Kings

Starry, star, star; you don't exist here in this place.
Nothing does; nor do I.

I walk; lost, racing.
1,000,000,000,000 words & colors & feelings, feelings as colors & colors as words
& everything as 1,000,000,000,000.

You speak & no one listens.
Actually, they do; up to a certain extent, then they nod.
Not one-other has time for words not minced.

They're all not so bad, though.

You keep to the inside.
Portray yourself differently you try & if you must,
I suppose attempt again.

It's a fools game.

Your constitution moves gently; it ebbs & flows, swims freely.
None aught but whatever the fuck happens between now & whenever
will determine a different outcome.

Trappings

A rudderless boat; it floats slowly downstream unoccupied.
I find my image here, no companionship; a road traveled alone.
Underneath my exterior, I am wise; I am foolish; I am beautiful; I am everything.

A keeper, I am not;
A decider, I do not;
A dove, I dream.

I dream of one-thousand landscaped never traversed;
I speak in one-thousand tongues foreign to me.

My blood boiled once; now, it simmers.
I gently wade through red waters towards the rudderless boat.

Once in, I climb aboard and immediately forget why I came here.
With no direction, I simply float.
Alone, with none-other than my thoughts;
trappings are a daily occurrence.

Jurisprudence

I am not he.

I am even not myself; even not me. 

Ever, am I searching.

I cater not to thee; words of candor escape from me often enough; loose statements from a fidgety imbecile.

Regardless, I am not he. 

How is it? 

How, I ask, is it I care for those who do better unto me than I do by myself? 

Accusations shortcut this process.

Place

You can't seem to do right.
Lights hung high; damp & cold; I cannot leave this place.
For a moment, I stare.
Low; I feel low.
Dark, damp; the smell of steel; a large room where they toil for minor penance.
A pestiferous place, a cavernous hall; a dangerous place.
Entangled in a web of my own foolishness; vapid, inescapable motions make my temperature rise.
Alone, again; finding no way; lost in this damned place.

My burning desire,
You've buried yourself deep & guised yourself well.
Hidden by an illusory veil of happiness, a congenital virus of an idea.
Move away, motherfucker, move.
Smoking as a vice, drowning; taking long pulls I dive from the highest board into an open container.
From past to present, my outlook on you & all of this is parti-pris.
Pretension aside, inside glowing, I'm blowing on the hot coals until I am burned by an ember.
Thank you, though.
Silently weeping, secretly smiling, consumed by consumption:
Absolute hysteria is recognized.

Needles

Needles.
The bitch rest's, heaving, taking in vast gulps of air to fill a tiny space.
The day finds empty promises, broken oaths; final stroke on hand to fill the empty cup to the brim.
Blood rushes in; rivers of red wind their way through high mountain tops, low valleys; a plateau of lost thought.
The cock, the sparrow, the armistice;
lay down your arms.
Lay flat on your stomach, face first.
Dive into those lowly avenues.
The bitch awakens, disrupting all things.
The fucker hovers over me, he draws first blood.
I am a slave to all of these.
Needles.
Needles on the fuckers arm.

Sleep Through: Platitudes Of Self

Sleep Through: Platitudes Of Self: Platitues of my alcoholic mind. Follow your heart child, but lest you forget, you have sound mind. For the comings & goings of thought, th...