I sought her in the form
of a never was daughter
who will never be born
because she was just
a minor possibility.

I sought her
in the sick slaughter
of innocent
children, women,
and men.

I sought her
in the stories
I read
before I slipped
off to bed.

And when I
could not find her
I thought she was
dead.

But to pursue
my muse
is to confuse
the mind
I seek to use,

it is an abuse
of my mental faculties
to chase clarity
when I could
just as easily
find it in solitude
and simplicity
while simply
reflecting
silently
on all of reality
letting my poetry
come to me
naturally.

I maybe a little upset,
obsessed
with what
this world
seeks to possess,
but I am not
depressed.

Things are going
pretty good,
I am not worried about
taking any direction
that people think I should
because this cosmos
does not give
one flit about my ****.

I am ok,
but sometime
my mind
catches an echo of
the me I use to be.

As I drive over
the lake outside
the city of Springfield
where I spend
most of my time,
I feel just a spark,
just a slight itch to
drive straight towards
the metal guards
and split my car
into two metal parts.

It wouldn’t be hard.
All it would take
is a twist of the wheel
and ignoring my brakes,
so the darkness
could overtake
my current consciousness;

But, I do not live
in that mental compartment
anymore.
This is just a scary echo
of the sad anxious man, I was
many years ago.

This is a fairy tale,
a flash into the past
as green gasses swirl,
and purple ones
intermingle
just for fun
as I am spun
down a weird
rabbit hole.

Upside down
and sideways up,
though I try to stop it
my will is not enough
and I am devoured
by some sick chasm.

Soft esophagus
walls ascend
as I fall in
feeling its pulsing
presence
and air pressure
as it is breathing,

I am swallowed
by this giant
hungry heathen.

Thick drips
of slimy saliva
follow fast behind
as my mind
succumbs
to the terror
that I find.

How foolish of me
to fall asleep
in a fantasy.

I drop and plop
as my body stops
on some soft squishy spot.

Is it a lumbering giant,
some flying dragon,
or angry kraken
who took to snacking
on my human sized form?

I ponder this problem,
slip on a slimy warm spot,
then continue falling.

The hole tightens,
and my breathes
takes a break
from my body
as I am squeezed
down a smelly hole.

Then, right before
I am about
to pass out
it is all the way out
I go,
on my head
on a wet green
grassy bed,

while the
slick, stinking,
shimmering orifice
moves off
shrinking
in the distance.

Confused,

bruised,

and misused,

I wonder
“Was I someone’s
food, or sad solid poo?”

A ****** story
to say the least
and I cannot even
identify the beast
that ate and excreted me.

All I know is that,
I really need a bath.

Desire is
a pink
poisonous
prison,

a constant collision
with the better angels
that help me make
my decisions
and my urges
that up ends
them.

It is a hole
I keep digging
hoping
Mrs. Robinson
will take advantage
of my played out
innocence.

What a privilege
to be driven by
this day to day
desire that inspire
repugnant
thoughts and
behavior.

I would prefer
to live a life
of discipline
and logic
but passion
prevails,
and passing travels
pushes me on
to one more
mistake.

Attachments
make me weak,
and this biological urge
makes me feel
like a big freaking creep
when I would
like to be
is a nice guy.

I can’t wait
till I’m seventy-five
cause I won’t buy
a single blue pill.

It is miles of negative
and perfectly positive
political perspectives
where people have self-selected
to remain ignorant
of ideals that challenge them
by following people
who are channeling
repeated talking points.

It is people projecting
a fake identity
that consists of parts
of the person
they would like to be.

It is others sharing
the beauty of their artistry
as they struggle
to connect to
those who view
the works of art
the artists seek to
give to all of you.

It is a bitter batch
of discontented
men and woman
complaining
and constantly trolling
posting painful venom
that burns the brightness
within women, children,
and even full-grown men.

While, somewhere in the distance
of this digital dissonance
there is someone who
needs just a little attention
to pull them from the edge of
the nightmare they have been
living in.

Were you hungry
when you took
a big bite out of me?

My meet was uncooked
so, you must have been
seriously starving.

After carving
chunks of skin
to fix a perfect fillet
did it make you
feel really great
to see such pain.

Is this calamity,
social leprosy
as you pull
the tasty
flesh from me.

You broke and took
the arm I used,
saw soft flesh
fall from my face
and other areas
start to bruise
trending towards
rotting black and blue
deathly hues.

Raggedy man
all exposed
with tattered clothes
and no nose
that works.

You jerks
made this once
healthy body
into a zombie,
a nightmare movie
where I shamble
to find someone
to gnaw on.

I've been still,
Caught in a sweet stasis,
Buried under the same, baseless
Candied gags, slippery hags, body bags ー
But I can't go back.
Haven't moved forward either,
So I still sit silent here.
Maybe I'll someday wither ー

Like dandelions as they scatter in the wind,
I will feel no more the weight of societal sins.
Staying awake in anticipation;
That feeling you get when you see a road blocked
and a wrecked car hoping it was an accident
Eventful; excitement to see that tar black
Crimson on tarmac
and those trampled, broken-pretty shells ー

I want to be a doll.
A pretty hollow pale porcelain
you still can't hurt when I slip through your hands,
Or when you let go and drop me,
Or smash me into the ground ー
It's all the same, isn't it?
You buy, bore, break, blame, build, rebuild
Rebreak, reblame, replace...

I remake real-fake love into stanza-sized stories
Just to rebrand them as poetry;
A molded part to inspire some abstract art.
They're better off that way,
Locked in and stationary;
Sweet standstill sanctuary.
And I'll stay to watch their models fail and break,
As they too, disintegrate ー fellow ******* degenerates

This time I was at your disposal,
But we're all just glorified disposables ー
Ever-hungry, hedonistic at heart.

Are we a line of compounding causal factors
that culminate in some important event,

or a series of reoccurring happenstances
that play out like an epileptic dance
of rapid synaptic chaos?

Do our minds play us, making madness
into predetermined patterns of a purposeful
existence,

or is there more meaning
to what we are seeing
like a lovely underlying cosmic equation
that unifies all that we spy
and all that our limited senses
cannot perceive?

To the one I lost
before we ever met,

to the potential mistake
that I would
never regret.

Oh, that I knew you true
but how can I forget
something I have never known.

A wisp of passing wonders
a vault of sparkling dreams
that playout behind the fantasies
and delirious daydreams
of what if realities.

Still, such sorrows spill
as I swallow that sad pill
I feel the poison of
a love that never was.