Looking in the mirror is like a death wish
A glimor of hope before the horrid thoughts cime floading in
Screaming at the top of their lungs.
And the tears rush to the surface as I pinch my skin
Grabbing it tight
Pulling at it with all my might
Wishing
Wanting for it all to dissapear just like myself
As i slowly turn and turn that small glimor of hope gone
Flushed away by the rotton words that captivate my body
Screamimg for me to

                     "STOP EATING"

I walk away woth a heavy heart sinking down to the lowest part of me
Hiding away frim anyone
Ignoring every word spoken to me.

My mind
My body
My whole being has been captured by those fithly words and throughts which are tormenting me and eating me alive
Without a word
Or
A thought i move on frim the plate of fruit and the bowl of chocolates
Swinging with a heart heavy,
Yet filled with nothing

I act like it has no effect on me
Like it doesnt hurt at all

for all its worth, ad inviduum matters,
as any stress imposed
to, "break away from the herd"...
the ever becoming need for
flamboyance and bombast
to not be: the drowning man
in a sea of corpses in the inevitable
inferno...
      as much as the saying goes
about vanity projects,
   hair make-up, or rather:
less extravagence and more on
the lines of: you can walk in *****
and torn clothes...
       but at least you've taken a shower
prior...
             yet there still remains
a stressor on individualism...
    in that...
            as long as individualism
is accepted by a herd of "individuals"...
i remember that outside of school
i knew one black guy,
as the black joke goes: he was a drug
dealer, and a single father...
what the white boy knows a black guy
joke doesn't follow up is that
he was ostricized... a fellow *****...
because they really tell you
about the Bangladeshi workers
    dead beneath the burn khalifa...
even individualism has limits,
with the motto:
   as long as it doesn't mingle with
eccentricity,
    as long as individualism doesn't
mingle with eccentricity...
   because in the latter sense?
that's the individualistic norm shattered...
everyone gets to over-hit the mark...
which shows the cracks in
the so-called notion of individualism...
notably in the west:
        cogitans est cassus primo
                    gratia rideo...
      logos incognito.
                     as such, individualism
as spare, auxiliary / collateral change...
trend setters,
    if famous for 15 minutes,
   pack leaders for 15 seconds,
and then back to the frivolous intrigues
of peacocks on a catwalk...
by individual, i think of the:
                 hersch...
                      a dangerous line between
setting a vogue and a minor
sentiment for the vanguard...
and becoming ostricized as a *****,
humouresly being attached
the term: eccentric...
     or just plain weird in the harsh
tongue of the children's blunt...
phraseology...
                             the world comes
to the boundaries of a small town
exactly 1.5 days later,
  give or take the algorithm
via prior searches...
                                   perhaps how i
understand individualism is
how Narcissus might understand
the vampirism of his brother
     Solipssus...
                  a kind of people who
behave as if without a body,
a type of people who, like vampires,
can't see their reflections...
not that they can't in a literal sense...
      as everything small begs
a curiosity,
   as everything large astounds
with awe...
             paradoxical thus,
the content of a church,
                 and the church itself...
        after all...
     the legionnaires did soak
a sponge with wine and offered it to him
on the end of a spear... which he refused...
   a pale comparison
as blueprint, to what subsequently
came to pass...
              well...
it is pale... considering you'll
never actually know, upon giving
himself up so freely...
  that there wasn't anything,
remotely comparative
with the infamous example
of Albert Fish:
              self-embedded needles
lodged in his pelvis and perineum...
just as the other case in point:
marquis de sade seems more like
a scapegoat than the sadist
his imagination and only his imagination
allowed him to be...
because what,  screaming from
the window of the Bastille, or locked
in an asylum, he could really
compete with the power of the clergy
in the form of his uncle,
the abbé de sade...
                       how can it not be
a fiction, when the power of fiction itself
has become slowly obliterated
wriggling in a cul de sac?
     how could I ever write a work
of fiction, when what was deemed
as truth, credo, is facing up to
non-mainstream footnote reading
and the 1945 archeological findings
that match up to the 2000 or so years
of heretical speculation?
riht now, he can be brown olive
tanned mulatto or whatever Dalton
hue of orange...
              if white is ivory if it is
a scalped cranium a pharmacological
soup woth of brain...
             if white is white and even amrican
south: h'white...
        clingy *******
to the feet of the Urals...
    pardonable warm *****,
only Sveedish, and only at 25ml a pop...
talking to two old people
half-awake, half-asleep...
      buddha-eyed sleepwalking almost...
as i came in contact with
the dark chapter of medicine,
not even past the 1950s America...
                 the infamous tactic
of regression: also known as
    false memory implants...
                    two old people trying
to fall asleep,
   a bottle of *****,
       shy drinking, 10 years of celibacy...
with the odd purely physical encounter
like a rag and a hand and a ***** sink...
my grandfather bemoans that
he never had a chance to say: father...
i could bemoan not having said:
i love you...
                ascribed her an endearing
nick'...
                it seems this world
hides higher pleasures bound
to a rigour so few make eruditions of.

