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every time I write vividly
can't figure how to end days
yearn for my epiphany
and I malice their succession
I don't learn more of

p o l i t i c s
m e n in shoes
w a r
f a m i l y
m a n n e r s
r o t t e n
y o u t h

afraid of being water
water that decomposes every day
printed with i‑service entropy

if craic makes my soul modern
I'll sit and wait for apocalypse
wild can devour my ashes

each of my tea motes fight
heave my tongue like embers

humpty, encircled by people,
would fall on the wall again
and probably ask to go to Nyos
for silent rain
on a government grant

enlightening activist futility
as I write in a singed library
at my diluted right edge
I fear those who tower over me

what if my decade has passed
making a schedule each day
to be better or to matter
I suffer from anemia
my tea is too sour
gambling both these
to pay wagers —
who taught me to write
and forgot to proofread

when they ask my destiny
I say: transcendence of arcana
would restless lurching
take me to God
or Satan
I need to ask someone modern
terrible niche
if you get it, you get it
if not, well, tough
mary clutching confessions of someone
far too woke for their own good
bless her

we’re all here
terrible, terrible niche
cheers
Damocles Sep 2
Mirrors broken,
Fractions splitting,
Ever finely,
Watching secrets,
Flowing through me,
Ever asking,
Who am I?

When I can’t even see—
Me anymore
I don’t even dream—
Anymore.

Falling headfirst into the light
So bright it burnt my eyes,
In a dream or was it life?
Embattled with the ruse,
I could abscond with all the rules
A ravaging abuse obtusely used
As I drained away my youth.

Barreling though what I knew,
A misery of sorts,
Traumatic tendrils grip like anchors
The pills were my only resource
A numbness to pick up my sword
Dangled over head, Damocles
Striking down my enemies.

But bridges burnt,
Was a double edged blade
Because even the ones I loved
I could no longer save
As this anger exploded
Like a sun above us shining
Nuclear and blinding
I scorched ties and dried out salves
Until healing was impossible—
Lest you cauterized the wound.

Now as embers cool
And coals burn off to ash
Brittle like aching bones,
Brutal as hindsight,
Where loneliness creeps
And the current of thoughts
Flow like rapids concordantly
Drifting through the steepest fog
Where the mind divides,
I care only for clarity and intimacy
To feed this malnourishment.

It’s been so hard looking through time,
With eyes of a fly,
As these mirror shards remind,
I have never been sure.

Am I an artist?
                  Am I a poet?
                                     Am I a photographer?
            A philosopher?
                              Am I a fighter?
          A vigilante?
                             Am I human?
                   Am I a demon?
      Am I a lover?
                                   Am I anti life?

I stare blankly into a deep black emptiness.
Singing a forced fed lyric.:
Who am I?
Intentionally disjointed. The title is a computer command. When entered in command prompt it tells you what user id you’re using…thus telling you who you are. ©️ Dominick B
MuseumofMax Aug 13
I am an imperfect shape; abstract
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