It's always angry little boys
who make the choices
in Turnip Town.
Focusing on what they're not,
fear and hate's all they got.
So, burn it all down?

The Flaming Phoenix Rises from the Ashes Once Again My Word!
What did they do to that poor bird?
Its distended neck throbs, sickly and withered.
Congested Heart beating an arrhythmic dirge.

"FREEEDOMMMM" it ekes out,
but the cry is pinched at the end,
squealing like a sad balloon.

"GLOOORRRRYYY" it begs,
like a whining siren,
but no one can look it in the eye anymore.

Say, phoenix, maybe you should take a break.
Maybe this cry for glory is why you keep bursting into flames.

And each time you burn,
you do not return
stronger.

Everything you take
with you
stays dead.

now
my eye sees with
distorted myopia,
misanthropic dystopia
where I carried on
wandering
in this egregious
hope for utopia.

absurdity.
my mind reels.
hope no longer appeals
wondering
where i go from here

impulse
impulse
impossibility
ha
ha
ha
ha
"upward mobility?"

I'll take a train
I'll leave the car
"far" is not far anymore

Engrained in my aspect
On the verge, the precipice
A cathartic reject
A failed hedonist
Forever and endless
Not even emptiness
A mess.

They build hell and wish for heaven.
They seek their glory after death.
They focus their intention
Toward the only fixed point in time:
The End

I don't know why I've gone so far.
Nobody's stopping me.

I know that I'm a better man
when in proximity.

I need you to activate, or appropriate.
Create me.

Alone,
I tear the walls down.
Naked to myself.
Trying not to dream.

I have failures to endure,
and lessons to learn.
The greatest of burdens
are laurels I did not earn.

Digging unexploded ordnance
on a mountain of corpses,
but the view is amazing.