Tag Archive | loneliness

I Decided To Live

What Now?

At that moment a long time ago when I was
In abject desolation over what I felt
Was a life made unlivable by my own hand
Nothing made any sense. I could not understand
Why I’d come into being. Far below the belt
Was my consciousness and I knew what was the cause.

I’m a loser. That’s such and unkind thing to say
Of oneself or of anyone but it’s so true.
I’ve done things I’m ashamed of. I’ve acted the fool.
In my trying to live life I broke every rule.
I’ve been a rotten bastard to everyone who
I have ever known. How did I turn out this way?

I’ve burnt every bridge I know. Now with urgency
I confess that I’m not the kind of person who
Is deserving of anything but psychic pain.
I don’t blame the fact that I’ve made myself insane
By my defects of character. What can I do
To express my remorse for what I’d come to be?

I believe in past lives. This life I’m living now
Is a fluke. It’s as if I’m not human at all
But an alien sent here to learn a few things
About being a decent person and it brings
On a deep sense of sorrow that I’m yet a small
Reflection of humanity gone wrong somehow.

Yet I know that my chance of survival is slim
As I hold on to this story. I want to live
Out this mess of a life and perhaps finally
Turn out to be the person I wanted to be.
I believe that I still have a whole lot to give.
I don’t want to believe that my future is dim.

To all those whom I’ve harmed know that I’m now aware
Of the damage I’ve done. I can only regret
Having done it. My sorrow is deep and profound.
There’s no way that I’m able to turn things around
At this point. Am I able to repay my debt?
That’s the question I’m left to ponder with much care.

Life And Death Lessons

Violent America

The entry point of an assault rifle bullet
Is much smaller than the exit wound. That’s because
It creates mass expansion as it passes through
Flesh and bone. The amount of damage it can do
Is to some captivating. If ever there was
A weapon of pure hate, this is the one to get.

A child shot through the chest leaves the corpse of a child
With its entire back missing. When shot through the head,
It’s as if it exploded. This killing machine
People cherish. This nation is vile and obscene
Regarding weapons that can shoot so many dead.
It’s an issue that will never be reconciled.

From the birth of the Wild West through eternity,
Powerful is the intoxicating gun smoke
To the mind. Branch Republicans we have become.
Civil War is a lethal obsession to some
Who support the gun lobbies, as those who are woke
Want to be a nation of some civility.

Those who have learned their lesson are no longer here.
We survivors are students of our behavior.
Those who now learn to drop to the floor and play dead
Will some day be the ones who will end the bloodshed.
It will be something that hasn’t happened before.
Until then, our future is uniquely austere.

Gratitude

From The Heart

From a compressed perspective, the world that we know
Could use lots of acceptance and understanding.
Glaringly apparent are the imbalances
Among health, wealth, and freedom. What are the chances
Of survival when there’s so much hate happening?
Spiritually, we have a long way to go.

That’s just one way of seeing things. There may be more,
But statistics interpret our reality.
If you have food, a place to sleep, and clothes to wear,
You are richer than most in the world. So is there
A reason to be grateful? Most definitely!
There is more than enough one can be grateful for.

If you’ve never experienced imprisonment,
Or the pangs of starvation, you’re more fortunate
Than one half billion people. If you can attend
A church meeting, not fearing it may be the end
Of existence, you have reason to celebrate.
Let the numbers enlighten you to some extent.

Treasuring our divinity means being in
A constant state of appreciation. Looking
For occasions to be joyful and in a state
Of sheer gratitude is the best way to create
A fulfilling life no matter what’s happening.
Making peace with where you are is how to begin.

I Should Not Have Been Born

Self-Confinement

Can I blame mental illness for how I’ve behaved?
I would like to, but that would mean that I’m now sane.
In my old age, alone now, consumed in remorse,
I’m possessed by a grossly malevolent force.
My whole life was a mission to cause others pain
From this brutal life review I cannot be saved.

