This is what I think of me when I don’t look in your mirrors. I know there’s a monster inside me called.Vanity; I’d like to think beauty isn’t all m perversed and turned into a purse or worse- I’d like to think it’s just hidden from me. I can’t see what you see, but would anyone’s eyes she passed the reflection- who would dare look upon one’s self to make some connection? Please.. you could hire somebody to do that for you on her knees while kissing your feet but me I could never be at peace with all the kids in the street with 1000 yards stare that scares me to death. It’s Death staring at me- Through every page in between every word waiting to be freed from his poppyseed prison - To come and take back what we never finished . I said I got nothin’ left. He said buddy we can change that.. there was no turning back the night I dressed in all black. There was a fiends moon in the air; a sliver of silver, a picture with I’m so familiar. I am its wild white ancestor with stars in my eyes…. Well not so much. It’s more of a blur, this rush and random steps for cigarettes in a bag. If you wonder why I look so pissed poor it’s because I gave you everything I had. I’m glad - for anyone who ever broke their shackles in half. Free at last I wonder how long it will last. At least a week.— maybe. Maybe I’m a rambler if I’m anything.. I vow to no woman, I bow to no man. The songs that I’m singin’ are AMERICAN! A mere “I can.” Almost human.. I’m an animal begging for a substance solution. A voice crying out for the nearly forgotten., and turning over stones gathering with moss. I’m southern like it. Or not.. I sold farms I never owned.; betrayed some of my own. When curious turned to jones. That’s when my closet starts fillin’ with bones. I’m overflowin’ with psalms and proverbial wisdom like don’t fuck up in Mississippi and stay out of the system. Listen, I’m not claiming any chair, I’m having trouble sitting; hate the consequence tomorrow but today I love a good dare.You’re telling me you’re leaving. I know you think I should care. but I guess all that stuff. You’ve been huffin’ musta’ come from your hair. And the light in your eyes is from the latest Apple device.. how dare me? Speak freely. I’m a writer wrong as it may seem. My dreams are like wildfires catching, spreading across whatever it is that dreams spread across. Digteren. Literary chameleon.. with no prints I leave my marks.; and an anonymous assassin of art for a start. Indigenous to the ink. DeSade empathist. I want to be what Bukowski and Jabberwocky made after too many drinks and staying out too late, the book sitting on Burroughs ‘lap while he tells me lullabies of brown eyes and shooting smack. I drink Kerouac straight. (I drink Ginsburg, even though he’s “ crooked”, I like the taste. Dialect derelict. Attic anarchy. F*** your punka** kids they wouldn’t break a sweat, self-righteous son of a b****, sell your stocks or sell your soul for a check. Maybe- that’s the only reason for me.. I’ve wanted it all and more, but that would just be too much for me. I’m packed light and I’m feeling crazy.. through my actions is with me every day. Sometimes I’m ashamed, but I’m willing to change.; change jingles in my back pocket; “ maybe tomorrow”, I think. When I’m alone, I can think.. when I’m in a crowd you’re the only thing that stands out. God., help me.- even if you have to drag me. I never blamed you for all the bad things because they were all my fault. The pen and the syringe. Are my two best friends.; I’m on a double binge. I like it out on the fringe, but sometimes I’m centered in the middle of the guilt of a sinner and a hedonists Hooray! If you’re not the winner or a wounded warrior watch out they’ll take it out of your pay. They’ll subtract the abstract and say that’s that.. I want it back. To run off the tracks and straight through your expectations or cooperate with the corruption of creation.. oppress the odd. Societal leoers and fashionable gods. Both gather to this., my finest hour. (“Write Power!” Hahaha) this won’t be what you want to hear but you can say you were there when a miracle happened and words became actions like a flash. It was a real gas. Guess we thought it would last so I’m here to rehash the past play a pestilence to the page and do things my way for a change strange but it’s the truth all the same it. It’s in me. It’s in you too this thing. Illuminating as dark or light as you’d dare spark. Nothing sacred I cut the throat and still I sing see what I mean no more whispering, but this- a piercing SCREAM permeating everything, burning, Stephanie Myers novels, rioting for something a little more f****** riveting, what do you say? I’m gonna wash my hands out this whole “Thing.” Baby the truth when it gets into you, it’s gonna sting you’re gonna bleed when you sever your puppet strings. Kill the king.. crown yourself the roller of nothing and feel a pleasure it brings. I never wanted to get mixed up in your day today but….
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