Dividend.

Here’s a thought from me to you,

nothing equally divides by two,

the perception of equality,

gets crossed up with duplicity,

dishonesty, epiphanies,

the tattered wings of chivalry,

a vicious cycle gets pursued,

and chased down like a dog in heat;

Once again I’m on the move,

the disappointment is nothing new,

please don’t take it personally,

it’s not like you meant much to me,

complacency, mentalities,

the monarch of totality,

without a thing to prove,

the crumbled teeth of dishonesty.

 

 

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Mistaken.

So, I’m “full of shit, and always have been”
according to choice words spoken by Oblivion,
I am busied with “feeling sorry for myself”
“throwing pity parties”, and inviting no one else
Damn, I guess this distant man is onto me
he caught me playing him and gaining NOTHING
in a flash, my character is bashed with bitter words
reaction to dissatisfaction best made by the immature
and, it’s by now so obvious how he’s dangling a string
and never stood a chance of accepting my complexities
sadly, it’s not too unusual in my own experience
my need to heal myself becomes a Monkey Wrench
and next thing I know, I’m every name but a nice one
because he couldn’t get me to crawl under his thumb
I’m obliged, to notarize my name to the realm of reality
I already have enough to sift through out of the debris
it’s just another case of the flip of the ol’ light switch
I’m just trying to get by, and I’m suddenly “full of shit”
it’s fine, if it soothes your mind to warp things conveniently
we can agree on one sure thing: that you have mistaken me.

Me.

Americana Injustica

This villainous fiend that is me,

the shadow in firelight,

the beast waiting to spite,

such villainous things I perceive;

this slowly emptying sea,

the waves that break,

the breaths they take,

what a fucking tragedy;

this temper tantrumming,

the punches at air,

the utter despair,

such a childish identity;

this condition that’s underlying,

the highs and lows,

the last to know,

such a burden is mine to carry;

this unforgiven monstrosity,

the one under my skin,

the one who I am,

such a hideous monster is me.

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This Year.

Americana Injustica

This year’s irony
Oh twenty fifteen
Has played itself out
Like an old guitar string.

This year’s misery
Been weighing heavily
Been transforming all
And ruining everything.

This year’s changes
Make it quite hard for me
To look up the road
And see any good thing.

This year’s reality
A bullet through each knee
And nothing has successfully
Stopped the bleeding.

This year’s finality
I can’t help but to perceive
As if the tolling of a new year
Will bring an end to me.

Next year’s poetry
will have a different ring
Words to precious legacy
Or some other stupid thing.

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Paradoxy.

Americana Injustica

The biggest dilemma surrounding me
is that which defines my own failed dealings
throughout my life, it’s become a disease
to be broken, in comparison to anybody
and in turn, this difference that stands between
always burns to ashes, any chances I might see
wholesome and unbroken folks want no part of me
rendering it impossible to know such human beings
many times I’ve tried to put myself into a “normal” scene
only to effectively emphasize such vast contrast in between
I’m tired of sharing “friendships” with liars, cheats and feigns
but I don’t want to mix my bullshit with the next guy’s purity
it’s a problem I’ve lived with throughout my entire memory
to hate to love the people who fear abandonment, same as me
but, to also despise the feeling of trying to fit into “normalcy”
it’s the paradox of searching for a place to simply “be”.

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Silliness.

Americana Injustica

Silly, silly me,
to once again,
redundantly…
peel back,
broken skin,
to let it bleed…
the point,
as it had been,
is lost on me…

Silly, silly you,
to have,
misconstrued…
such a concisely,
spoken clearly,
cemented truth…
damn you,
to next see,
the full moon…

Yet – sillier still,
was the bend,
of so much will…
and even right now,
it’s twisted somehow,
my stomach’s ill…
over such an end,
in betrayal again,
a void I cannot fill…

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