It’s injustice to worthiness. I don’t deserve
Satisfaction in living. In purgatory,
I remember my madness and all I have done
To create such calamity for everyone
I can think of. The reason that people hate me
Is because I’m an asshole with colossal nerve.

That’s why I flush the toilet every now and then
By moving to another place, leaving behind
A train wreck of existence to fuck up anew
Somewhere else. I’m amazed by the things that I do
That are downright disgusting. I had been unkind
For no apparent reason again and again.

Can I feel the embarrassment? Have I a soul?
As my lead solar plexus drains my energy,
I don’t want to remember the people I’ve known.
Knowing they have forgotten me, I can disown
That it ever had happened. In hell I should be.
Perhaps unconsciously that’s my ultimate goal.

But I’m here now and have been assigned to this role
For some God unknown reason. I am humbled by
My existence. I’m sorry for all that I’ve done
To hurt others. To hope that healing has begun
Is, I hope, not too arrogant. The day I die
Will be one of rejoicing for this troubled soul.

Turkey In The Straw

I Scream Bigotry

There’s a song that keeps ringing in my ears these days.
As it plays innocently, my fond memories
Are of laughter. The years of my youth were carefree.
Unaware of how the tune has affected me
After decades, I now have a mental disease
That I welcome. It’s one that is worthy of praise.

The eeriest of earworms eats out at the mind.
Unobstructed by commonsense, it has control,
For the moment, of my worthiness to exist
In true freedom. I have the power to resist
The temptation to shuffle and play the dark soul.
The song has power over the one who is blind.

Ice cream is milk and honey. This land that I know
Is uncivil. The white hoods have now been removed.
Thankfulness for the story that is created
Is a challenge if its origin is hated
By the ones who only want conditions improved
For the whole. It would seem there’s a long way to go.

Grateful I am for who I am. Where I belong
Is where I am. The contrafacta may evolve
To the loudest dog whistle made for the turkey
In the straw of the barnyard of humanity.
Sins of ego I am most obliged to absolve.
Thankfulness is believing that nothing is wrong.

The Genius Of The Crowd

The All Knowing Public

Treachery, hatred, violence, absurdity…
There’s enough of it in the average person
To supply any given army any day.
Those who excel at murder preach, and what they say
Is that killing is offensive yet they have none
Of the virtue they speak of. All eyes plainly see.

Those who hate with a passion and do it quite well
Are those who get to teach love. Is this ironic?
And those who are the best at war finally preach
Of the peace that is needed. Their eloquent speech
Often manipulates the body politic.
Negativity sadly is not a hard sell.

Those who preach love have no love, and those who preach peace
Don’t have peace. Those who speak of God incessantly
Do need God. Beware the knowers and the preachers.
Those who read books are also dangerous creatures.
People who detest or are proud of poverty
Are a drain on the life force. Connection must cease.

Beware the average human being today.
There’s enough genius in their hatred of others
To kill you, me, or anyone. No solitude
Do they want nor can understand. This can be viewed
As a tragic existence if one so prefers.
It’s an understatement that life’s not a ballet.

Peristalsis

Involuntary Movement Of Matter

The digestion of life comes with issues for some.
Their existence intolerance debilitates.
Feeling stuck in the plumbing each waking moment
Moves them to take such actions that they may lament.
Fortunate is the person who eliminates
With no problems like obstructions to overcome.

Who can speak of resistance to natural flow?
All who breathe and draw sustenance know how it feels
For the muscular rhythm to pass stuff along.
If it’s not working properly, something is wrong
With the mind – not the body. The spirit that heals
Is at work at each moment. It’s good that all know.

Chicken soup and disaster do not separate.
At the pit of the body the two become one.
This becomes problematic. How can I not feed
On the things that I don’t want? How can I be freed
From the stuff that is in there that feels like a ton?
I’m so backed up on living that I can’t see straight.

Proper diet is indicated – but what of?
By denying it and putting on a fake show
Or by beating myself up for not feeling well
I create malnutrition and cannot compel
The least bit of a presence. The good that I know
Is that I’m being guided by infinite love.