the horrible thing about having a platonic love is that in the end, her gonna end like a idiot to you, or just one insensible *******, or another adjective that falls in the category of someone who hurts you so bad that you will wish that you wont become closer with anyone else, but hey, this is life and there are others things that are way horrible than that, a platonic love isnt that bad, the case is that you make the person more than your live will ever woth and you cant ignore that but  you cant see that, at least so clear that you will recognize that as a mistake and you keep going on, thats why i just gonna end all here, not my love for you but my life, because my life without you isnt life at all

yo the homie Juan C
pass the mic to me
so i wreck this beat
like SPC protege of k rino
hos call me mandingo poppin' ***** tapes demo
never rode a limo
only smokes primo n got pitches in otcos
8 bars make ya see the star im far from soft
f them boys in the nawf
woth south side ****** til we die
we ride with the hardest regardless
if they try to break our clique
we still gone spit ****
like a cobra ya know its over
once the venom in em then couple.of minutes later
finish em
mortal combat **** all the rats
despise chit chat call my youngest ** ***** cat
pack a black gat
we push loot in the golden regal
every thang we do is illegal
lethal
as gibson they don't want none
boys crackin' rhymes til the crack of dawn
then wake up next day just
to bust another one
my OGs rollin' with Don Key n Pokey
hardest in the pit
and if you disagree we make haters **** our ****
sloppy **** no ****
them ******* can lick the pigment off a ***** stick
but i play it safe n cool
cuz hos try to burn you
got it played smooth groove
to the sound bound to get down
if ya down bow down listen to the gun shots sounds
now ya leakin' where ya be speakin'
now ya body tweekin' n geekin'
soon to crossover
like epmd mic check ya know me my crew be
fascinating minds with our hocus pocus never lose focus
my raw raps got them nervous
got Juan C next to me
and got the tech services
and no playin now from the htown
still holding top with no crown
dont need a status we the baddest
turn the lane three wheel leanin' with bird chirpin'
still smokin' up the scene
with clip fully loaded magazine
glock cocked we aint gone stop
sip the prometh to the day i drop
dont stop
the music cadillac funky so ya know im gonna abuse it
drip up drapped out know what im talking bout
deep in the south we put guns in ya mouth
no flappin' we stay strappin'
like willis ya know whats happenin'
and we aint gone stop the rappin'
mad at us cuz we bring the real
o so real make every nation feel
what them southern slangers do
dangerous as the Bronx Zoo
what ya wanna do
with stay with more than sun tzu when death comes to you
them boys n blue
cant save u
on the mic i gets wicked after a meal ticket sadistic
as charlie manson
got a twenty two mansion
followed a long benz with the big blue lens
zero percent window
so i can smoke my indow
what they dont know wont show
follow the peckin' order my game smarter
jaun n yosef isthe real hip hop martyrs
and we ready to battle
sogo ahead and shake ya rattle
cuz we'll be quick to slaughter


