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I will find you
On the River Styx,
Charon,
And
I will steal from you
The farthing,
To pay the
Devil.

Hades
On
Fire.
The veil
Is drawn in the
Inbetween
Spaces.

Where spirits dance
With the schizophrenic
In an apophenia,
Meaning
Becomes subjective,
When you see signs
In everything.

So cast the bones
Draw the blood
And make for
Yourself
A sin offering.

The goat
Is often not from
Mendes.

But I crave the darkness
And din
Of dusk,
Perpetually without,
Dawn.

Return to the frigid cold
Of shadows.
To be bare.

To be vulnerable.

To be ripped down
To your support
Structure.

And,
Naked.

In front of everyone.

Full of judgement.

And,
If I cared enough
For what people
Would think.

I wouldn't have given
You these
Notes.

From the
Underground.
I mean
What were they.

Besides.

Junkies?

They were
My
Friends.

I miss
Them.
I
Swing
Between anger
And depression.

And.

Nothing else.

It all
Disappears at some point.

Left to the terror
Of all by
Myself.
It's like
Waking up
To the **** in the side of your head,
Hair,
Matted by the blood
Ripping off
In clunks.

And,
It stings,
As you peel the fresh scab
From off the sheet.

You become
Numb
To the pain.

As everyday is a stark
Reminder
You didn't make it any
Where.

But,
I've accepted
That
A long time ago.

And, now,
All there is is the
Aftermath.

Of another poor decision,
Another scar,
More tasting the copper
In the blood
As it coagulates
And oxidizes,
Blood stains turn brown.

I've rotted and
Become
Something scary
And harsh.

Broken and bloodied,
My psyche quit looking
For reasons why,
After the first few
Hits to the head,
You go unconscious
Or move through the
Pain.

Love was always
An
Enemy.

But.

Violence was a
Friend of mine,
And
I purified myself
In its burning
Baptism.

Give us this day our daily
Bread,
And,
Give me a slap
Upside the head.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 20
Strange
That I inspire
Contempt
In people
I never think of,
Unless they're shoved in my face
Artificially,
But yes,
Do go on about whatever
It is that knotted up your
*******.

A good telling to,
though,
With the sycophants
Stroking your ego.

Wordy,
Hyperbolic.

The wisdom of a teenager,
More ambition
And know it all attitude
Than wisdom,
Presumption.

I've heard it all
Before,
No one likes you,
You're not wanted at the party,
You need an attitude adjustment,
Paltry petty derision
Derived and empty.

I can see
You're angry,
Now,
Let me make it worse.

The dust became a man
And it did  not like it,
So the man screamed obscenities
And returned to silence
And nothingness.

Deep,
Coulda summarized it,
From dust we are born,
To dust we return,
Inevitable.

A tautology.

Not even worthy of note.

So why do you marinate
In your disgust?

Seems,
Like,
A you,
Problem.
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