Hope?

The Fuel Of Continuance

Almost all of my life I’ve been mentally ill.
This profound revelation comes at a late stage.
I have made poor decisions that caused harm and grief.
In a fit of psychosis beyond my belief,
I have severed my roots. I am left to engage
In extreme self-analysis. It is no thrill.

I’m face down in my own crap, and my, what a mess.
It would take me a lifetime to straighten things out.
But I’ve already screwed up this life as it be.
Can I find a solution somewhere inside me?
Quickly I was approaching the terminal doubt…
That I should not have been born. I feel less than less.

What I wanted my whole life I already had…
Loving parents, a fine home, and family life.
I flushed that down the toilet. Now, having done so,
I am haunted by thoughts of where my soul might go,
But at least I’d not be here to cause people strife.
I recall only times when I’ve made people sad.

My big plan is to clean up the big mess I’ve made.
With the help of my God I can get this thing done.
I shall pay off my huge debts and own property
Through the special talents God bestowed upon me.
All that I ever wanted was to be someone
Who is loving, and I am still on that crusade.

The Machine

Interdependent Fragility

Critical is the nature of all that is real.
Life maintained is a symphony of submission
To process… it’s profundity, having known hell.
Painfully, my own story is pleasant to tell.
The revealed Magic Realist and I are one.
Intertwined human troubles I rightly must feel.

Easily I am grateful now that the world view
I allow to possess me with its circuitry.
Already with my deep guilt that I cannot hide,
Ignorance of reality, never implied,
Yet the interdependence is made part of me.
I digest the late wake up call. Can it get through?

Never mind a life crisis to forecast the end
Of a thing become tangled in self-awareness.
Knowing now its fragility, I taste respect.
The finite probability has the effect
Of defining the issues I need to address.
This complex human puzzle I must comprehend.

Surrender this old body to forces divine.
The coming machine cycle is due to occur.
The grand clock of existence is mine to express
Through the real me evolving. I can’t go for less
Than the grace necessary to be as it were
In eternal alignment with all that is mine.

The Superior Race?

Problematic Supremacy

Don’t believe what your eyes see. This man is supreme
Just because of his white skin and powerful genes.
As he looks right straight past you with only one eye
One can know he means business. He’s willing to try
To take over the country by violent means
Because he bears the right to go to the extreme.

Just what oath are you keeping, you ignorant fool?
…The one that says stupidity shall ever reign?
Then you’re making good progress but only for you.
You can shoot your damned eye out. What else can you do?
As a gun safety instructor you draw disdain.
May your oath keeping cohorts sign up for your school.

Those who preach white supremacy can you explain
How that concept can settle in your vacant minds
And then grow into hatred beyond all belief?
Why is there no other race causing so much grief?
Take a look at your own race with trash of all kinds.
If you idolize this jerk you’re truly insane.

I was given the lowdown some decades ago
From a jerk with a hair of hatred up his ass.
He warned me there’d be bloodshed. The coming race war
Is a threat that is possible if we ignore
The raw truth of the matter. This bitter impasse
Leaves us ever divided and steeped in our woe.

Feminine Drought

The Malignant Masculine

To be one with the contrast that is part of me…
Is it my sin to think that we all can be one?
Christ knew nothing of hatred. He knew only love.
Why do modern day Christians have every kind of
Nasty defect of character under the sun?
How are those of true faith so not able to see?

It’s all been documented throughout history
How the hatred of women and Christian values
Have been forced into marriage. The resultant child
Is a sick ideology where the reviled
Are half the congregation of whom they accuse
Of bringing sin to mankind originally.

The far right are the hypocrites. Like the Nazis
Who believed in male dominance, republicans
Have become the new billboard to promulgate hate.
Religion is a power tool used to berate
Anything that is not male or white, and their plans
Are to subjugate nonwhites and women with ease.

It is the patriarchal biblical word view
That has become the enemy of humankind.
We know Eve was created as an afterthought.
Think of that implication! The mindset is fraught
With existential illogic. Fear the sick mind
That may be of your neighbor who just may hate you.