yea man let me come through
versace with the blue
jeans coming clean sip lean
with an ounze of promethazine fiends
be on the look out
cuz ya know im about
to clown harder than Corey Holcomb
boys gettin' dumb dumb
got hos thats chewin bubble gum
shakim' *** too fast
make a ***** urge for a ***** lick
yea im rollin' with the *******
up clique we sick
as a muthafucka
enticin' all types of diseases
cuz the lyrical content pleases
many foes and hoes
i wear baggy clothes with jabos
dont ya know
im rap don vito stack chips like frito
lay i parlay
on sittin on the dock of the bay
jammin k
or that *****
htown is how we do?
ride ***** with the bulls
euro grills caprice with pipes made of steel
o so real still
got every nation on they feet
they cant feel
this uh coming down on ya blvd
ya can see me on tv or 60 inch screens dvd
**** blue rays i rock ray ban shays
like Mj ya can catch me on a fade
doing what i do in the paint
with a Styrofoam cup full of drank
grams of dank
smoke so much we cant think
eyes cant blink im on the brink
of an overdose
ya suppose to rock the flows like me
im like biggie
spittin the classic mr magic
girls call my **** game fantastic
stretch ***** holes like elastic
leave her visions plastered
like she drunk as ****
im pushin luck six flat riding a black truck
40 oz in the gut gangsta strut
im the best ***** whatttt?
im ina rage one luv to homies
in the cage
when i hit the stage
ya know the crowds gone get wild
im flagrant like a fouls problem child
use my cash bills to fans thrills
no spills on *******
ya know the deal
hos be reachin' still teachin'
n im all about mass appeal

Please stand by, we're having some technical difficulties
We are dealing with the static disturbance
The colourbars are staring right back at me
What a horrible turn of events

Maybe it's time to cut the act
Everything is ruined in moments
I always infect and ruin everything
No matter the type of event

What if I do them a final favour
And just **** myself?
Let me
Put them out of their misery

My problematic existence has always been a waste
I can never get anything right
This worthless circus monster should be rid of with haste
I can't even do that right

Let me
Put you out of your misery
And end it all
It shouldn't be hard to build you up
By having an eternal fall

I'm sorry, it's my fault
I should cut off my tongue
My skull should be bashed in
My neck should be rung

Let me
Put you out of your misery
Can't tell you I'm falling apart
I am worthless, my opinion doesn't matter
Just hurry up and put a knife through my heart

Thinking of all their time that's been wasted because of me
It's a shame their efforts are for naught
Considering that I'll never amount to anything good enough
I was woth it, back then I thought

Today, i thought nothing of it....
I did it again.
Falling in step woth the same cycle, over and over.
So when i showed a little too much skin,
Let a little too much be seen...
I wasnt surprised, but he saw.
And he looked up at me, with innocent brown eyes
And asked me what the marks on my waist were from.
He wanted to know if it was my dog,
His sometimes scratched him.
But, as he pointed out, his fluffy, loving black lab
Could never cut him that deep.
And he asked me why.
What i told him, was this:
I said
listen, sammy, listen to me. Im okay, okay?
He nodded, but the marks were too numerous
And even a five year old
Can sniff out a lie, just like their black lab.

when you realise you're no longer a try hard. you don't try hard to impress anyone,
at work
school
your friends and family
or your potential date.
some guys think too high of themselves.
they think they're irreplaceable.
or that i can't forget him or he hurt me a lot.
he's really really wrong.

i let things flow. how they wanna go.
i realised i don't sing sad songs the same anymore. i don't try as hard. and i still manage to sound good imo. but i think all the experiences i've had made me learn a lot.
and i will continue to do so.

I DON'T ALLOW PEOPLE TO HURT ME. even with words. and actions.

it's been... 4years since my family issue. i'm learning better to cope woth it now. i've became so much better. time heals everything, huh?

guess whos back
with that mack attack
bringing real hip hop back
yea still pushin 808s
in the cadillac
old honeys feelin that
vibe once come across the mic
turn em from being a ****
like mike
got the game on lock
6 rings on my pinky
how did i fall out
when i been at the top
creme of the crop
knockin these fake emcees
out the box
rock chatteroxes
n what not?
i dont beef cuz i dont eat it
but the bullets i let feed it
to ya body mind and soul
as i take control
of the industry
every ol school emcee feelin' me
underground true to the sound
yea i been around get around
like pac pack two twins glocks
black. chrome
quick to put any in a funeral home
ya can find me home alone
writing dope ****
got a mansion of counterfeit
bills is print
call it black mint hell sent
govs got me bent
**** the president
there better off with dead resident
still cant get no love
still rockin fresh red cortez
with the honeycomb jersey
ill leave ya beggin like percy for mercy
naw yall gets none
still reiging as the victorious
still game is wack
still rep  pro black
been here and back
yo i never slacked still




