I’m a Polyglot Polymath, Microphone’s a Polygraph,
Manners of a Sociopath-Rhymin’ keeps me on the path,
Else I’d be hackin you up like a cannibal,
Pullin the Chianti out-serve you up like Hannibal,

Words heavier than Elephants invading cross the alps,
Under Armour over Body Armour-waistline fulla scalps,
From the Belt o’ the Celt o’ the Schizophrenic Sandman,
You’re triple teamed by -EC- Raps new Xmen.

I broke me chains,some say I went insane,
But it’s simple,all I went and did was grow a brain.
be the Bane of your life,while Mal plays Dark Knight,
A rhyme Super Villain with a verse of Dark Light,

The searchlights on-watch the cockroach scatter,
We speak Dark Matter while your brain gets battered,
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
Mal and Sandman's Positively Mental Attitude.


It’s the original Irish OG rough rugged and ready,
Battling me is futile keep your hands steady,
I’m no pacifist,and if you take the ****,
I’ll clap you with a fist like an obelisk,

That’s a grave warning,-global warming,
The Dragon of Eire ,skies look stormy…
Since cassettes and disks I’ve been spittin ****,
That makes wannabee’s wanna slit their wrists,

The Sandman’s calling,come in and take a mauling,
Rappin since clappin one two and yes y’allin,
from New Aulins to saint Pauls my kin,
Are gathering for the quickenin,pulse races,air thickenin'
Highlander in a land cruiser,take your teeth out like a dentist
E.C’s BRUISER.
batten down the screws-worldviews get skewed,
by Mal and Sandmans Positively Mental Attitude.

The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.

I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner.  The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ******. The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.

A literate piece of poetic license,

The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.

The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.  
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under  
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.

Don’t use that word
that loveless, cheap hotel card with that sham of a fine print
don’t ignite my wrath
by devaluing it’s worth, or even giving it power
ignore it’s event like I do
a purity ring
a shackled serf
don’t cheapen my experience with your experience
of what is mine
don’t touch me
swallow me whole
engross me, emboss yourself into my body
don’t touch me
don’t even bring yourself to touch me
I've been rattled out of my lithe little girl's ribcage
child's innocence
shaken out of my hair
I've been mauled by foreign hands
I've been contained by religious crusaders
I've been trampled by meaning
I've been impaled by silence
I've been wretched from love
I've been stolen by hades
I've become the defining moment of your ego's shameless pride
my meaning has been baffled
it has been led
it has dived instead
to the groves of the underworld
divided in two parts for this equinox of existence
my child’s fingers
pried, wretched, from its golden enlightenment
pulled
by the untouch
and the wrong touch
the false meaning
and the absent truth
I am a survivor
I am my own caged victim
I keep her in my stomach
hidden behind my intestines
immersed in my guts
and my bruised pride
that is where I keep her
from you
and the sensations you evoke
the feeling that rattles my nerves
and twists them in confusion
I don’t want to hear your caricature
of my painful soul twisting experience
or HERS
I am enraged!
I am grieving!
I am rejecting!
I am pleading!
I am split from the genitalia up
and the heart down
DONT REMIND ME
please don’t send me into Vietnam
when I am simply relaxing my levied body into your bed
I haven’t the control
PUSH, PUSH, PUSH
PULL, PULL, PULL
SEVER, SEVER
they send me out
he pulls me in
I send me out
I hope to be tugged gently somewhere far away
different from here
in hopes of a real man
a saintly man, devoid of churchly meaning
and satanic undertaking
to embrace me while my fractures are filled
with porcelain
comfort me in my tears
with your humble arms, hands, thumbs
I’ve lived nightmares
that can’t even be rendered from medieval children’s stories
I am under constant running faucets of pain
I am the active participant in my own narcosis
the sound of screaming children sends me into rooms of interrogation
into a meaning of my own
the death of the world’s morality
sends me into spiraling questions of my own
I am sweating from my own polygraph
I am juggling an urge for a spiritual and triumphant out of place uproar
in a quiet, unassuming, un-related home
I am running barefoot after the stars
until my heart hemorrhages
until my lungs collapse
until my feet are caked with sharp rocks
until these rivers from my eyes run cracked dry
tears pooled from somewhere so deep and treacherous
I dont even know where the water is kept
even with my own fingers in the dam
I trust not the water of prisons
I cannot come within proximity of these wound
You slaughterer of divine innocence
You godless heathen
sacrificing the bodies of small celestial creatures
at the bonfire of your debauched and putrid humanity
you thief of love and light
of trust
and connection
I cannot bring myself into the inner reaches of love for fear of the inner reaches of you
I am reverted to the first thought to imprint upon my soft mind
the soft mind of a small and unsupervised animal
but I can only touch it with my lips and my imagination
unable to bring it behind my mouth
for what pain it has caused me
what paralysis it wrought into me
In my quiet, exhausted body
as it's administered to
in its aloofness
by my own lovely composure of compassion
in it's illuminated internal insight
flittering trust in cosmic righteousness
do I also come to bolster faith
that this baser nature will one day be sanctified
like a burning house, full of plagued infested linen
de-shelved like memories of pain on loop
so myself and all the other victimized creatures can find rest upon thier weary eyelids

