Infection

I do not think I am prepared for an easy resolution,

I connect problems with complication,

I’ve come to learn that my overactive imagination creates numerous faulty half-assed solutions.

It’s simply misunderstood situations disguised as gut-wrenching plights having me staring at the jet black ceiling in the middle of the night-

Instead of sleeping,

Sometimes I can feel my irrational thoughts creeping up the side of my leg,

And digging holes in my not so whole bed,

I’ll lay on cottage cheese and wake up incomplete,

With the dumbass feeling of unfounded contrition for made up expectations I couldn’t meet.

 

I will wake and stare in the mirror counting the loose strands of my beard to get my mind off the issue,

I would then start picking at the hair, it would bleed a little but somehow get blood everywhere and then I’ll clean it up with toilet tissue,

If you’ve ever cleaned blood from white it does this smear thing that turns the sink pink,

but I left it and carried my virus to work in hopes of infecting my peers with this undefined thinking disease,

The “I can’t stop rapidly blinking disease”,

Like photo copying textbook pages of anxiety with every blink,

I will lasso my peers front heir high horses and they will crumble on the ground,

As I explain my dilemma and watch their smiles contort into frowns,

I am granting them fog and gifting them with confusion about hypothetical problems that technically don’t exist,

I give them a little kiss on their cheeks and send them on their way,

With life-siphoning information that’ll suck the joy right outta their day.

 

I am not required to ask for forgiveness for my actions,

Or their reactions to the stimulus,

I have a criminal’s mind plagued with paranoia and expectations of forever failure…when in fact, failure only takes up around 27 percent of my daily tasks,

If people would just…stop being complicated…I could respect simplicity, but people aren’t simple and I think endless disrespect humanity is disrespectful.

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A Snake

If a snake slithers do not question its duplicity,

If it stares you with warmth do not doubt its tendencies to do harm,

 

If the rattle of the rattlesnake shakes do not be surprised of the sting,

If your knees buckle do understand that his poison has made you weak, and your systems will soon follow.

 

Do you feel the basic emotions flooding your nervous system?

It’s the temptation of the unknown,

It’s the aggressive curiosity that curses the wandering mind,

Ensuring you remain blind to the fragility of your condition,

You will always be placed in the position to make the right choice,

It will absolutely always be your decision to break the souls of those who care for you,

And with that awful tunnel vison your support will shatter like glass on the ground before you.

 

You will not be the first devourer, you will not jest the first joke I’ve had the pleasure to laugh at,

I am recognizing a familiarity in areas I would rather be naïve,

The snake speaks in a language you want to believe,

But do remember,

A snake is a snake,

And it would not be the snake’s but your mistake,

That would break the hallowed ground we’ve taken years to create,

I pray to God in heaven that you did not soil yourself for a temporary pleasure,

For that is a mindlessness for which I cannot relate…

A snake…is a snake,

So help you God.

 

 

4 Days

Your suspension of belief,

Bring it,

I need no interference,

I can’t think,

With the gods staring down my back-

As I chisel a simple motif,

Into the dim lit-

Corridor who’s face shall shrink,

Once the entire setting goes black.

We need to walk again

Without ridicule,

Into the chest of your devil,

To subdue the pending threat-

You speak highly of.

I promise we are safe,

He cannot hear you here for he cannot reflect within himself,

We are his conscious now,

Let us steer the beast.

Beware,

His demise, is your demise,

And your demise, is my demise,

So be light with your touch and pray we do not become the monster you hate.

Day 1.

I can hear his victim’s cries,

I can see the smirk, in the mirror, to which he sports,

Like a new do of sorts,

Staring his crush in her eyes,

He is not clean.

Day 2.

We fear to feed,

On his innards,

For we will truly be one,

We cannot munch on something he needs,

For all of true progress would be for none,

We must starve.

Day 3.

He hears us,

His breath hath changed,

She prays to gods,

I forget their names,

He is heartbreak,

And he is untamed,

He is unclean,

He is unashamed,

He is always new,

And never the same,

He is heartbreak,

I believe I’ve found his name.

Final Day.

His halls are black,

I cannot see, we cannot see,

The soul light lacks,

I cannot recognize myself you see, not at all in fact,

We are weak and broken, he is all intact,

She became him,

I became me,

…We cannot go back,

He stands tall and spits me out,

They become one,

He begins to sprout-

A new head from her scorn,

A new monster newborn,

—-

I guess I’ve seemed to escape…

From what we all can relate.