still bump dj *****
still wreckin crews
check the news
aint no clues
still my folks gettin robbed
cant get a decent job
still cops harrasssin us
still blastin at us
cant put no trust
in the system justice failed
the evil still prevails
all the religious folks yell
jesus is back
**** it same ol fairytale
never trusted blonde hair n blue eyes
demons in guise
still im on a sneak
put ya to sleep
as ya roll up **** creek
still sittin back n think
wish i could change the world
to better all the young boys n girls
still  got OGs who rock jheri curls
but dont get it twisted
theyll split ya wig can ya dig it
friends of distinction
yall still in detention
need i mention
still they lynching
got every black n hispanic
on the bench and
twenty five to life
still cant get cut with a knife
america pie been done gone
purchased illegally all wrong
they say im wronghow fool?
when society drools?
off desperation starvation
i bring heat to the whole nation
heated like friction
facts no gotdamn fiction
still cant get no love
still lookin' at those above
me r i p to the real homies
and homettes
still you cant see me as i be
in the front
lawn sippin moet
shakin my head
still american pushin slavery
but they tell me to forget
still...


still i got love for the beats
still hang in the streets
spread luv with my peeps
repeat
weekend bar be que
listen to ******* up blues
how can ya not be confused?
woth music these days
the radio plays
nothing but bull to fool
thea masses
i shatter there hearts like broken glasses
class is
in session learned a lesson
in this game ya gotta make a name
instead most go for the fame
lose there souls in the flame
still i got no shame
to put any on blast
still puttin up our past
still we get harrassed
still ****** saggin they pants showin ***
still cant get a pass
in the politics
everybody ridin satans ****
pregnant n ****
no abortions spiritually gone
with snortin they shortin
ya benefits everyday
still tryna make a way
still ignore what they say
still ill stand by what i say
even if it cost me my life today
still.....

Just days.
Sometimes simple, Sometimes complicated
They feed us or  it´s time we need to forget.
But always teaching us something.
At the end, just merely moments of our existence.
Happening just one time in the same way.
Blinks in the universal tread.
We decide if it´s woth of remember or if is just  dead time, time to forget.
With a song, a picture even a few letters, days that could mark our lives or just pass like a bitter pill.
At the end.
It´s just another day.
Tomorrow is another chance to star over...

There's a uncontrollable sadness in my heart
Its killing me to leave you behind
Feels like I'm doing this all wrong
But its for my future I need to stay strong
Loving you for all the right reasons
What we have between us is so scares
Not sure if I will ever find a happiness like ours again
Just hope this will be all woth it in the end
I don't mind putting my own happiness aside
Just hoping you'll find yours along the way
Me leaving you for the wrong reasons
should prove I'm not worth your time

An object can't hear
An object can't see
An object can't breathe
Like you
Or me

What's an object's motives
or deapth of reason to be?

What thoughtfulness, does an Object Have thoughts?
...who am I...
...why am I here...
...how and who should I outta be...
...can I be happy...
...am I sad...

We craft an object
We use an object
We define it's reason and meaning
Why it is and What it should function for

We specialize it's resourcefulness
And squiz out it's worth...until it's?

Useless?
Doesn't work?

Doesn't have the same woth
it used to have?

It's totally in our control
We define how long it should exist
Or how long it's in our presence

An Object we don't like anymore
Or have no care for we lose,...

Forget, dismental, discard, do things with it, without a shameful thouht

Well an Object has no feelings
It's just there
No emotion no motion no tensions
To care about

It doesn't speak
It is always the same
Does always the same it was made for
No smile no hurt

It's there because of you
You chose so
I't doesn't just apear out of nowhere

You baught it
Someone gave it to you
You saw it and wanted it to be yours

You can share an object
You can keep it for yourself
You can show it proudly or destainfuly

What ever you feel to do with it
You do
It won't mind

Well if I think about all this
I guess we can all agree

What an Object really is.

It's a whimper
It's a pain
    In my stomach
     In my brain
It's a lung full of air
I don't want to breathe.
Watch, Watch. See what it does to me
It's a drumbeat (not my heart)
Tap-tap-tapped out on my thigh
Eyes glazed and staring
Fixed, unblinking, into space
Hands shaking unable to
Stay still
Teeth digging into chapped lips
Hoping to peel the skin
Nails leaving crescent marks on
Palms on
Arms on
Face on
Neck
Teeth grinding to
Cover the noise
The yelling
The crying cover your ears and it doesn't help
Brain overloaded woth
Facts and thoughts and
Memories: themoonshiningbrightasthesunhandsbleachedwhiteundertheglareasyous­truggletospeaktoformwordsorcoherentthoughtsuntilyoucan finally breathe again
Deep breaths calm down
Bucket-fulls of air burning your lungs
Eyes rolling in their sockets
Blinking away tears
The mind goes blank
Wake up wake up wakeupwakeupwakeup
Wake up to
Patterns decorating
Your naked body
Marked with old scars and
Fresh blood
And you are finally calm

