Realities.

Wanna see my many painful realities?

my empty, metallic uncertainies,

the way I’ve cooled by fooled degrees,

how I can’t scrub away my memories,

You deserve not one of these,

wishes I’ve whispered silently,

Me, and all my blackened dreams,

my hopelessly unraveled heart strings,

my deeply embedded insecurities,

my faulty hardheaded instabilities,

the saltiness I spit into the breeze,

has all my shit quite ill at ease,

the truth will keep me on my knees,

foretelling handmade calamities,

these recollections that are killing me,

the days I’ve blazed away halfheartedly,

you’re finally dead and gone to me,

carried long beyond my reach,

I’m just waiting for the thing,

the next eclipsed sunrise will bring,

all my sleepless nights foreseen,

all my words with no meaning,

all my deep depressions and misery,

my outbursts and lack of identity,

what superficial, superpowered inhumanity,

constant sense of impermanence and impropriety,

a silence inside the core that screams,

a violence that wounds me perpetually.

Staggering.

Goodbyes that are perpetual,
The lies that are eventual,
Replies ringing contextual,
Both my hands hang at my sides;


Strive to covtrive the beautiful,
Survive and defy the refutable,
Alive in what’s wise and meaningful,
There’s a flaw in my design;


The fling flung at the unbearable,
A thing that’s become something terrible,
A string strung from me to the pedestal,
Emptiness clouds my mind;


Regret will pervade the unmemorable,
Dissent describes the unfavorable,
Neglect persuades the inevitable,
I can’t claim to wonder why;


Moments unraveled into landmines,
Torment travels through real time,
Encroachments that sting all my blood line,
So staggeringly ill-defined;


This face, tattooed by suffering,
Disgrace has a presence that’s smothering,
Replace the sheer essence of everything,
Recovery’s not always kind.

Mescalene.

Try I do, to do the right thing,
Suck it up and bite the bean,
Keep it honest, keep it clean,
Oil the gears in this here machine;
Profound lessons learned on mescalene,
While at school all they see are mass shootings,
A universe stealthily winding up to spring,
As we build bombs and don’t suspect a thing;
Life must take pleasure in shaping misery,
While mutated versions of my fellow human being,
Clueless and empty like a fuzzy TV screen,
Get go on thinking they got anything on me.

Introspectivity.

It always starts out with,
that involuntary twitch,
eyes popping,
nervous rocking,
hard to catch my breath;

This much accursed gift,
heart haywire, mind adrift,
engine sputter,
pulse aflutter,
can’t run away from it;

A sand that’s too fine to sift,
these hands: too broken to lift,
no motivation,
slow salvation,
beyond a dark, longstanding rift;

Steaming piles of shit,
line my pathway to its pit,
a one way road,
on the map I hold,
of a soul that’s counterfeit.

Loop.

The looped-sound,
had been there,
in the background,
annoying,
skin-crawling,
spinning around…
thought-twirling,
discerning,
any new learning,
or knowledge found,
high frequency,
ear-drum atrocity,
this noise,
is killing me…
the noise,
resounds,
above the soil,
and underground,
molten-melted foil,
of a dead King’s,
former crown,
reminiscent…
of the tears,
dropped down,
residually,
hanging,
on its sound,
dripping water,
drops…
to the ground,
above,
my head,
sadness surrounds,
whirring,
winding,
tightly around,
this thumping,
this beating,
this…
primordial sound,
commands me,
moves me,
to speak,
concisely,
certainly expound.