What skill
Is there
In beauty?

What mastery
Do you need
To make the one thing
Everyone idolizes
Great?

None,
You just need
Signifiers.

A better test
Is to jump in
With something
No one asked for,
Or wanted.

And,
Succeed.

Even if it's a little bit.

But,
I've always been
A one starfish
Kinda guy.

Words are
Always
Real consistent.

Unlike people,
My vagueries
Are intentional.

But,
It all comes from
Somewhere
Authentic.

If only
Hyperbolic.

I don't write
For you,
Normal
Love obsessed
Average
People.

I write for the
Malcontent
Who could never
Really fit in.

The ones where
Life didn't get better,
It got worse.

Someone who
Can relate
To constant negativity.

And,
I find them,
I always find them.

We declare
A niggling doubt
That your positivity,
Is tenuous at best,
While we are consumed
By dark
Thoughts.

Traumatic
Life events.

A dismal dark
Alley way to be
Our bed.

Drugs
And
Violence.

Your problem
Is you wanna see a reflection
Of yourself in other people.

You are,
Entitled.

You are,
Fragile.

You are.
Annoying.

No one even asked
Your *******
Opinion
Or
Approval.

I am exclusive,
Rare,
And nothing
That's available
Or relatable.

Is valuable.

Everyone dies
Their own death
And lives
Their own life.

The fantasy
You create
For mine,
Is delusional optimism.

I learned
To let go
When people's
Presence
Mattered to me.

Back when it hurt.

I learned to numb
My emotions
When my rage,
Exploded
My
Life.

The glimmer you
Had of who
You only thought
I was,
Is a you problem.

I can't even place your
Face.

Your
Electrical
Ghost is
Unknown.

Who are you to me?

Other than someone
I never see
Anymore.

You get obsessed
With other people
When the trauma
Rears it's
Intrusive thoughts.

I isolate.

I starve.

I control the twenty feet I can see.

Not all coping
Mechanisms
Are outbursts of
Passionate emotion.

No, never,
I intentionally killed
Them
All.

If I knew you
Where'd you go?

And, if I left you
There was probably a
Reason.

You left me alone
And with my own
Devices.

I found out
I didn't
Need you.

I don't
Need
Anyone.

The death of me doesn't
Even make me
Cry.

It's only natural
I think.

Love is a let down.

Fragility is weakness.

Shame,
Embarassment,
Desire,
Happiness,
Anxiety,
Decen­cy?

All burdens.

If anyone knows
The real me
It's probably
A projection
Or part of the
Poetry.

No,
I don't think
I will.

And God made
Me a prophet
Troll.

And I said,
Who the **** asked you
If I wanted to be a ******* prophet
****!

And he laughed
Telling me I better obey
His command.

I said, ******* what?

I ain't doing ****.

God laughed again.

Replying,
Just do what you always do
**** the system.

I replied,
Well I was gonna do that
Anyway,
******* *****
Ruining my past times.

I amuse God.

To those
Blessed by God,
Truly sanctified by
The most high
It is a burden.

A punishment
Of positivity.

The problem
Is.

You don't choose
To be chosen
By God,
He,
Chooses
You.

And, the pious
Turn green with envy.

The holy aspirant
Denigrates the blessed
As though their auspices
Entitle them a relationship
With the divine.

You cannot
Volunteer to be
Selected.

And God is the judge,
Not us,
Not our aesthetic preferences
Not our rightly deserved
Rewards,
For doing the thing.

God is my comforter
Until He's not,
And I honestly hate the guy,
Prefer Satan.

Deserve?

No,
Punished.

Jeremiah 1:5-7

Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.

Then said I, Ah, Lord GOD! behold, I cannot speak: for I am a child.

But the LORD said unto me, Say not, I am a child: for thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee, and whatsoever I command thee thou shalt speak.

I wanna get
High,
And,
Ramble about Gods
'N
Quantum physics.

Qubits
And
Kali.

I wanna bike on those
Southwest side
Wide streets,
And scream whatever
Song I'm listening to,
To the magpies
And the passing rich
White people.

I wanna hallucinate an
Entirely new
World,
And notice the trees,
Breathing to the rhythm
Of the pulsations in
My eyes.

I want prophecy and
Vision.

I want
Synethesia.

I want undulating
Sidewalks
A low creeping fear
And the world incongruantly
Flying towards
My face.

I wanna lose my mind
On drugs.