You
arn't woth getting to know
Don't even think about people who

are beautiful
Everyone thinks you
are worthless
No one will say "you

are the love of my life"
"you

matter more to me"
No one can

love you
I

hate you
I can't
no matter how hard i try

take even one look at you
My heart skips a beat when i

laugh so hard
because you make me
feel ashamed
I hope you never

love again
I will never

forget you
I can't

to write: in order to be unable to recognise
oneself in the writing -
        impossible to stress a variation of amnesia:
it's a... it's a...

             the current philanthrope: archaic for:
philanthropist -
                   because no there's no new-outfit
for a misanthrope...
                             vaccinations blue-checkers...
a game of chess:
   with narratives...
               alliance of white: as doubt...
                     and alliance of black: as denial...
but this is not a game...
  no one plays a game to feed such
a gluttonous slouch of staging:
                       demoralization projects...

brain-sponges and some variation
of music as a wheezing...
                    or a helium gargantua:
laughter in a vacuum...

it's sometimes to think about the eyes:
unless there's a concern
for either mountain of a canyon -
it's impossible to think without the sea...
i somehow wish that i could
fathom the eyes as a simple
prelude to having two stones
in a trouser pocket...
and fiddling with them...

i want to make my tongue enshrined
in the confines of an oyster:
some forgotten gem...
   i dream about homelessness
and all of life's tragedy
                of: beside a prison...
the freedom to roam...
        but i somehow stumble...
if only the determination
              of a classical lore akin to
Sisyphus...
              
                    it's always impossible
to borrow something from
the Greeks...
           then again:
who were the Greeks at the fall
of Contantinople...
             breaking bones to fiddle
with the buckle of Islam...
            it's almost tickling the suspense
lying in wait...

a marlboro cigarette is unlike
a camel cigarette...
              i say they add something
to the puff...
        happy to have been freed from
the nicotine hangover...
but it somehow aids these scribbles...
it's not much...
    it's not madame bovary or
anna karenina...

                                time is playing catch-up
and i... hope for a seclusion
of assets...
     i mostly lie before
a sleep pattern completely petrified...
not that i rarely conjure
ushers of dream...
                   but that...
            it's always the same impossibity
of being a son of a father...
or some other monstrosity
of time: noted... when abiding
with a grandfather...

if i could question the ownership
of my ears...
if i could replace my eyes
with either two stones in my pocket
fiddled with like a pair of dice...
or shelter in the "myopia"
of: one eye for the canyon...
the other for the mountain...

  how is it that i am so at loss...
where is a pick-me-up of ambition...
i am without ambition...
in that: should i enjoy ambition
and make myself a prospect
of a career in politics...
in that old sequence of...
people coming together!

      i as a we! are not! corrupt!
it's so impossible to attempt to live
a life of an honest man...
then again... before such a question
is posed: one must...
turn the fudge... bother the barley...
grind the bits to a flour...
if i were given a compass
and asked to be placed
on the spectrum of:
counter the philosopher's stone:
money... what would i do...
if a servitude of implosive meaning
were ascribed to a sudden
revision... if name and title should
be engraved on... peanuts...
and we were all... "suddenly" elephants
behind the "riddle"...

   it's not merely impossible:
it's just plain stupid...
  if i had one ear as a cave...
and the other as a savannah...
for sure: one to feed the concern for echo...
otherwise the derelict disguise
of a splendour of lingo...

        this... is an abadoned house...
feel free to roam in it beside...
i will have left it once i have complete
the doodle...
    it's not much because:
it's not rhyme-friendly...
                 but thanks to the h'american
school... it's doesn't matter
whether poetry is an art of
the scalpel or demands for pedagogy's
regurgitation...
whether h'america is sleeping
or whether russia is reading...

           there's that currency of the narrative:
an expediEncy...
     i'd write an A into that "affair" if i was
to be all too honest...
              it's not like english
allocates orthographic pressures
of shame... should a transgression
be posed...
                   the old mechanical baron arm
of carrot forward! stick! is precise in...
what's to be allocated!