 

 

Insomnia

I keep my demons in my cellar,

The holy gatekeeper ironclad at the door,

I’ve gotten used to the sound of them beating at the floor,

They do not eat, because I do not feed,

They are not alive so they do not bleed.

 

Holy gatekeeper mantled in crosses,

Prays for hearts of the thoughtless,

Well righteous and dauntless,

Screaming psalms at the godless,

Oh gatekeeper my guard,

Tame the hate eaters,

Regard,

My sleep,

Discard,

Heresy.

 

The terror of prosperity,

The fear of accomplishment,

The possibility of failure,

The potential for success,

The beginning of nothing less than-

The inability to rest.

 

Oil And Snow

My deformities have taken shape,

Oil and snow,

Admiration and disgrace,

We all know,

That look on my face,

That still glare of the crow.

The intrigue of nascent disorder forces my hand to raise,

There’s no longer a god here to be praised,

Only the likings of the devoured man,

The ones gnashing on nails and dreaming of Hell,

I am home on soured land,

Dilapidated monuments and decencies taken by the plight of man,

The plight of men,

The women would stay tucked away in their homes,

The peace would stay buried with their bones,

And the wretched folk would parade the streets.

Oil and snow,

Flashes of a dying crow,

Failing where it feasts,

It has munched on greater beasts,

But cannot spring from its feet,

Useless wings, a broken beak,

The broken spoken I’d never speak,

A cry for something a cry for help,

The withered wreck and nothing felt,

Numbest replaces what the light has dealt,

Oil and snow,

More darkness than light,

The last white,

If I tired-

I could become life.

Broken Light

I died in my dream last night,

Not pleasantly no no not pleasantly,

I was crushed by a curse,

The weight of my culture scraped into my swollen shoulders,

The weather made it worse,

The sky would cry its stolen ice boulders hoping the ground would hurt,

The vibrations would call my knees to ground,

The sound,

Would cause my ears to ring,

The debris,

Would cause my breathing to act up and my skin to sting,

I had a memory of living toward greater means,

I wanted to thrive and yearned to be seen,

I had aspirations, motivations, and death dreams,

Every morning and every night,

I would speak to myself in the mirror trying to kindle that internal light,

When it died down the darkness stopped the beating on my chest,

I got swamped with fatigue and dived into disinterest,

Chronically depressed,

Eating beside my own shit and sleeping atop my own mess,

I could not see beyond my sight,

Every morning and every night,

I would talk to myself in a building’s window to try and rekindle that light.

 

I did not know what it meant to be spiritually blind,

I was always the only person on Earth and could not stand being around people,

I would scoff at the church steeples,

Call the church people “sheeple”,

And move on with my dirty day.

 

My people would stare at me and my beggin’ hands,

Giving pity and pennies,

Two days have passed on an empty corner and questioning faces.

 

To Be Treated

You look trapped in your pictures,

You cannot exceed the frame,

He grips your side with a smirk,

You look down smiling at the dirt,

Let’s be honest, it’s obvious you’re hurt,

It’s obvious that what goes on at home must not be seen at church,

He’s obviously abusive,

And there’s a reason why he wants to keep your relationship completely exclusive.

 

You have like 2 friends, your two older sisters,

And when you need something, both of their responses couldn’t be swifter,

But you never say you need anything,

Even though you’re hungry for validation,

You need no other external influence to bring you to the realization-,

That his love is blisters,

He gets jealous when you talk to men at work…

 

Transactional communication coated with copious aggression,

He always has to teach you something to make sure you learn your lesson,

At least three punches a night,

Not a fight,

Because you never hit back,

You just wait for him to finish and you apologize for the slack,

Your face is perfect,

Too perfect,

Mounds of makeup,

Smile is overexerted.

Stories you gotta make up,

Wearing foundation at the gym,

A relationship polluted with glum and grim-

Representations of control,

The society advises you to step off the battlefield before the battlefield takes its irreparable toll,

You’re a glutton for pain, so of course you’ll stay,

He’ll eventually snap one day,

And crush your head on the wall,

Your sisters would be at your funeral crying at your call-

To not speak to your family about the throes of your fall,

He would run away…well crawl-

Into a hole to evade the police,

Your body would be left on the bloody floor with your name still on the lease,

Just because no one taught you how men should treat.