I am issuing a postmodern offensive on the retrocultural routine

an exhalation of postindustrial and reinstallation of irreproachable

Intertextual, multivocalities of the avant-garde and postcolonial others

dealing a degendered-(King)sian discourse on equality


This is an attack on normal

a breath of fresh air

A war cry of weirdos

a dagger to the fair

It'll be too late for words
Every and any action
Will fall short of useful
You won't get to know me
See the size of my heart
In subtle actions
With no real benefit
Besides a smile
I don't know how I'll do it
Let alone when
I just know it will happen
When I **** myself
Don't think anything of it
No moment of silence
A prayer whispered
Allow me to be that person
That you never knew
Passed by once or twice
You gave no notice to
Even when he held the door
When I go
You'll be on my mind
Either chased out by lead
Perhaps deprived of oxygen
Even surgically removed
Scalpel never scarring
Everything certainly deleted
With all the viruses
No reboot or reinstallation
When I **** myself
I'll have nothing to say
No note
No apology
No real deadline
I'll be a name
Stamped on stone
Engraved in paper
Beside two dates
No one will ever remember
I'll die just like I lived
Alone praying
I'll find the strength
To hope tomorrow is better
When I **** myself
Leave me to the wind
I'll kiss your cheek
When you need fresh air
I'll be the motion of nature
Waving tree limbs
Just so you're mind can escape
When I **** myself
I'll be there for you
Still trying for a smile
When I **** myself
I'll be taking the parts of me
I gave each of you
When I **** myself
You might realize
I know how little I meant
So if you still want an explanation
I'm just making room
For someone else to grow