it's impossible to drink these days:
since the moral hangover...
it's impossible to smoke a cigarette...
since the same impossible hangover...
it's not even a question
of who's contesting a replica of 100 years
sober samuel...
     it's impossible to make eternal
demands of life with a posthumous p.s.:

for lack of a better word...
of the concern for what's to be ate...
the eyes pleasure...
the ears are... ears...
cartilege: an impromptu revision...
but the tongue oh so ******* critical...
it's almost necessary to learn
a second language in order to justify
being a foor critic...

food critic? this is what happens when...
the *** drive of humans is over-stated...
bogus work... and the unemployed masturbators...
the same spectrum...
a bogus job title at one end...
an unemployed masturbator at the other...

        the grass grows plenty for the rabbits...
if the desire for banana dries up...
for the baboons...
  and there's no will to straighten those
parades... then there's... "platanitos"... etc.
                   but there's a need for a plethora:
counter the forests with paper...
        should i desire more priests?!
       it's a fear... that i will absolve myself
from retaining the last remains
of authenticity -
        for the filled goblet made by
a spew of lies...
        it's such an impossible...
  "nuance"...      "bereaving"...
                 ­                      hyphen antics...
          a *******!           compromise!
   like Noah... building his project was...
all about... the made collective individuals...
i attempt working for a lie...
i die at the attempt of working...
unless of course...
             the mind of man is so...
intricate and spectacular to be without
fault...
as to the genuine promise from afar in time...

it's a terrible affair to have
homelessness as a fear... first, highest...
to then watch videos of people
going through the tides
and somehow stomaching the lacklustre
adventure...

- so to write something that
can't be paraded - that it has to gravitate
towarding a biding personal -
to heave the half-breath
of tendering sycophancy & scrutiny...
for there to be a...
whisper of rome...
come the advent of the caesars...

what an old ******* of hope...
             it's not near impossible...
when confined to...
   the cul de sac of gauging out of eyes
and rat inclined impromptus...

the current philan-thropist
         is so bothersome like a c.c.t.v.
installation that the misanthrope is a complete
bonkers jazz *** las vegas inversion
perfect!
         via / in between the solipsist:
self-conscious autist
    and the whoever takes your fancy...
   i'm making myself suspect
of what's being readied as: "digestable"...
it's not impossible...
it's just... cow-towing i.e. depressing...
     who would have thought
that a simple trick could...
fool... magnus primo maribus -
         the first great adventurer...
the shackled chimpanzee to a 'shroom...
or the 'shroom: a fungus riddle
of the primate seeing UV and ultra-red...
the first prized cinema of purple
with fluorescence: liquid light...
                                         lux liquidum...
the demands for phosphrescnce revisionism?

thus to be schooled: "schooled" without
a slightnest idea of how to deal with
a psychopasth - that one ordeal of being robbed
with the intention of the purely materialised
mechanisation of life:
the depth of the slit into soulness...

a hybrid of nothing and ego...
to borrow a figment of the imagination:
the gravity toward an engineeer
of a longboat that's
about as useful as a piece of paper...
perhaps the assurance of a kite...
which implies the wind...
"sloth" beside an attempt at water...
if the sea were a river...
and the tide were the narrative...
but the lacklustre of heaving "nuance"...

  we weren't schooled to be carpenters...
as we weren't...
to enjoy the ******* and a narrative
of "leisure"...
       before the gnat crescendo...
like some altar for the breaking of the bones
of a horse heaving
a sought at sigh...

                 could i ask the priest crow
for more? when addressing him to quest a q.
of a magpie or a birch tree?
could i heave a stomach so riddled
woth indigestion...
                to forever quest for
a mountain's zenith...
having to begin with a pyramid's nadir...
this sand... this time...
this impossible demand for...

a lasting: a debilitating concept of hope...
that's beyond crying...
a concept: but at best...
a concern for a dog...
then again... a dog: a leash, a muzzle...
the perfect cat the "homeowner"...
the gap-year striptease crescendo!

i want to fear this avenue of
life's worded tolls...
because...
there's a respect for them...
unlike... like there's a celebration
of Diogenes... if all the homeless
were to serve a fate
of this sour-**** of a gritting over...
               what am i: as question:
possibly having to write?
if all the homeless people
were a Diogenes of Sinope...
                