Do not covet your neighbor’s wife, ox, or donkey,
Or anything of value that some man may own.
Women should not have authority over man.

This bullshit from the bible is where it began.
This is why we’re psychotic and violence prone.
Our survival as one race may not come to be.

The Eighth Deadly Sin

The Rampage of Self-Loathing

If I could deal with my sins, I’d not need to write.
Should I count them a blessing for creative work?
And is my darkest nature subject to concern
Of a soul who would read me? My will is to learn
What it is that upsets me. I’ve gone full berserk
Throughout most of my living. It’s been a huge fight.

There are now seven deadly ones. Once there were eight.
Back in times medieval the big change was made
Perhaps due to aesthetics, Seven is more pure
And more easily remembered. One can be sure
That the eighth must have gotten people so afraid
That they dropped it completely to safeguard their fate.

All of them wrapped into one is what I’ve become
Now that I as an old man review my sick life.
In my weakness I’m not the risk I was before.
It’s a blessing that I can’t abuse anymore.
It’s no wonder I experience so much strife.
I’m a step below the level of lowlife scum.

To Despond is the eighth sin. It’s now a disease
That is treated with counseling – not the preacher.
An outlook that is hopeless and marked by despair,
Chronic gloom, and depression is the lack of care
I have given to goodness. I am a creature
Who, in life’s recollection, is brought to its knees.

Uncivil Mitosis

Painful Growth

Red and Blue come together to form a union
And escape from the tyranny of monarchy.
One nation undivided with territories
With their own constitutions and racial disease
Has remained but a battlefield. Lord have mercy
On this land most bedeviled by contradiction.

I would not have thought things could turn out quite this way.
The illusion of brotherly love was intense.
Psychedelic were those days of Reverend King.
Now, the dream of America is not a thing
That resembles inclusiveness. Does it make sense
That a part of society serves as its prey?

Liberals and conservatives, blue folk and red…
The confederate and union troops on the field
Also make up the government and places high.
Blatancy is becoming. Here’s the reason why.
It is only through battle that we become healed
So that we can remember and honor our dead.

As it has been it will be. No change can occur
But the ongoing process of cell division
And the up and down cycles of racial hatred
Is something that I’ll ponder perhaps ‘til I’m dead.
I alone have the right to make the decision
That allows for my freedom as I would prefer.

Pro-Life?

The Viral Hypocracy

Secession from the Union is sadly the role
Of the people in leadership in certain states.
Racism is an ice cold determination.
Ruthlessly the psychosis will never be done.
It matters not the path nor danger that awaits.
Every kind of rebellion is locked in the soul.

Which states will lead the nation in counting their dead?
With extreme desperation it is a contest
To placate the defiant ignorant to know
But to curse everything about the status quo.
The contempt for authority that is expressed
Is sufficient to keep all from moving ahead.

Mostly victims are children in these sick places
Where the spread of the virus increases by day.
Hospitalized children is specific red states
Are the highest reported. The leader who hates
Is in fact the worse killer. If he has his way
The bug will only kill those of certain races.

Gut wrenching are the stories that pour out of hell.
One must deal with intolerance to common sense
And attraction to living instead of disease.
What happens when the nation is brought to its knees?
Would the scourge of hypocrisy be as immense?
It takes more than a vaccine to make people well.

Nigger Season

The Benefits Of Civil War

If I walk outside my house I may be shot dead
By some teen with a license which is his white skin.
It may be for no other reason than I’m black,
And a crime such as that is well worth an attack.
What can I do about my original sin?
Following this dark sequence is done with much dread.

But I have to go through it. I have not the choice
But to work out this puzzle witch fucks with the mind.
It’s not that I’m heartbroken. I’m now wide awake
To the hate that is due me. No hand may I shake
That is not mine in color. In this can I find
Some perverted assed reason for me to rejoice?

