Your pre-frontal cortex is delectably oral amidst this maze of psychological violence.
Oh, mistress of certain uncertainty, I cannot articulate the essence of ontology, as human language is inadequate. But, you truly capture the flow of irregularity in this mass mockery of societal fabric.
Therefore, I simply appeal to our mutual and primitive impulses. Let us be rough, despite the misguided assumptions of those who claim to have affiliation.
I like old school choppers, because they are not polished.
I wish I missed people.
I feel like by never missing anyone
I demean the relationships I have.
I just can't help it.
Sometimes I wish someone in particular was with me
But those feelings are always short
By never needing anyone
When I know how much the other person misses me
I feel like I'm not as committed to them as they are to me.
It's not on purpose.
I tell them I miss them when they say it first
but it's always a lie.
Maybe I'm just a sociopath.
Rain is such a beautiful thing
The way the drops splash
Drenching all in a liquid sheet
All encompassing it rains for miles
Swallowing the world in a dreary state
I love the rain
Rain means no smiles
No sunny days
A world with rain
Where the people feel my sorrow
Where my darkness becomes reality
And no matter how much they despise it
They cannot escape
Rain is cruel
Rain is misery
Rain is my reality
That I gladly give to you
I live beyond morality, cloudy
Skies issue complaints, however
I hardly have the time.
I often catch myself
Staring at creatures.
Wondering where they
Wander, and why.
I want to fight dragons today.
I want to find a voice
That suits me. Grey skies
And frozen cranes, bother me.
The stone wet, and
Broken. Lifeless creatures
Can be neither evil nor
Broken Binaries. Broken
Machines. What glues
Our heads to our
Is there a separation?
Walk down the hall and
Interrupt my view
Through the window.
Focusing again I see
Opaque. Unable to
Look past the glass.
Only up to it.
Drowns your happiness
Brings your energy level down to zero
With one hit
They got you in their cave
Won't unleash you as long as they get their way
You struggle to be free
But are to blind to see
That your love is the one who holds you captive
Such a shame
Filled with sorrow and grief
Your love got you lost in a losing game
Impossible to win, the sole purpose is defeat
You still hold on cause you're brainwashed to the core
In desperate need of a revelation,
You search in the wrong places,
Mingling with the wrong faces
You end up alone when there are people around
And the one that was supposed to have your back
Turn their back on you
It's the inedible truth of sociopathic love
Dearly Beloved we gather here today,
Not to celebrate a lovely matrimony,
But to celebrate loss,
A death that touches us every day,
And will do so for the rest of our lives.
Dearly Beloved we mustn't cry,
Not shed a single tear,
We can't nor should we.
Dearly Beloved the death amugst us,
The death I speak of is the death of love,
The death of compassion and kindness,
The death of good all riped from the world far too soon.
Now that it's gone we are left with no emothion,
Left to our sociopathic tendencies,
Left to ourselves,
Left hoping one day these people,
Love, comapsion, kindness and everything good,
Hoping that they will return to make us better again,
So Dearly Beloved I leave you with this,
The tool to bring them all back from the dead,
It's but a smile they said and looked around.
But someday the Dearly Beloved may understand,
It's the small things on a big scale that makes the world good and that's disappearing.
I get scared sometimes,
by a coldness in the reflection of my own eyes.
As if they know something I refuse to believe.
Like he's daring me to see beyond the lies.
I've written poetry about chess,
as a central metaphor for the way I go about living life.
I confess that I like Knights the best.
They're the only pieces with the power to jump the rest.
Sometimes, I worry
that I'm just being used to create some kind of story.
That any chance I might have at Happiness
gets thrown under the bus for the sake of His glory.
I've often accused my mother of having multiple personalities.
She refuses to take any tests.
I've made a little man out of paper clips.
I hung him from a rubber band noose
that hangs from a shelf above my desk.
Sometimes, I'm filled with fear.
I get the shakes in grocery stores during the middle of the day -
paralyzed by the thought that I'm not really there.
Afraid of the things that my ghost might say.
I once wrote a poem fully explaining your mental state.
I know I've got it saved somewhere.
By the way, I think you're pretty great;
these and other phrases you've no desire to hear.
"Knight to e6,
I believe that's checkmate."
Paper Clip Man hung there for weeks,
but his steel wire neck refused to break.
Eventually, he got a hand around the knot,
and used his strength to gain another breath he never again thought he'd take.
I've never written a poem about backgammon,
but they say it's one of the oldest games ever played.
I bet I'd be real good at it.
I'll learn how to win some day.
you are a skin that i shed
made of fine silk that i toss into the waste bucket
along with the dinner scraps of yesterday.
you have no meaning
other then the feeling
you temporarily fill my chest with.
let them go
try a new one on
do you like the feeling that this one gives you pressed up against your skin?
this is all temporary you know that.
but they don't.
so let him fuck you
on his bed
in the morning
and let him build you a kingdom out of pillows
if it helps
cushion the blow
of you realizing that you truly have no sense of self.
he will teach you
how to forget
and you will walk away with his personality
and never look back..
i never asked to be this way
to not be me
i share this body
and everyone i let in
we take turns playing
with this body
and pulling its strings
i am running on batteries and time
and my juice is quite low.
i am an apathetic android
in need of more soul
and i've just run dry
if only you could peer inside this dusty head
and see the inter clock work
that makes me the way i am
clean the cobwebs and confusion
out of the corners
if only you could turn back time and fix me.
When you look into my eyes
You'll be lookin at a homocide
That's your soul's bloody demise
It's about time you decide
Whether you want to star in a thriller
With a silent sociopathic killer
A regular body part miller
Nothing but a body bag filler
I be living in this house of pain
Behind these curtains vain
Torn asunder by the knife
That is sharpened in strife
Letting loose liquid crimson life
On black keys
Tip- tapping away
Words deliberately in sociopathic array
Far and away
Each letter vibrates with life
The word smiths release
So the clicking and typing
Unending hollow sounds
As the combinations
Of adverbs and conjunctions
Promotes the disease
Calling in low tones
To the mad poet
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
A sadistic outlook
I hide my fallacies and avarice in a sock drawer,
neatly placed next to my pill bottles
In the closet closest, I store the prospect of future casualties
Shuffled neatly undernearth media propaganda and the war in Uganda
I suffocate the tragedy of unknown victims in my display of malice
Muffled as they’re whimpering