Tag Archive | lonliness

Subjective Concerns

Profound Dissolution

Should my work become viral… that fever ensue?
This delightful delirium dared to be caused
Is the dream of my ego. What value have I?
At best, I’m called a wordsmith. Can that satisfy
What I feel I deserve? Should my effort be paused
Due to lack of ‘the basics’ as well as a clue?

What if I get the illness and can’t pay my bills?
Will my creditors know then that I do exist?
And should I lose my life, do I dream of that now?
Eternal contemplation is soothing somehow.
If survival accurses me should I persist
In this thing that I’m doing? The thought gives me chills.

In contempt of a rational means of access
To the ways of the spirit, have I made the choice
To be languid in leisure? Today, as it seems,
I am not quite in touch with my most cherished dreams.
There’s no reason to prove to the world I’ve a voice.
I can suck my own dick. There’s no crowd to impress.

My subjective concerns are not only my own.
Fear becomes human nature and how it evolves
Through processions of eons. My dark memories
Of past blunders while soulless cannot give me ease
Nor can they honor daylight. Consciousness dissolves
Every dream ever spat upon. I live alone.

Negative Conclusions

Awaiting the Verdict

Learn To Cry! Your prescription disqualifies me
From the positive outlook evasive to some.
Is my vision distorted? Do you know the cause?
Can the clue to what is now be found in what was?
Stick a dick in my sick mind. See if you will cum.
Fear and doubt plague the present. How can I be free?

Try to find some compassion? Untether my heart
From the grief, pain and sorrow to others I’ve caused
In my fight to be righteous in my twisted ways.
Give me hope for the future. Bullshit me with praise.
Seeking outside connection, true progress is paused.
If I must go on living, I need a new start.

My conclusions are baseless while dwelling within
This homemade dissolution I may well deserve.
Hopelessness is an option. I need but one more.
May my life provide many that I can explore?
Negativity teaches, if I have the nerve,
To prepare for its lesson then let it begin.

It’s My Pleasure

Welcome to Reality

It’s My Pleasure. It’s not that I want to relate
To the general populous. I speak my truth
From a place where few humans are willing to tread.
I spend much of my time there. To most I am dead.
In the place where my heart lives, am I that uncouth
As to let those outside it determine my fate?

I relate to my darkness. I see it play out
In what is called reality. Myself I see
In the lava of hatred. Its volcanic ash
Has the taste of my writings retrieved from the trash.
But, again, It’s My Pleasure. I’m willing to be
The small voice from the darkness. That’s all I’m about.

It just feels good to do this. I know it makes sense…
Quite a bit more than spending time eating the war.
Unaware of the soundbite, it knows not of me.
To be grateful I’m unknown is not to be free
From a darkness that I have encountered before.
If I write, who will read me? I toil in pretense.

It’s My Pleasure… a saying uttered in response
To someone having said, “Thank you for what you do,”
Is a strong held assumption that I make with ease.
Army weapons could silence me. Who would that please
In this place become third world? That could well be you.
Does it matter that my speech is clothed in nuance?

Please Don’t Go

Image of Silent Desperation

Mental maladjustment is sometimes what it’s called.
To lose all the connection to all that we know
Is to live in sheer agony. I can confess
That I know what it feels like. The mind is a mess.
It cannot function healthily nor can it grow.
In the living of life, one becomes unenthralled.

How would I comfort someone who’s feeling this way?
Simply because I’ve been through it, maybe I may
Offer some bit of clarity. All things are one.
When one cannot find within a sense of union,
A small shift in the thinking may better convey
That all are special characters in a big play.

We may all be mere pop-up’s on life’s big touch screen,
Popping in for a brief moment, then popping out.
But we all are the message we send to ourselves.
When one feels disconnected, it’s best that one delves
Into some form of practice to mitigate doubt
That the Myth Of Identity is the machine.

Every cell in The Body and person on earth
Has its duty to this life. How else can it seem?
Conscious obliteration of self can be done
In a way not so tragic, and it’s often fun.
We are not individuals. We are the Dream
Of Creation.
Don’t leave here not knowing your worth.