No I can’t. So, it’s best that I piss and move on.
Survival is a given until it is not.
I remain just as helpless as decades ago.
Civil rights was a pipe dream, and as the weeds grow
Hatred lingers and forces itself by gunshot.
‘Seems we’ll never live up to the manicured lawn.

The procession of seasons that nature provides
Is severely augmented by issues of race.
Responding to the gut punch, I find some relief.
And my role in the picture is that much more brief.
My death may be related to some lame court case.
That’s where I am. I now leave it up to my guides.

Missing Inaction

The Norm Of Inequality

When a white girl is missing, all are up in arms.
There are many resources expended to find
Every clue to her whereabouts. Amber alerts
Are broadcasted profusely, and the thing that hurts
Is that black and brown females are left far behind
In the blessing of God’s grace. Everyone it harms.

Every standard young white couple out on the trail
Is a thing of great value and such a fresh sight
Until something turns ugly. The man is believed,
And the woman’s whole take on things is misperceived.
If this couple were black, would the system be right?
One or both of them surely would end up in jail.

There’s no knee-to-the-neck justice for the white man.
He may bullshit his way into running scot free.
A fake twenty dollar bill is just not the same
As a white woman’s murder. Yet he bears no blame
Until things are so obvious for all to see.
Institutional racism is a dark plan.

 To ask if there’s a problem with anything here
That is written or written of is but to jest.
My whole purpose in writing is to explore truth.
As we look to the future, it is in our youth
That the cycle be broken – not just not expressed.
We as humans can avoid a future austere.

Aster * Risk

A Perceivably Precarious Pickle

Everyone that I’ve ever know will hate my guts.
It’s a given. I don’t have to figure that out.
In the brief time that I may have left, I’m assured
That I will be the enemy. Those who’ve endured
My abuse will be thankful and gleefully shout
When I’m gone because I’m prone to driving folks nuts.

You do that to me also though. This quid pro squat
Leaves someone more shorthanded. This Risk with a face
Tries to mingle among the real thing and behave
In the ways of true stardom. No love can it crave.
Once The Risk is discovered, a quiet disgrace
Permeates like a wet fart that offends a lot.

In some ways I am like you colorful breeders,
But something fundamental is missing in me.
Clueless, I’ve sought a lifetime the answer to that.
Yet you normal ones know me, and this tit for tat
With the mind and emotions I play piss poorly.
In the game of relating, I’ve few cheerleaders.

So I’ll just keep on hiding amid you aster
Trying hard not to dis you inadvertently.
You and I spell disaster and should never meet.
I’m an old pissed off bastard who cannot be sweet
Anymore. It is bullshit as far as I see.
My true self is the one thing that I must master.

Keep It To Yourself

Inhibition of Emotional Release

Emotions, when unpleasant, can sever the soul
From connection to all that can give it relief.
When they’re kept to oneself loneliness creeps inside.
There is ample confusion that faith is denied
That things will start to improve. There is no belief
That something not accounted for can make one whole.

I could just cut them off if they cause so much grief
That I can’t function normally. Yet if I do
They will surface again in ways much more severe.
If I share them with someone then I might appear
To be hopelessly troubled. And it may be true.
I would hope that my suffering now will be brief.

It is tough to feel burdened, lonely, and depressed
When such feelings as joy and bliss memory holds.
No control do I have over things I once had,
And whatever life shows to me makes me more sad.
I do not have a stake in just how life unfolds.
For right now I have nothing but pain to digest.

The byproduct of waste is what I must release.
It becomes grossly toxic and causes distress
In the lower gut chakra. If I hold it in
I will suffer a breakdown. That would be a sin.
Psychic irregularity I must address
As it happens or else I will never know peace.

Trivial Pursuits

Positive and Friendly; Appreciating Harmony

It’s seen simply as trivial… all that I do
From sun up ‘til sundown and the time in between.
Though to me it’s important, and I shouldn’t care
That the gift that I offer is not meant to share
With any but this troubled self. Why am I seen
As the fool who does nothing? Am I ugly too?