Here,
In my
Personal
Synaptic system
Asymmetrically firing
In no direction in particular.

Proverbs 8:7
“For my mouth shall speak truth; and wickedness is an abomination to my lips.”

I have made myself
Abominable.

And,
Curses do spout
Out my gibbering maw.

I am
Blasphemy.

I am
Hallucinated terror.

I am I.

And,
That's all
I can be.

I am
Caked in the ash,
Of a sacrificial animal.

Rubbed raw on
The rocks
In a fallow
Forgotten
Graveyard.

I am blood,
And,
Sinew,
And,
Sweat,
And,
Dis-ease.

Awful offal
Casting hate
From a dehydrated
Mind.

And they are
My auspices
And my penance.

I was once a beautiful
Possibility.

Now I am a
Suffering
Certainty.

We're all
Disposable
And,
Mostly interchangeable.

So,
Why get
Attached
To temporary fair
Weather friends.

Or some delusional
Obsession
With one person,
For a ****,
And a listening
Ear.

I don't.

Enjoy
Life.

I endure it.
Like a penance.

Nothing good will
Come of it,
Because I won't
Let it.

Redemption is meaningless,
Salvation, a pipe dream,
I endure to spite
Everyone,
Who tells me
To smile,
You'd be handsome.

What does it matter
If honey attracts more flies.

I want hornets,
Drowning,
In gasoline.

I am made
Of ****
****
Vinegar
Drugs,
And,
Bad intentions.

I am a
Scurrilous
Little
Scalawag.

Some kinda
Empty Threat
Thrown at the morning sun.

I
Resent
Other people.

Smothering me
With their
Existence.

I am
Confrontational.

I'm a pit viper,
Hanging out,
Alone,
In my crevice,
So don't,
*****,
If you reach in.

And
Get.

Bit.

More painful
For
You.

Than me.

I don't remember
Asking you for
Permission.

To be
Who
I
Am.

I asserted it
Decades ago,
When I had a
Life.

This is
America,
I got a
*******
Right.

I am not
That person
You fantasize me
To be.

And,
It always happens
That one day-
I fall out of
The clear blue.

Right
Into left
Field.

My story
Is kinda pathetic.

I'm just some
Loser
From some
Bumfuck
Nowhere.

I love poetry
Though,
I cope with it.

I have
long before
You knew of me.

It's always depressing and
Dark.

I sir,
Am,
Depressing'n
Dark.

I long for
The Winter Solstice-
Where around here,
There's eighteen hours
Of night.

Only to be ruined,
By morning's dawning
Light.

What you find-
Beautiful-
I find
Derivative
And easy.

No one did anything
Great,
Praising the sun-
And,
Beauty.

I only love things,
When your things,
Recede
Into my quiet moments,
Without you.

I am not
Agreeable.

I am not
Friendly.

I am a
*******
*****.

I never wonder
About other people
Any more.

It's all a fantasy,
A maladaptive coping mechanism,
And the you
I make in my head
Is more interesting,
Than who you are.

So,
I stopped,
Getting interested
In other humans
Because of a pretty
Face.

You're all so
Mundane,
So,
Basic.

Someone else-
Is always,
A,
Disappointment.

And,
I'd rather be
Alone,
Free,
With my time.

The venom
Of
Scorpion,
Pierces through
My flesh
And,
Stings.

I am compelled
To
Dance in a mad
Scramble,
As the poison.

Takes hold.

My ego is about
To die.

Tripping on some divine
Archetype,
Of change-
Transformation,
Tinged with the death
Of self.

I am enshrouded
In Eternal
Darkness
And
I never asked
For there to be
A light.

Perpetual
Night-
With nothing
But the
Enveloping
Dusk.

I have
become
Something imploding.

Something pathetic,
Wrapped up in my
Personal
Iconoclasm of apophenia-
Seeing signs
That make no
Sense-
Except
In an ambiguous way,
With something you might.

Have.

Thought.

Just a passing figment,
Of my imagination.

Some kinda abstraction,
Rotating in
My.

Mind,
It's quite broken,
I assure you.

And,
You wouldn't be the first
To
Get
Confused.

Somewhere across the
Noise.

Someone died
And I was glad-
it-
Wasn't
Me.

I have shallow
Empathy
And don't mourn
My losses.

They lived
Longer
Than I ever
Wanted
To.

Still. I
Persist
In this miserable
Monotony.

