As I Lay

Realtime blather, condition can’t fathom.
Miasmic blur and rockabilly spasms.
Pulled from the chest rude awakening.
Powerpoint pressure for the unliving.
Dead to rights refrain recall.
Just a final fantasy playing Squall.
The bullet chases me the memories dwell.
Caught in a hustle of bubba trouble infernal.
Bubble bubble up froth the witchmaker’s broth.
Foresee four seasons my winter of discontent.
Happy happy joy joy paint me a smile.
Joker grimace on the freshling nubile.
Naked jaybird absurd strut rough.
Puffed up blowfish jigglypuff.
Malice a forethought anger swells.
Beat myself red bruisy macho weak ankles.
Gave up tobacco.
Feel a little wacko.
Dot the yacko.
Thought about yayo.
Dream of soma relaxing staycation.
Get away from cloying sensation.
Trapped in four walls four square reduction.
Sudoku puzzle me unearth destruction.
Mild mannered maneater with a fever.
Troubled little bub wolverine claws leave her.
Afraid of myself afraid of the others.
Ghost in the shell anima defensive.
Food for thought me so pensive.
Dark and broody femme and fruity.
So many things my sides unruly.
Breakfast club bar brawling inside of me.
Settle the brouhaha lol at the sight of me.
And the people be eyein me.
Open-mouthed stares from whites fearfully.
Just a terrorist in their minds probably.
Can’t they see I’m ill and sickly.
Ill skill bill ugly duckling rappery.
This a swan song get the Portman outta me.

Expulsions

Reckon I’m the Pringles man, got so many chips on ma shoulders.
Fighting the illy jaundiced bitter man, lemon drops for pugilist pops.
Seen and done it all, think again drink again. Worst liverwurst.
Truism of the day is love is the way. Got lovely bones worrying tones.
Just accept little man accept except ex September rain, vanilla sky.
Fizzed out soda pop full of that pressure glots clots forgive me nots.
Ancillary twigs and berries, tools of trade geared to no one.
Just grinding away a way to weigh why. Why anything, why me?
The sorry question, excuse, son of dyson die son sun sol soul.
Heat waves pressure gauges, melting two peas in a pot.
Lost companion, deserted to the winds of time, time for new thyme.
Rosemary marry me merrily may reap sowed peas. Pod people.
Body snatch, change this one. Bulimia schema, pinta prima.
Uncontrolled movements, dreary instalments, emotionally insolvent.
Dining with strumpets, paranoid crumpets, obsessive couplets.
Twitchy bitch break necks, scalding hands and double checks.
Over shoulder looks, multi touch display, banging head array.
Lounge lazy cock crazy balk maybe angels save me.
Nasty self, disappearing self, help self, hurt self, change self.

Cycles of a Trying Self

Push on day in day out
Suffer fools suffer self
Tides pulling inside you
Moon guides life not you
Out of control out of body
Issues grow
Desperation grow
Painful nights
Smiley days
Work toil work through
Stressed relations
Drown in bitters
Drunk on whisky
Can’t feel sorry for self
Everyone say be strong
Don’t feel sorry
Fight day after day
Struggle with weight
Lag behind but go forward
Make friends
Try to love
Everyone has problems
Go psychiatrist for voice concerns
Everyone busy
Tired from own fight
Work, kids, money
Life stone, movable but slow
Stone with you always
Tell no one anymore
Deal with the hard
Choke on screams
Shade pain and find life
Get better feel hurt
Put hurt in locker
Feelings shame
Wear mask for approval
Sadness weak
Fears of tears
Breakdown in front of strangers
Feel stranger
Feel much see self
Drink to forget
Wipeout
Everyone be too nice
Fake
Run away
Find new place
Reinvent self
Hate old self
Try find love
Push on day in day out

So it goes

I think it’s the idea of affection that I think of and want most. The unique sensation of closeness and oxytocin euphoria that accompanies most lovers. I have been withering away over these years losing bits of my warmth and Meness. Every hug and kiss is tainted with the dull ache of unfeeling. Man of steel in a different way. I care in a way but it’s not good enough, doesn’t feel real enough like I’m a facsimile of a person, deer in headlights emotionality. Had the feelies stroke and now I’m paralyzed body and soul. Yearning for that giddy thrill, the overwhelming feelings that accompany romantic entanglements, the choco banana ice cream of open hearts. I daydream of tenderness in a panoply of mired lost thoughts, drifting over the chasm of overwrought dullness and idle idleness. Gray, neutral, flat earth landscapes stretching farther than light shows. Yet I make the best of it I wager. No sad pile in social settings, no interest in dragging anyone down, just a solo drum beat in the cacophony of rhythms.