If folks took me more seriously would I be
In this hellish predicament victimized so?
I suspect that the answer is all up to me.
I am friendly to no one because none can see
I’ve a genuine purpose. It just doesn’t show.
I’ve become quite embittered, yet who can agree?

Someone started a joke in the form of a game.
Too late into it I find no reason to laugh.
Maybe I’m not supposed to. I feel I should cry
While awaiting complete withdrawal when I die.
I came here not to play, so the best epitaph
Is a statement of substance to honor my shame.

People don’t want to know me or read what I write
Because I’m lacking something. Clearly I’ve no clue.
It remains a big secret to me yet it’s fun
To the world and its players. For me there is none.
I feel I’m being punished, but what did I do
To deserve the aloneness? Why am I uptight?

When depression evolves into anger it’s seen
As a worthwhile improvement. I’ve given up hope
That getting any better can do me much good.
I’ve been at life a long time. Its blatant falsehood
Leaves no meaning where I can successfully cope
With abject isolation in my sick routine.

Do I Need A Co-Writer?

Programmed Terminal Distraction

Hanging on past my world worth, I seek not my own
Group of lighthearted losers. Alone I decay.
One misspoken raw truth or a social faux pas
Once a day should not get me involved with the law
Nor should it take my birthright to be here away.
Nature does still support me in its Twilight Zone.

Gnats don’t help with my writing. They get in the way.
I’ll assume that it’s personal then take offense.
Their obscene aeronautics hijacks attention
Even if there’s no light source. They do this for fun.
They are faster than I, so it makes perfect sense
That for such a transgression I shall make them pay.

While in flight, I can spray them with something that burns.
Rubbing alcohol works well. A delicate mist
Knocks them flat on their asses. I take much delight
Because now they’re so dazed they can’t put up a fight.
When they start fucking with me, I cannot resist
Brushing up on my mayhem against all concerns.

As they frantically gasp and flail after they fall
I now master the last laugh and take back some pride.
As I watch them grow weaker, I’ll spray them again.
They’ve messed with the wrong creature among insane men.
As I see that they’re hopeless, I feel good inside.
After that, I will kill them. My wrath isn’t small.

Do I draw such contempt from those of my own kind?
Do I act out in consequence of being cursed
As a highflying nuisance disrupting the show?
That I know nothing of it causes me to grow.
Someday I’ll cease my wars, but right now I’m submersed
In one of my own making. It’s all in the mind.

Loneliness

TheMagicRealist.com

When the flip side of freedom does loneliness bring,
Which perception of madness is best for the soul?
To belong to someone special is to feel well
On the way to fulfillment. The story we tell
Of that someone we’ve chosen to make our life whole
Is of one who’s evolving. One does one’s own thing.

We would each have our freedom if given the chance
And without thinking fully of what the word means.
With the door open widely, we sit in a cage
We could fly away anytime, but we engage
In entrapping thought processes. And our routines
Are the backdrop that we want to label romance.

Freedom is a blending of courage and madness
To explore one’s own being which is like a sea
Of specific complex chemical interplay.
To endeavor to know that may brighten our day.
Loneliness is a blessing that we rarely see.
We’re alone to begin with. Why make life a mess?

Belongingness Longing

TheMagicRealist.com

My Belongingness Longing is called loneliness.
To belong to someone or something that I love
Is to be in fulfillment of much of life’s dream.
Yet, I’m already part of the total life stream
That has taken its residence, like hand in glove,
Into physical matter. To Be Is Success!

I belong to myself. Does it long much for me?
No more than any other does it give a rip
Because it longs for sustenance, just as all flesh.
Its consumption of substance it does to refresh
Its flesh package. At times life can be a strange trip.
I’ve belonged for a while. No one needs to agree.

Longingness is of feelings… affairs of the heart
And of things that no matter can well understand.
Matter needs not the spirit to justify pain.
It endures well within it for ultimate gain.
I’ll recover as I take my heart by the hand
And we both will discover a loving new start.