your arteries are wired to
sound an alarm if thieves
come to rob you of your heart
but I swiftly stole the wrinkles
on your brain so maybe you’d forget
the mole below my left eye, the
faded birthmark embedded in my left shoulder

if that makes me a criminal dress
me in tangerine, let me play
tug of war with a noose

I took a polygraph test last night, the examiner
asked if I still loved you
I whispered no but the needle painted
the cadence of your voice instead

Unrepentant with a hole in her soul
The brass faced liar has steely control
Nothing fazez her. no fib was too big or small. Man this girl was a smooth criminal and a really close acquaintance

She would give a polygraph the shakes
and it's our little secret. umm, Mom and dad know.
family secret.

I reversed engineered the brass faced liar
and all the tumblers clicked.

The truth to her is like Kryptonite to Superman.
I dropped a small stone down her throat one day and counted to ten
before it hit bottom with a far away clunk..

Faceof brass ,heart of stone.animal rescuer
Liar to the bone. Manipulates children poor self esteem
Brass faced liar isn't what she seems.

Out.  To impress now.finally starting to dress now
Drawing flys like rotten meat.

Wicked comes in all shapes and sizes
Turn back the covers,know what your surprize is ?.

A zombie in a guilded mask.
Long dead and putrid..a walking talking husk.

Lies pour out of her mouth like green blowflies
And crawl back in under her disguise.
To fester.
Brass face jester
R.I.P.

I've written letter after letter
but I can't give you the contents of my heart
in just blue ink and paper
I want you to make me feel
as if you've taken all my air and replaced it with yours
Understand that I was low-key in love with you
until that one night in December, or was it November?
and now I can't stop saying "I love you" between kisses
I'm 50% dreamgirl and 50% wildfire
but you've never thrown water on me
My hand was always three inches above the panic button
until you took it away from me
Safe to say --  I'm half crazy for your love
I've been restless my entire life
So who are you to come and tire me out?
I'd let you steal the blood from my veins
and replace it with cyanide if it made you happy
I'm going to carve our names into a tree
and hope my heart doesn't send the place up in flames
I'd apologize for all the pointless, kind of dumb things I say
but you made my heart beat so hard
It's all I can manage to hear sometimes
but no part of me feels guilty
for wanting to kiss you until I lose my mind and find it again
The constellations are ugly compared to your smile

Am I being clear?
Never liked being transparent.
I know you think most literature is pointless, irrelevant
but this is like watching my brain and heart
**** each other on paper, neither of them ever dies though
Can you tell by the way I say, whisper your name?
Wide-eyed at 3AM because I stopped taking sleeping pills
So I can lie awake thinking about the last time
you touched me, not just touched me - and kissed me on the head
I used to **** love for fun
Now if I ever deny loving your every cell,
every functioning polygraph in the world,
would break at the same time
Maybe you won't understand but I think you do
I've decided calling you my 'drug of choice' is too cliche,
but how else do I say I'm hooked
and I don't need 12 steps for this addiction.
You're counting me down at my front door,
my heart is dynamite at that point but all I can whisper is
"I love you"
So I guess, I love you
I mean, I love you
You make me feel like someone going the wrong way
down a one-way street. I love it.