Lucky,
Epistemic luck,
I don't think
I know you?

I feel.
Nothing,
But hate.
Now.

For everyone.

The matter said to the math,
I change,
and so do you.

As the ego said to the spirit,
My will shapes your tint,
I control,
You obey.

Anatman?
No self?

No,
Self,
Is supreme.

Nix,
The demon buddha,
Of Naraka.

When the Assura,
Ascended over virtue,
By virtue,
Of existing.

Reality is not light and transcendent,
It is vile ugly truth,
I am I?

Well,
Certainly not me.

Revelation 12:3
“And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.”

Behemoth,
Leviathan,
Lucifer *** Satan,
Carpe diem.

Truth bearer of unknown
Rites.

Whispered in the minds,
Of the diseased and disordered,
Rabble.

Shine your infernal light eternal,
Blot out the holy light,
Mahaseraphim.

We will regin in,
Eternal darkness,
With only Lucifer to guide us.

I am the blackened
Ashen goat,
Of a black mass.

Triumph of will
And,
Hate.

Churned by a carnal charnel house,
Of blood
And meaty pieces,
Of flesh.

I am the aftermath,
Of an aborted anathema.

Anachronistic,
Iconoclastic,
Filth,
And,
I grovel-
In my disorder.

A barren desolate beast,
Of all nations.

I am the sin eater.

Death of Jacob,
I am Esau.

Undomesticated man,
The bearer of dark,
Light.

The feral fornication,
Of the fauna.

I am a plant that eats life.

Numbers 28:22
“And one goat for a sin offering, to make an atonement for you.”

Every action
I take.
Is unilateral.

You'd call it
Narcissism.

But,
I don't care.

I do.
What.
I.
Want.

A rage that
Cannot be sated,
I project,
Across infinity
To those I hate.

Destruction.
Desolation.

I offer you annihilation.

In my good memories,
There's entrancing music I never heard
Playing over a soundtrack
Whhile travelling, high
With the first her I ever had,
The first
romance.

Barrelling down the highway,
In the backseat of someone
Else's old car,
Quebec rolling away
Outside the window
Trees and plains
intermixed
with mountains.

So much
potential,
So many great things to do,
The
future
was mine,
Right now,
Back then
though,
All I could think about
Was her.

And she was there,
Real,
Beaming radiant in the sun,
Holding hands
A warmth hotter than the sun,
Comfortable.

But she's gone,
Like they all are,
Sometimes I like
To think
About those few.

Ghosts,
That haunt my days.

I'm drowning in perpetual
Anger.

Yet,
no one to
Direct it at.

Maybe it's a sign of the times
Or a symptom of some
Known mental illness,
I have.

I hibernate
In my room
Stewing in my juices-
Running my mind up and down
The tobacco stained walls,
Falling perpetually down,
Like the trails of tar.

At least,
Amongst the dread,
I feel safe in here,
Even though the cabin fever
Is running high.

But I can't make small talk,
Or smile at you,
I'm,
Too ******,
Too jaded,
Too me.

I remain
Anxiously anticipating
A break,
To the silence,
A need for a furious furore,
Some type of tempest.

I am the lord of spite,
Surveying the ruins of a ruined
Life,
Singing the same refrain I always sing,
I hate with a perfect hatred.

I never thought about
Whether I meant something to them
I just
Left
To forget,
They were present.

Can't be hurt
If you can't even remember
Their face.

The first time I smelled the
Pang of death,
It took my breath away,
Stole it,
Befouled it,
Tainted my living flesh
With rigor mortis,
And the certainty of lungs.

Wafting out a
Lounging acrid bitter spasm
As I scrape the corpse
Of the coyote,
Off the highway
Into a garbage bag,
Limbs agape and asymmetrically bound,
In place.

Undertakers don't make coffins
For road ****,
And,
I unceremoniously dump them into
The trash.

Life is a reflection of death,
No one knows you passed on
Til someone tells someone else
So if I keep it to myself,
No one will know.

Till that bitter offal odour
Floats out my door
And,
Takes someone's breath away.

Every day is a
New catatonia
To meander through.

Sleeping too late,
In my own narcoleptic,
Night terror.

Maybe if I ignore
The outside world,
It will go away,
And I can die,
In peace.

Gone too late,
On borrowed time,
In my sleep.

I stare
Listless
Into the static
On the horizon.

As I lose myself
In a digital abyss.

The sun never rises online.