Returning to the portrait

 There taking advantage of time
Long hair tells a story

Avoid telling, I walk in weird
You have sought protection

Magnificient chimera you share 
I the listener the observer, am strange
You feel like you are selling yourself
Juggling your energetic balls of optimism

Juxtapose of you and your stability
pretending everything is perfect
Sitting before the gauche artist
Who cannot capture your likeness

For there is no sincerity
The world is not a sale
Even as it advertises to yopu
Living is not a recipe

You cannot cook yourself to freedom
You wander behind the white rose doubting
You wander behind the red one flaunting false confidence
I impose on your  views and you blush midfantasy

The portrait in spontaneous combustion
Feel that heat reflecting as the rest of the room catches
See me holding the matches
See me, just a bucket of napalm?

Night's blessing

 She said I may dream of drapes and fictitious creatures
Of curtains that would shut out windows
Invite sleep
Of unicorns that flew far into nightskies lighting them

The color of cream
Cream the pales coffee
The describes the overcast
The tone of my skin come sunless winter

She said I'd dream of drapes
Those and unicorns

Fire toad

 Peel away the under leaves let the rest grow another two weeks.
stab the earth open it up,
it doesnt bleed.

Hark the dream is coming true!
The fire toad is here.
First it seems a malicious apparition.

It sits as still as the surrounding land.
It dreams awake.
Enchanting the weeds.

It slowly imitates the world outside.
Read it's smile as it camouflages.
Yellow flames written into skin.

It protects the crops.
Wards off the outside black magic.
Something conscious the humidity screams.

I till the space between the plants.
Letting the oxygen in.
Something unseen watches.

Lynching the wicked

 Who is the world's ugly tyrant
The working class nobody
From living for others
None living for themselves

For many the symbol of the oppressor
Many will echo the ideas of a revolutionary world
variations or copies of enpowering slogans
conjuring the illusions that this is a fair world

Ponder your identity anxiously
Have you curated it invain
Like a piece of merchandise in an online shop
You wait to check those evaluations

A toxic world grows around new false narratives
Nestled in their collectives
pointing their finger with a thousand others
Righteous falseness

Preschool adherence

 Fresh morning breathe in the dew eight degrees
Ash tree waits for the sun to come through
My little legs take me to preschool
I lived for the sweet freshness of the air

trade it anytime for the dust of the classroom
And then I became a stupid teacher
But back to being a toddler
Sensing percieving loving the glistening grass

The dew gives me the impression it rained
Mother corrects me
The other kids are all obsessed with the same thing
Couldn't they just cut my head off?

and replace it with one that thought the same as they did
as these other little motherfuckers
All repeating the same catch phrase
So long as you say it, you are okay

And if you dont say it
The fuckwits bully you
Mornings were quick
I found blocks

Another introvert would come over
I'd slowly brainwash him out of the herd
as we built some bullshit we saw on t.v
Then I built things noone had ever seen

They called it strange and stupid
I was too little to defend myself
Age doesnt cure stupidity
Fuckwits love conformity

Outside of the frame

"He's started dating again."
"Oh so has she."
"Do you think they make a cute pair?"
"She's looking for someone different."
"Oh so is he."

 The same cute lines
The two and half drinks
Predictable compliment
The "I know you from a past life" drivel
Early false promises
The first uncomfortable rift

Glue and unglue
question the shit test

The separation
The same hard words
The same sense of loss
The same game of victimhood

Different angles of blame
The quest for importance
In another's life
Romantic oversweetened slurry

Around and around

The same pick up line
Well timed joke
Buy the first drink
Beautiful inside the picture frame

Even the cynacism
twice as useless, twice as pathetic
The irony inside words
reveals that syrup of puerility

At the bar there on that first date
That first trip
heavenly fantasies and growing expectations
So superb inside that picture frame hanging

The wall holding it up
 is a thick carpet of poison mould
back to your regurgitated idealogies
Acidic in your throat but familiar
...familiar

Projectile ambition

 A hail of arrows is your gaze
traditional battlefield razed
Rattling with the sound of armor
deafening heartbeats

Every direction new
none of it dilutes you
Oh the daily grind is infact
The length of your sensation

The jarring impact, use your dice
Street corners give advice
That gets confused with pop lyrics
Inside the background music

The Trebuchet launches others flee
Catch me off guard between road and trees
Something pins me down making me weary
I should be dead but I remain prostrate and merry

Every direction you walk in
Examining the grievances and hopes
Overpouring the nectar just to cope
overbandaging the wounds that have almost healed

The cannon fires and hits me right between the eyes
If you accuse me and I accuse you, we both sigh
Does that mean we care? Or are we just feeling naked?
The past unhealed making us feel bare

Everywhere you go near or far
searching for your true northstar
Lost in the pursuit of a prerogative
That gave your life a sense of meaning

Your blindness is beautiful
Articulate your life goals with finesse
I'll never expose their spuriousness
Never judge even as it comes uncovered

Like a battlefield strewn with all things lost
Each claim you make about this life
Tremendous loyalty to fallacies
Shows me fugazi choreography