Sometimes when I pick up the pen
I feel my 5 ft 7 and ¼ inch frame
perk up like David at the sound
of Goliath's slurs.
I swear i'm 6'6"
and ready to dunk the basketball
straight over Wilt Chambelain's head
made soft by the kisses and “**** yous”
of the 20,000 he probably never called back.
Sometimes when I start to write I believe
that I am invincible like James Cameron's
submersible in Titanic's
C deck sifting through soot and broken china,
floating over smoke stacks and rusted bedposts,
or reaching out my robotic arm to open
up the door to the radio room that once
buzzed with hellogoodbyes.
Sometimes I feel like the soldiers walking
behind that little napalmed angel screaming
down that dirt road in Vietnam,
oblivious to the fire of my words.
Her cries shrink me back down to size.
But most times I feel like I'm hooked
up to a lie detector test in the dank basement of
an FBI facility, blood pressure rising while
the polygraph line traces
the outline of a mountain range
no one has ever hiked.

She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission

To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases

She’s in sequence
Defending all her reasons
Incredibly illogical
They cycle with the seasons
She’s terrified of listening to anyone who notices her crumbling psyche
That’s why it is likely

She’s in sequence, there is no real defense
I wonder if I’m right will she confess it in the present tense
I wanna know why its so impossible now
That her disorder is actually still lingering around

But when subjective absolution comes into the picture
Its hard to understand why she’d deny the scriptures
Of the cobweb concrete convex cortex
Infinite contraction of the brain mountain vortex

She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence

I don’t care if James Joyce forged her polygraph
I don’t care if Andy Warhol wrote her epitaph
I don’t care if there is nothing left
She’s the most complete person I have ever met

Living without undeniable evidence
Sleeping on top of mechanical pressure pins
Learning to vindicate absolute evil
I wonder how long it will take to make medicine

There is no cure for diseases like these
Only research that robs the last shred of my sanity
I could be vivid when I sell my sympathy
Argument solid I’ll sell it as therapy

Insanity, closure, illusions confuse her
A buffer for paranoid silent attackers
Sentient fiction a battle with friction
A story redundant with each new rendition

A messianic prophecy a weight upon her shoulders
She’s trying to be with someone who cannot even hold her
She treats me like I’m just another one in lin
She makes me feel like I’m wasting her time

She’s in sequence
She’s jumping off the deep end
She’s the consequence
She thinks the perfect nonsense
She’s sick of hearing everything I have to say about her psychiatric condition
But I’m not on a mission
To bring her down or **** around or even tamper with the sound waves
So it don’t bother when the ground shakes
Its not a medical mystery
Its not a magical cure for inconvenient diseases

She’s in sequence
She won’t admit her weakness
She’s in sequence
Aborting the experience
She’s in sequence
There’s nothing left but sickness
She’s in sequence
She’s in sequence

We all die, at different paces,
ages, genders, cultures and races.

If someone asked you if you were happy,
could you say yes?
Some say "of course" at best,
but is it sincere?
Would you still say it in a polygraph test?
Did you really mean it,
or did you second guess?

We all die, at different paces,
ages, genders, cultures and races.

Inconceivable, but Inevitable
in the back of my mind and yours.
They call life a game,
but who keeps the scores?

say with me
America is doomed

well Trump's an ongoing joke
and Hillary's lies are painfully easy to perceive.
Bernie's polles speak of certain failure.

say it with me
America is doomed

Once more the simpsons tell us
how america will fall.
“I will build a great wall –
and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me –
and I’ll build them very inexpensively.
I will build a great,
great wall on our southern border,
and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words.”
This is the man
45 percent of Texas is voting for
I've never been more ashamed of my home

Say it with me
America is doomed.

Hillary can’t get through a speech
without falling apart
In a coughing fit.
Needed help just going up some stairs.
Laughed about helping
a cockroach
Get away with ****.
“Of course he claimed he didn’t.
All this stuff.
He took a lie detector test.
I had him take a polygraph,
which he passed,
which forever destroyed my faith in polygraphs.”
And she dares to claim she’s for women?

Say it with me
America is doomed

Someone tell Trump
He’s fired.
Before he destroys this country.
Someone tell Hillary
She needs to go home
Before she dies on the job.

Someone tell Bernie
That he won
Before the orange man and old ****
Ruins us all.

Say it with me
America is doomed.

Oregon apparently  has the right idea.
And will mainly vote for Bernie.

Say what you will
About Obama
But tears will be shed when he goes
Especially after the roasting he gave
He earned his mic drop
“Obama out”

Say it with me
America is doomed

Say it loud
Cry unproud
America is doomed.

