Pink Tar

We are the pretty mess.

Twirling,
vomiting,
guile,
we pretend to be sane.

Join us if you dare.

We have pink first place ribbons,
and a lifetime of bruised egos.

Join us if you're willing.

Your soul will be covered in tar.

Love us if you can.

For we are the fearless warriors.

The bold and the broken.

A glittery goo of gaga and pugnacity.

 

Who Are You and What Do You Want From Me?

Little by little my mind is unraveling.

I'm seeing things that don't exist.

I'm touching door knobs before my hand even makes contact.

Perhaps it's my recreational LSD consumption.

I believe it's something much worse. 


I know in my bones I'm wrong for this world.

All those hallucinations and glimpses feel more real than anything has in my entire life.


Am I to become the mad hatter?

A whimsical joke to society.

Or perhaps the caretaker of the Overlook Hotel, driven to the brink of insanity, trying to free myself of this worlds make believe.


I feel my brain shift, as I sleep.

Every night a ghastly figure stands over me, breathing in my last breath.


Some would suggest it's the angel of death, but why visit now?

I've been praying for release since I was six years old.

Every morning became Groundhogs day as I awoke unscathed.


I can't help wonder the purpose of these lifeless bones.

To survive?

To learn?

To love?

All three can be checked, and yet the older I get, the more I feel tormented.


Envy is reserved for the souls quickly swiped from this plain.

Those who suffer no pain.

Those who elevate in the blink of an eye.

Those are truly the lucky ones. 






  

Do Your Best

Snickers at a glance,
can make the eyes dance,
toward an unfair,
implausible conclusion.

Slow your roll,
before it takes its toll,
and makes all logic malignant.