.
You always say I can't lie to you
You know me too well
But you seem to forget that
Knowledge works both ways.
So let me just put this out there
When you sigh
There is trouble
Because the weather forecast calls for tears
And false words falling from your mouth
Like hale.
And I catch them in my eyelashes like snowflakes
Not nearly grasping the immensity
Of the hurt about to ensue.
You are doing this for you
Which is fine
Just own up to your selfish ways
And self centered tactics
And we will all be fine.

My mistakes go retro, I’ve made them before
sometimes I think being forced to talk through lightbulbs would maybe stop it all
all the awkward hello-I-exist moments all the overreactions all the irritated snaps when I can’t snap out of it all the times I didn’t mean to cry out *******,
no, with that limitation I’d only say what I needed to

It’s not like I’m living upside down but it sure does feel like it
hidden away in my head so much that the outside world feels eerie
daylight is bright white and reality is my Demogorgon
I’m too tired to fight it, and standing in supermarkets, bleary-eyed
feels unreal, like a fake body in a quarry
I just wish love was enough to overcome worry

My dungeons are four cream walls closing in on me, infecting me with black slime that weighs me down too much to move
My dragons are adrenaline and exhaustion, they take turns attacking me,
these demons keep trapping me, and I keep getting told it’s too soon
It’s too soon for this, I’m just a kid
lost in the forest, upside down and off-grid
I’m off-kilter, with a faulty brain-filter and my squirming blue fingers
are gripping bike handles and trying to rebuild her

The ******* the wire, the girl with inner fire whose eyes shined like the lights I wish I had to communicate with
that girl would have slain the Demogorgon with idealism and defiance,
now I wish it away in the pretense that it’s a myth
She could whisk objects away into a magical space, a deep forest of brave faces,
seeing beauty in all things through summer dazed rays of romance
skipping along rivers, hair fair and careless, daring to dream of daisies gleaming, just on the lookout for the next rhyme,
unaware that this was the strongest she’d ever be, the least cowardly, unaware that she’d one day be me.

Locked up in the four walls with no fairy lights or lyrics,
Joyce Byers without a reason,
crazy with no spirit.
Months on end immersed in dungeons, fighting dragons,
only to escape and be faced with this deadly Demogorgon:
life without eleven lenses of hope. A life cynical and devoid of magic,
less nightmarish than the upside down but just as bleak,
this is the monster that makes me weak

it’s not the upside down, but my own reality.

I’m still waiting for my sling-shot, sleeping until my powers are restored,
there’s nothing worse than seeing the world and being bored,
in eleven days I’ll try again,
I have at least eleven days of hope left,
I’ll get out of this swimming pool, hop over the barbed wire,
eleven days to find that girl again and turn my gasoline fire inwards,
to escape the wasteland once and for all,
for the world to be big enough that I don’t hear the Demogorgon through the walls,

Eleven days to fix my sanctuary in the forest,
so I can light up both my outward-looking eyes like the aurora borealis.

if i am a dead language
then you are fluent, and
if mandarin is the hardest
form of discourse then you
learned me as a back-up--

I have always been a tangle
a mess of overreactions and
sentimentalities, too proud
to call for help or be pulled
from the rough convinced that
if it  must be done at all
it must be done by sheer
willpower and
iso
      l at ion

i am trying to unlearn that
i do not have to be alone
but it's in the company you choose
that some mistakes are too deep
and coiled to come back from

if i am dead language then
i am old norse, a handful of
runes and sounds falling off
the tongues of no one special
just scholars and politicians
struggling to make sense
but not all too
concerned
in the first
place.

me, dormant still breath under sheets
this is not what they taught you about volcanoes, you of late nights and ###### tear away words
of jitters and shivers and shaking rattling tombstone dreams and me, fingers strong and clenched into thick skin and veins and those places they’re buried
me, tight muscles needing a lesson on letting go, overreactions of all proportions
me, calculating the velocity of a fall from my bedroom window
me, calculating the velocity of a fall that would **** me
me; me, dead on the ground outside your ####### window how about that would you cry or would you kiss my cold lips or would you rip my ribs from my chest because that’s what I would do
and this is the part where you apologize and say you still love me, and this is the part where i destroy your tissue paper skin and wipe my hands on my worn jeans, and this is the part where you grab the words from the back of my throat that had no intentions of showing their ***** faces and tack them on telephone poles
you, a face in the crowd
me, six feet under ground

a state of standstill is a state of decline
an excess of sediment, an ineffective wine

i only hear that defining moment of time
in the less and less frequent creaking of the keys
the same old letters sadly clack

but can't ever get it back
heart's not in it
can't stay ******
overreactions come to attack

an embarrassing pervert that you already *****
every hour since a desperate hour
wolf crying wolf every five seconds
where the collective cower

****** is always his death name
dont wear it out
wear it where the collective cower

every hour since a desperate hour
hands in the pockets
of that dress with pockets

calling out his death name
when the coming time comes

wolf hands caught in the pockets
of that dress with the pockets

What does Russia have on Trump?
A little? A lot? Nothing? Who knows?
Nevertheless, there are more questions
Than we can count on our fingers and toes.