Not Like Him

I’m just really glad I’m not as argumentative, cynical, and politically annoying as I once was. People do change, we gather moss and wisdom at meandering intervals, swishing and shilly shallying towards understanding. Not to think I’m so right, not to correct the one in front, nary a care and never to hurt. Is going off on someone going to change much? Are they going to learn anything from that experience other than you are a tool? You just have to be diplomatic to achieve anything, we are rams butting heads and set in our ways and opinions. But I prefer to not dogmatically follow my own perceptions, to welcome the perspective of others and amalgamate them into the more realistic preview of the follies of life and the crumbly world I so far inhabit. May be I’ll find a better planet with chocolate robots to do my bidding and I may sleep and perchance dream as much as I wish.

Reality is jarring. Tumultuous, errant, lightning bolts rampaging down scared noggins in charged plains. Ethereal surreal modus rising tide. Shakes, quakes, waves and bakes, basking in the sun and wipeouts come out to ruin the hour. Everyone feels it, everyone has the big bad on their shoulders and problems to contend with. This I forget sometimes for the transcribed judgmental essence in me that peers out in low esteem moments. I want to love but bitter is the heavy heart that resides within these walls. Black like my coffee I fear getting too cold and stagnant in hate-filled menageries; pretty putrid bouquets wafting through the hollow dream sequence of this coma. Self-inflicted wicked stabs and lunges in the so called soul that keeps taking hits. I am stronger than those hits though, my HP is high after all the experience. Can I survive with my charisma points intact? Time will tell and I’ll tell time. I’ll make myself better, faster, stronger, up into the echelons of gargantuan power. I’m a nice jerk, accept self, accept others. Accept.

You know what I like taking care of my skin. After so many years of horrible acne I feel glad about having clearer youthful skin and using good products on my visage. I don’t care about your metrosexual malarkey and these label, the skin is important and I like my face now. Anyone thinking this treatment of skin is feminine is backwards and daft. We don’t need alpha male types or homophobes, we need softness and tenderness. More ice cream less steak.

Laughing Monkeys

Ah masochism, my disheveled broody friend. Muerte amigo grim fandango.  Seems like another addiction was in the works. I clamored for the humiliation like cracker jack parrots striding one-eyed king Somali pirates. I repeated the maneuvers and my calling card swaggering ways. I returned more and more to places of degradations, runneth over the cup the drool of a numb,  thick skulled, passive prisoner, taking all within himself, saving and scraping lockets of pain and the ever ready finger points and laughing monkeys. I go back again for that hate and shame shower. Little droplets blip out turning to steady streams hissing vitriole o de do in a sullen pathetic tub. Three men here, the masculine, feminine and the lost third creeping out of dark caves with those bug bawly eyes so seeking consolation. Searching searching, nobody holds up to the mirror held up, heads up spot around, saviors little withered trees needing water. Drench them in my shame shower only to exhaust the emotional fortitude. Emotional vampire sucking life out of purloined veins til the stock is dry; they leave, I leave, nothing left.

As I stood there soaking up the vipers’ venom in the glorious sun of a new dawn that dawned on me. I am bit I am shook, shock, talk, glock to the temple, homeboys down for the count. Rise. Facing those mean faces distorted into twisted renditions of barking hell hounds, tearing away with vicious fangs my flimsy Quixote armor that drops heavily to the floor with the comical thud. I am naked, left there holding yellow, blushing as a brown man can. Worse off because I can’t stand to be seen in that light, uncovered for all to see and cannot hide behind the humor, the bending of truth by my black hole sun.

What is my currency? What self-worth dangles off the loose and flappy skin? Corner store register rings the exchange rate. Out of body experience? I want an out of body existence. Emancipate self, destroy ego, bucket list ticks, old man inna young man tired from the kicks. Can’t get the sign off, maybe it’s written on my forehead. Everyone seems to partake in the leers, jeers, condescending peers. I grab that mirror, smash it all, grab the breakfast club and bash brains and crack skulls.

I am the seventh son of an unfortunate one. I am a spic, a nigga, a Shylocke jew you spit on beneath your feet as you sway along the boulevard. You hate me for hating you. You hate hate and breed little contempts that groan and grow into the hell hound baring teeth. Trained and ready you let go of the leash and Danny has his day on my limp carcass. So much bile and venom I seethe with it and collect it. Batter and baste myself in your loathing looks and cursed words barked at me. Gutteral, choking beat downs slipping past horrible throats tense and hard screaming angry words that hang in the air in brilliant neon fashion highlighting my downfall,  betrayal of sorts.

Give me fire give me ether, let me burn the village down and bring all to their knees. Demented Prometheus has come to play. You let him in, you twisted and taunted him out of hiding and you must watch him laugh with madness glimmering in his eyes. People like you just fuel my fire; voodoo people, breathe. Stop myself before the evil breaks through, all eyes on me like I’m the hostile, neutralize me Master Chief. This ain’t Columbine, no news story here, just demoralizing and masochism. The devil’s pie in my eating contest. Just desserts.