Say it with me
Spread it across our failing country
Write it
Scream it
Cry it
Whisper it
Know it
Remember it
And lose your american pride
As you repeat it over and over
*AMERICA IS DOOMED

There's beauty in every single
Person's point of view,
And lately I only see it when
I look at you.

I don't know
when or where or how
these thoughts came to be.
I only understand the feelings
When you're looking at me.

A look of comfort.
A look of hope.
A look of wonder.
Everything in the world
That makes my heart fluster.

Could it be the macchiato
eyes that leave
Me on the edge of my seat?
Or that smile that sweeps
Me completely off my feet?

It might be the laugh-
That I wouldn't deny loving
Even if I had to for a polygraph.

Or it might be your mind -
So open, so loving..
All the qualities that have
Men pushing and shoving.

You may not see a thing
That makes guys think
You're a cutie.
But, to me,
I'll always recognize
Your inner and outer
Beauty.

I was not born to make you happy. my mouth was not created to form fake smiles, my brain was not formatted with a polygraph to distinguish your lies from truth, nor were my feet designed to tiptoe on eggshells around you, but hopefully my ******* should convey that my heart is no longer beating for you.

So it's scary telling you all these things
About me.

But with your eyes
Locking onto mine
And my voice
Trilling around your name,
And your breath
Curling around the word
"Hummingbird"
In reference to me,
And my hands in your hair,
Lulling you into relaxation,
And your hand on my knee,
Keeping me grounded,
Or your arms around my torso,
Keeping me safe in a warmth
Within your soul

It's like fireworks
Or symphonies
Bursting into ambition
To keep going
To keep trying
To keep being.

Being near you
Is like being near something radioactive,
But the only thing radiating off
Is complete and total
Bliss.

And if you plugged me into
A polygraph,
And asked me if I thought we'd make it
To forever,
My answer would simply be:
"Of course I do."

But take out the polygraph,
And my answer will be
"Boy, do I hope so."

'Cause I'm not gonna jinx it,
But I think we'll make it,
I think we'll make it
Because we're fireworks
And symphonies
And silent nights watching stars
And nights staying up late
Either laughing or kissing or talking about things that get a little too deep
To parts that still sting.

And I wouldn't trade loving you
For fireworks we never got to see.
And I'd rather listen to your rhythmic breathing
When you sleep,
Than see the lights and colors of
Explosions in the sky.

I'd rather your kiss take my breath away,
Than any music or light show.

Your eyes make me melt
And that's a feat in itself,
'Cause I'm pretty cold.

And I hope I can make
You feel the same.

I was so scared to open up
To anyone
And now here we are,
I'm baring all that I am
And I'm scared it won't be taken well,
But these are the soft, vulnerable parts of me.

Take care please,
I bruise easily.

Spotlighted like some movie star,
how do you stand, being so far?
Lights that glare on polygraph eyes
twitching at truth instead of lies.
Gave your life to forbidden love—
find me some thorns, make me a glove.
Capulet to my Montague? Try:
summer red to my winter blue.

Hello Elena how are you doing
I must say that those idiots got to you
As you are not FBI as I hoped to be
But instead an artist and writer
Bold choice!  This right now is the pits for
Me.   School they don’t accept me and they
Make me look crazy! Instead of someone
Who wants to make a difference.   Can you try
To be a polygraph examiner, but I you want to
Be creative I understand as that the bullying is intense.
You say it will get better, I hope it will
I am writing this as I am crying my self to sleep
I believe it will get worse before it gets if any better
So many psychopaths that I have to deal with
It is sai to be honest.   Will I ever have friends
Or will I disappear!    I hope I don’t, please learn
From me!

Me as a fourteen y/o

is it all so carefully staged?
you’ve crafted a convincing plot, i’ll admit
was it all premeditated,
down to the residue of a nonchalant grin that was leftover where your lips should be
layered on top of your lightly dusted skin?
you seem to have embodied this role for far too long
even your subconscious doesn’t question your blurred motives
though the polygraph remained stagnant,
my eyes are not so gullible
at some point, your cover will be blown
your alibi will fall through
so don’t expect me to still be around
you cant care about not caring,
nature has strict rules about these contradictions
so make your next move carefully
authenticity always comes at a price,
and sometimes its even higher than that of concealment