Inward.

You don’t need
to know the science of
how a supernova glows,
in order to see,
so vividly
with clarity
these scars;
I sport them
proud, like how,
you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
Cuban cigars –
Dom Pérignon,
yawn…
this bores me;
shall I go on?
act like you don’t
secretly adore me,
forcefully,
bitterly,
lips sewn closed,
you’re confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not like
it’s rocket science,
my compliance,
I’m submissive
dismissive,
ever renewed,
do I ring true?
You bet I do…
Again,
Big Man
spin my head
around the room,
you’re mad because
my spirit doesn’t
comprehend the likes of you…
But you know the feeling…
good and well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Mr. Passive Aggressive
in designer
spit-shined shoes…
never did I question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine both do –
combustible
ignitable
you’ll see no surprise
in my open eyes,
I’m already onto you;
too ornery
too lonely
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they happen
to stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
no time to talk to,
the Ace up your sleeve,
make my heart
childishly and stupidly
waste time in belief,
of anything
more than what,
we were, already,
turn inward again,
backward
wayward
can’t open your eyes
unable to stir,
the ash back to fire,
this place is absurd,
chasing the promises,
made inward.

Refeed.

IMG_20110430_154522-1

“Whatever floats your boat”, so they say;
go on, pick a direction and float it away –
there’s nothing that gets me more enraged,
than to be forced to read –
your lust-dusted refeeds
different name, same face of greed;
such a painfully obvious approach,
to see which bidder pays the most;
all while bumping gum,
unsuccessfully playing dumb,
over the cracks and the crumbs
spun with your own identity.

“Whatever sinks your pickle”, goes the word;
One of the most warped statements I’ve ever heard –
go ahead and sink, while I fly like a bird,
such a fitting thought –
considering how you are not
a thing that you claimed you were;
Such a quick-handed draw,
to salt the wounds that you saw;
all while carrying on,
talking shit all day long,
but what have you got?
besides an arsenal of rotten sugar.

Inward.

Huh?

Huh?

You don’t need to know
the science
behind how a supernova glows,
in order to see, so vividly
these scars;
I sport them proudly
like you probably sport
your caviar,
your mini bar,
the Cuban cigars –
yawn…
this bores me;
don’t act like you
do not
secretly adore me,
forcefully, lips sewn
confusing me…
how should I
have somehow known?
It’s not rocket science,
my compliance
is a choice I make,
ever renewed,
ring true?
You bet I do…
Again, let’s spin
around the room,
you’re mad because
I can’t comprehend you…
But you know that
feeling…

all too well, too…
don’t you, Blue?
Passive Aggressive
in designer shoes…
never did question
what the fuck
I see in you…
your horns curl inwards,
just the same as mine do  –
combustible
ignitable
it isn’t any surprise.
That you’d be too ornery
to look me in the eye,
even on the days
when they stay dry…
no time,
you’re driving,
or flying,
or speed-writing…
make my heart shock
harder than –
a hundred bolts of lightning.