  i was in Athens once...
armed with a glass of absyinthe...
some yogoslav toll-busters...
a freak-magnet of a striptease bar
with myself ******* my trousers...
finding to a bind
of a way-back...
              hey presto!
            it's not a fear...
it's an anticipation...
               a manhunter prodigy affair...
to have to have done
so little of the world attested
concept of bad: an east germany concensus...
to be in a prison
of homelessness: nuance...
the dream of the broke...
the baron of the breaking...

best equipped: with a car and a gun...
but "somehow"...
no new old: or old new h'america...
i still somehow want
to yoddle my load of unbelievable
switzerland that has to
grieve my load worth
of iowa!
         my burried the unforgotten
list of "good luck" few...

the vanity project: prior to not...
anticipating the homelessness...
it's such a judas low duo due...
                   i want as hope: and a death..
it's not but there's the braving
the tide of vanity:
the better-sit-my-*****-sit-lem'oh-bedding...
it's a continent's worth
of a lingo... it's not like...
england cruise... croatia riddle...
******* dim-wits!
           new b'est h'america!
toll the brittle old jonah cull hard-on-an-adams...

my heiving little...
               my loitering "lost" of
                     the last impossible....
that impossible looting custard
pie of heart...
                   the happiness
  of the neared impossible heart...
this bypassing this cat fickle...
my best kept nuanced smile &
faking it...

  the shoe the fiddle... the mozart
the beard the hybrid
bypass the last
vanity of a fed...
             it's my best breast
fretted the knuckle,
and a bone...
          and a lost carpenter's
*****...
        witch and no nordic
leisure of an itching...
                   because!
the ******* guise of basic!
the broken tree
with a basic of breaking of bones...
gravity of the "loitering"...
there's always the
loitering play of rambo...
     johnny-yo-yo..
            iowa: new croatia!

  lost towing the burning tire!
because! i own's us a bus!
grieving the legitimate
    and what's otherwise...
the crease...
and death is a sudden..
               my scuttle bumble:
breaking the bee.

I fell in love with a girl, the most precious creature god has ever created, the purest soul the wold has never seen, she was perfect but i wasn't. I had so much love to give because i was hating myself. She was like the food, depression like the dog and i was the one feeding it every single day, but this time the dog bit the hand of the feeder. I was so tired of dreaming with her, thinking of her or even ******* talking her, but not because she wasn´t woth it , just because I knew I wasn't. I was so in love with her but deepdown I knew that I can not be with her because i would be a load to her. People says living with depression is hard, but falling in love depressed is even worst

Everytime I
wanna write
you cross my mind
and I don't know why
because
all you did to me
was play me
ruin me
and **** with my mind
you are not woth
my mind
but
your horrible personality
is kind of inspiring

e.o.

what's the difference between
the Nirvana snapshot
of faking a baby drowning....

and the roadsign STOP...
compared to
pearl jam's YIELD...

a cat falling asleep in your bed...
looking up wth the exrpression:
huh?
the **** are you doing,
the **** am i doing "here"?


what? i'm laughing"
but what are you death-defying
laughing with your stare?!
huh?
     pearl jam''s song
Ino way*...
catch the riff?
  **** me... the riff!

the cat start playing a winking
game...
see?
   i love cats... i like to ignore them...
they can handle themselves,
entertain themselves....
   i don't like interference,
one child Chinese state policy child...

open window,
a woozy cat...
          bad compliment?
i love cats...
no leash involved...
i can just nurture them by
ignoring them...

    pearl jam versus nirvana?
sorry...
        pearl jam...
              
then we play eye-spy-woth-my-
lizard eyes trapped in a mammalian
body type of game...
      furry ******* bonsai tiger
type of serpent...

     i get all itchy thinking about
all that excess fur...

             tumbleweed and,
that excess fur dart shorts missing the bulls eye....

