Fashion: a route for evil through peer pressure,
Capitalism survives,
But to the poor’s detriment.
Shallow fascias causing positive fallacies among the young,
Not yet wise to see the lies in disrespect of life’s worth.

Actions; the result of Misguidance.
Misguidance serving as a detraction.
From the original intention,
Being a blissful destination,
Curtailed by selfish manifestation.

Imbued by he; the wicked one,
Unable to see his own futility,
For all his destruction will be undone.
The attraction of fame all among the young,
A shortcut in the name of the wicked one,
To hear personal virtues, in a repetitive melody, sung.

But is, in actual fact, a bypass to facile wealth,
With virtues slackened to result in unrighteous health.
The most vicious attack but done so in stealth.
Infiltrate minds to manipulate thought;
Pulling the strings, of you puppets, taut.

Puppets we may be, but with minds of our own.
Misguided we’ve been but we’ll never lose tone.
We push on and on and achieve greatness on the way.
Perpetually, we strive to find our way.
To the original destination,
Of love’s manifestation,
Of a blissful intention,
After Satan’s annihilation.

Hate what’s mediocre and banal too.
Despise them both and take the two to task.
Their infection consumes flight of fancy,
Hidden behind a bland and facile mask.

Please write your tale to help disarm the pair.
Together we can speed up their demise.
Although there are greater forces at work,
Much more than most, the same do they despise.

It is still so, but the hatred makes way,
For the flight of our thoughts, thus creating,
Works of beauty; wondrous to minds of men.
What’s hated, in truth is sublimating.

The platitude “Thinking outside the box”,
A phrase by those whom ignorantly use,
Lead astray by these bland meaningless masks,
Fall short of honing tools with which to prove.

To begin with, there is a strong feeling,
An analogy in a nutshell which,
Is presented to aid understanding,
Curtailing a cerebral glitch.

Then a comparison to the flip side,
Passionately pervading all angles,
Adding anticipation and power to,
The carroty denouement that dangles.

A lady of infectious smiles,
My heart she has lured with her beautiful wiles.
My thoughts are engaged, only for her;
Never to be vacant for anyone lesser.

Perfect silk darkness neatly flows from her bright sky,
Encompassing a porcelain complexion.
Never before and never again, to any human eye,
Will such contrast warrant such fervent affection.

Fanciful love is so easy from afar.
Closer it’s stronger yet more fragile.
The longer it’s left and the further we are,
The more I am tempted to beguile.

What is this wall which keeps stopping me?
Stopping me going forth into our waking.
Fear of love’s rejection, no more must it be,
Holding me back from our making.

This is not, confused with ambiguity,
A time to be weak and passive.
The obstacles in my way may be small,
But inner strength needed is massive.

So gently I went cautiously forth,
Knowing just to where I was heading,
But blinded by my dreams I continued,
Since these dreams I’d laid as my bedding.

So blinded, go forth I did to our making,
Only to find it was in fact our breaking.
True colours I saw and the colours I hated,
For they were not of the spectrum for which my breath was bated.

She; the master of bogus supplication;
As lovely as can be.
A masked bullet for love’s annihilation.
A let down for eternity.

An excessive and extensive infatuation,
Blown blustery out of all control,
Disfigured from all proportion.
In my refined plan; an untidy hole.?Two contrasting poles I loved so fervently,
For they left the midst a clear canvas,
On which I painted with my mind, elegance and beauty,
Paint is not truth as truth is not this.

I put this canvas away to be hid,
Out of sight, out of mind and ring true that did.
Not one piece of me wants to see her,
When every piece of me wants to find her.

By my mind’s fabrication and my heart’s fallacy;
I don’t know what in her I saw.
With realisation of discord subliminally,
When I look now I see it no more.

Now she’s no more,
And by my choice she’ll stay that way.
But will I always leave open this door,
And hope that she stays away?

A quiet emotion unexplained.

Absorbed, not observed.

Yet dictates reactions;

Crafting the prevailing mood.

Again dictating reactions,

Perpetuating the cycle,

Be it downwards or upwards,

Vicious or enlightening.

Continue it will, however it may go.

Who so deems it right or wrong?

Whom can change its course.

Be there nothing in that sky of yours,
That of your own making,
No colour, matter, wind nor force.
Just emptiness beyond that battered cliff,
Beaten by the sea from one,
With kites and creams to the other.
Such contrasting torment of ‘could but isn’t’,
As the black, crimson sky bleeds over;
Yet is still a waste expanse,
For black or crimson, kites or birds,
Wind or wonder, nothing’s heard.
Where loneliness haunts itself,
Imbued with its own solitary ambience,
Which companioning heart beats would dilute.
Opacity equates to naught.

She tells me,
"You're very self aware,
You know what, why and how you do things,
Yet you continue to do them."

I explain to her that I never learned how to ask for help
So I only ever knew how to look to myself for the answer
Which has led me to become pretty creative with metaphors
As well as entertaining internal monologues,
Like when I explained to her that my parents look at me
And see a knot of misfortune
Without looking at all the threads that I'm comprised of
Which led them to this conclusion of me.

She asked me if I ever thought of harming other people
To which I noted that I tend to play fruit-ninja
With peoples faces
In my head.
Though I'd never actually do anything,
Just as I'm able to keep a professional demeanor
Giving no hints to
The constant stream of expletives in my head.

She asks me why I don't feel like I have friends,
Which leads me to disclose
That I can't tell if I work too much
To spend time with friends
Or if I do it to distract from the lack of.

I laugh when I regale her
With how I recently bought a yoyo
Because it is relaxing
And makes me feel like a cool kid
That would be part of the gang in Hey Arnold,
Stating that it's been helping me with my panic attacks
By focusing on making my yoyo
Go around the world,
Pretending it was me,
Circumventing my lack of coping mechanisms.

Iliana looks at me, with her mouth slightly turned down
Attempting to keep a straight face
Though her brows still knit together in slight confusion
As she asks me how I'm able to say all of this with a smile on my face,
"Well," I state, "I don't have time to be depressed."

An ardent soliloquy of effusive loneliness;
But a fervent display of fanciful companionship.
Fanciful, but of choice limited to one.
As soft lonesome light glows through a goblet;
Deep in red of fallacious blood,
And to speak of which I long, with one of similar mind,
Yet contradictory in gender,
Be it in terms as well.

Solitariness to me, seems bestowed.
And at times I see its light.
Or not so much light, more of a dim and distant glow,
Coming to me through that goblet,
Through the liquid lie it holds.

Imbued with the notion of these times,
I long to be, even an appendix to a Pantisocracy,
Where subjugation and self righteousness are equally redundant,
Not surplus; not wanted.
Perpetual anticipation for this future,
Is the ultimate test of faith in righteousness.