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"psychogenic" poems
Everything is such fun in the beginning, when it’s new and undiscovered. i’ll try almost anything. What is meant by almost? All these stupid sick **** roles we play, all this pretending, why? i want to believe there’s something behind the curtain besides a windowless stone wall Something inexplicable his/her majesty of everything/ living/dead/never existed. William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter. Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.” Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost. is it possible to love after what has happened? the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal. my ex still stalks as recently as two mornings ago, all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury. Why so desperate to return to crime scene? An admission of her own guilt? Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)? Another excuse for getting drunk? When we waited for the elevator going down You said, “Let’s just get this over with.” i understood completely. i, who worships my own death. i, who ****** on my own grave. i, who gets bored faster than speed of light. i, who suspects killing around every corner. i, who sleeps restless. i, who worries. i, who loves women. i, who does not understand women. i, who is a woman. i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career. i, who is a nobody. i, a man with no place to stand. i, who belongs to a family of blustering flirts, flatterers, kidders, thieves. We sit at the table, monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives. Forget about the eyes. Watch the fingers. Don’t listen to the speeches. Words are intentional distractions. Where’s your wallet? Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies, more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets. Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you? No, none of them are our kin, but we know people who know people, infidelities in very high places. All i’m saying is, once you reach a certain level, we’re all family. i will make success happen, with or without you.
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Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 12:23 PM UTC
michael-reid-rubenstein
Bishop to Queen 4
Everything is such fun in the beginning, when it’s new and undiscovered. i’ll try almost anything. What is meant by almost? All these stupid sick **** roles we play, all this pretending, why? i want to believe there’s something behind the curtain besides a windowless stone wall Something inexplicable his/her majesty of everything/ living/dead/never existed. William Blake said, “Either be a poet or a painter. Being both muddies audiences, and discredits one or the other.” Actually, Blake didn’t say that. i am lost. is it possible to love after what has happened? the rage, hurt, disappointment of betrayal. my ex still stalks as recently as two mornings ago, all her exaggerations, over-reactions, fury. Why so desperate to return to crime scene? An admission of her own guilt? Excessive compulsive wound licking (psychogenic alopecia)? Another excuse for getting drunk? When we waited for the elevator going down You said, “Let’s just get this over with.” i understood completely. i, who worships my own death. i, who ****** on my own grave. i, who gets bored faster than speed of light. i, who suspects killing around every corner. i, who sleeps restless. i, who worries. i, who loves women. i, who does not understand women. i, who is a woman. i, who bangs the dude in L.A. to advance my career. i, who is a nobody. i, a man with no place to stand. i, who belongs to a family of blustering flirts, flatterers, kidders, thieves. We sit at the table, monkey-wrenching hand over fist lives. Forget about the eyes. Watch the fingers. Don’t listen to the speeches. Words are intentional distractions. Where’s your wallet? Gypsies? No, we’re not gypsies, more upper-crusty, yes, very well-connected secrets. Do the names Dante, or Cervantes, or Nabokov mean anything to you? No, none of them are our kin, but we know people who know people, infidelities in very high places. All i’m saying is, once you reach a certain level, we’re all family. i will make success happen, with or without you.
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You’re a hypnotic nightmare; you’re a broken dream A superficial fracture of an unwanted scheme You’re a psychogenic hallucination; a schizophrenic mutation Of a mind that’s disturbed by its own abomination When do you end and the other begins? Or does the other begin when you end? Questions that haunt an ever waking man Are you the distant voice, or is your voice the one that’s heard When was it that you wanted your roles to reverse? Is it a disease that spreads to all of humanity? Is being two faced nowadays a necessity? Losing one’s self has become of the norm But when was having DID considered a way to conform Stop trying to blend into the background of clones Take off your masks, your wigs, and your press on nails You can depend on your own true self when all else fails Take off your designer clothes, designer bags and shoes Eradicate all the things that don’t define you For once in your life show who you really are For once in your life Be you.
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Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
israa
Be You
You’re a hypnotic nightmare; you’re a broken dream A superficial fracture of an unwanted scheme You’re a psychogenic hallucination; a schizophrenic mutation Of a mind that’s disturbed by its own abomination When do you end and the other begins? Or does the other begin when you end? Questions that haunt an ever waking man Are you the distant voice, or is your voice the one that’s heard When was it that you wanted your roles to reverse? Is it a disease that spreads to all of humanity? Is being two faced nowadays a necessity? Losing one’s self has become of the norm But when was having DID considered a way to conform Stop trying to blend into the background of clones Take off your masks, your wigs, and your press on nails You can depend on your own true self when all else fails Take off your designer clothes, designer bags and shoes Eradicate all the things that don’t define you For once in your life show who you really are For once in your life Be you.
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