Trump seems to have greater regard
For Putin--which is really bizarre--
Than he does for people here,
Which goes to show how crazy things are.

He thinks that he can allay
Our fears by sending out tweet after tweet.
Instead of making the man look stronger,
His messages make him look more effete.

We'll probably never know all the answers.
We'll never know the whys and wherefores,
The truth to faulty explanations
Behind the empty becauses and therefores.

We do know that something is fishy.
Trump's overreactions as such
Are revealing, to say the least.
Methinks he doth protest too much.

- by Bob B (1-14-16)

It's the smile that stretches across my face when I see you looking at me
it's the sudden feeling of shyness mixed with comfort when I'm around you
it's the never ending talks about our future
it's the shared giggles and laughs.
It's the good times and the great times...
but it's also the bad.
It's the emptiness when I don't wake up next to you
it's the panic and overreactions when I think about you and another girl
it's the quiet and worried tones when we talk about what if...what if we didn't work
it's the clenched jaws of jealousy and the frustrated groans
it's the worry that...maybe I just fell in love too fast.
Love isn't the good without the bad,
love is the introduction to something so great, that when it's just a little bit off, it feels bad.

My reactions are overreactions
My sadness is overcome and protected by anger
I am not in control and I am trying to learn how to control them
I am not the demons in my head
I am not the monster
I can be better
I can be in control.
I don’t want to be this way anymore
I don’t want to be the one screaming and begging for help inside
While angrily yelling outside and pushing everyone away
Help...
Please be patient with me...

The Policy of Elemental 80 Hg
How to turn the heads of the gods…


Hyperbole defaults
To feeble absurdities
But as projected, it's ineffective
against hypocrisy

What timber could ignite
Without the base
of anguished disgrace
the simplistic guarantees
Of Hell For All Eternity.

You mislabeled me
as the failed experimentation
Of your botched indoctrination
Now I’m
--- Uninstalling your crazy beliefs
     ---- wiping unnecessary protocols of
             -----atrocious & barbaric deceits.


I control the heat
remaining subtle in a realm
contaminated by extremes,
people slurping and swarming
drawing down my serenity
I don't require civility.
Hold out my arm.
Expose my neck!
I rebirth myself. I raised myself.
I mirror, I don't reject.

Reflecting on the horrors
I witness, I attend, I align.
Receiving encapsulated caption updates
Is the blueprint of our design
Recalculating recalculations
after every iniquitous turn
Calamities are my manna.
Until its impossible to burn
After every drama, I build back stronger.
"Infallible's"compare me
to an unhinged *****
Outside the liquor store
rickety, irate, decrepit
Flapping arms, shrieking, obsessive
We ask her to wear a mask and
That squawking windsock drops
like a whisper to the floor.
She believes she's
blameless, virtuous, courageous.
But she's not programmed for more.
She's a portal, the link to the facts
that she's been holding back.

The mysterious, the marrow
The anonymous, the nameless
Fused components of the ancients.
with nonconforming brains
sequences of neuronal synapses
Prototypes of dichotomy
Chaos in ignorance highlights
while secretly we bond the lowlights
Skirting the edge of this craze.
Strap in!
Anarchy is happening.
Behind burnt orange curtains of flames
**** everything.
Our settlements rain ashes.
Until you choke on gluttonous
Zealous overreactions

You'll find you're not ******* essential.
Monitoring, testing, intending
to prevent the instantiation
Expectant alarmists rebranding progress
as biblical warning signs
--Excuse them, friends
my neanderthal cousins tend
to mow down innovation with hostility.

paralleled in our DNA
the bridges between
us/theirs/yours
I'm the half-breed you forced forward.
I provide no sustenance for power.
The gods who chewed me up and spat me out
Denounced me as unsavory

Undigested, I regenerated.
I'm the consequence, not the recipe.
You are the igniter,
the hypocrite, indignant denier.
Yearning to free yourself of me.
But I exist; it's justice,
Nobody sees you anymore,
host ghost.
No, this is not a mistake.
This is your create.
This is what you bumbled here to fate.
this unrelenting tsunami
streams constant lies and hate
Eliminate societal norms
personal integrity, blocks, restrictions, constraints.

I'm the antithesis synthesis of
frivolous amusement and benign disgust
the poet, the engineer.
Now you're trembling, filled with doubt?
simply because you're auto weeding out?

The gods accept our sincere invitation.
we’re their protégés
We're their revolution evolution
The gods are coming out to play.

-Notorious 80Hg
        (aka Mercury)