****** fold...
thinks my clicking apart the alphabet
is hardly a focus posit of interest...

me?
i'm not a solipsist...
i'm someone equivalent to
the counter millennial movement...
originating in China
with the one child family policy...

   you know this sort of critique
extends beyond the western exclusive
pro-globalist echo chamber?!
you know of the counter
argument?
         you're speaking for
my kind of people...
like i said...
bilingual is the new schizophrenic!

good luck:
      and?
thank *******'re banking on a fail!

you know?
i prefer my cat...
   you, human?
i don't like you...
        i like the machine that
provides minced beef...
  and? you're the prime
ingredient...

             i've bypassed ruination...
what you have...
          i'll happily lap up,
and serve as a berry smoothie...
because?
       you're anticipating
robbing me of my last lineage of
defense membrane....

  you rob me of my last
scoop of canvas worthy expression?
have it...
  it's all yours...
   now let me become entertained...
oh wait...
you stole that "****" from me too...
too bad...
  guess it's all about the,
******* blackout, herr censor,
and...

                  asking for a hand-job
from an zoological orangutan.

I've ways dealt with things alone. Never was anything new only new things was the "false hope"
I've always had a lot of anger. Defense mechanism because I was afraid to be in danger. Therapy sessions with pen and paper. Always in a room writing and crying. Notes look like its just me and you. Mirrors laughing at me because the reflection was not so great. I lost my one true love and now I'm done woth the tears because everytime i picture her smiling i break. I've got hope, I've got these dreams. Let me tell you one thing. I am loyal, I am the right man. She deserves to be mine. But wouldn't be fair because thats not what she wants. Time to sit in the park and hope she sneaks up on me for a kiss. Walk this lonely road down the block because its her i miss. Knocking on the door while shes freaking out. Barefoot and rain pooring down. I'm here baby I'll always walk through hell for you. Road trip is our adventure and now you see me in the review mirror for your adventure. Man why don't the past let go of me. I'm moving and why does it have to summon me. Everywhere i go especially when i try to sleep then find myself ready to bleed because i cant eat nor wanna speak about ready to lay low beneath because i wanna ******* breathe but thats to easy. **** me for finally being happy to just lay down in agaony. Why me? Why does it have to be me alone? Just why?

Thought I didn't need anyone
Turns out I just needed a mom
The black sheep
I was never apart
Furthest away from your heart
Things have changed
I'm growing old
I don't need you
You still feel cold
I'm out of sight
Out of mind
I don't need you, I'll do alright
I don't need your blessings
Or your cash
Without your help I'll make a splash
Land on my feet woth a crash
I'm happier than ever
My life's brand new
And most of all
I'm not like you.
© 4 years ago, Shaq Jordan Otto   life  
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Masked Man
You think no one sees you, but you are wrong; i do; though I shouldn't.
You wear what you perceive to be a mask
A mask of what you show to others
Made up of bright colors
Colors that match all your friends
Those friends you discovered are foes
With hideous all crooked nose
In terrible greed and green
All covered in filth and obscene
I have never seen you wearing your mask
I see who you are underneath
And even so
I have never seen your eyes blink
Those eyes
They stare with a stare that transfixes me into staring
Lost eyes. Seeing eyes
You are different
You feel smells, and breath colors
You love with you thoughts
And somehow, I see you
I really see you
I read you
It's not a mask
It's a shield
Hiding the deeper thoughts
The darker places
The dreams of death
Lost loves and solitude
Surrounded by people every night
You feel more alone than ever in your mind
Because you never let anyone in...not anymore
For their sake and your sake
You never again let anyone see behind the mask
SOmetimes I wonder if you like it that way
You know the advantages of welding words
You enjoy playing the dark mysterious corner
As well as you do the light of the party
But no matter who you play, no matter what mask
you wear, you always hide bits of yourself. \
Pieces that should be pressed,
Parts that you trap inside yourself the mask like a lid...
Just do go there, you push aside the things like they mean nothing.
And you think n one notices.
But I do.
I see you with you unblinking eyes
I read you, between the lines.
I hear you, when you don't say a word
The man, the mask, are nothing together
Without their shared secrets.

I'm a mess, I cause others mental stress. I'm exhausting, not everyone can call this a piece of cake woth a side of frosting.
I can get very clingy, not a **** person wants me. My thoughts of life is apparently draining. I guess I'm meant to be straining.
Lost my way a while ago. "It's the past" but guess what's hitting me? Don't you all normally leave me and go?
What's love and who wants to give me a shot. Pull the trigger, i know you won't with out a second thought.
I'm meant to take karma and punishment. I'm can't even get a compliment.
I'm clingy and insecure.
Where will I find a cure. Time is bullsbit because of the past.  Living is bs because the past cathes up and ain't nobody got time for that.