My resentment heirloom Is named So- Dear So, I am hostile. So? I am violently opinionated. So? I am hot tempered. So? So, I survived a refugee camp, crossed international water as a toddler! So, the world ain’t a bed of roses like it is for all the pink twinkle toes! But- So, you are…

You have the markings, I know, Of a foot soldier Traveling in perpetual earnest Circles Where do I go- there’s no room for A savior- Just enough oxygen And elbow For my sabotage You said You’ll keep coming back. So will I, then – Same circles but This time, Maybe I can bend back on…

you are the last breath of my cig – letting my lungs scream against the cold air – a quick peace off the edge down into insanity- with no where to be, no one to become –

between white and black. being neither under over the radar. I see both. spectrums. An individual bridge two three. They both will destroy each other. I will remain the third as cockroaches after nuclear

My senses next to me far far away atop that cabinet ajar in formaldehyde. It looks back at me, time to time. You will find nothing on dissection day – it says to me in hallow, disintegrated after-effects Like heavy make-up on a washed-up trick

war is the slimy shit on the walls nobody notices until it seeps into their beds

casting the last goodbyes, final hook, line and sinker. go be free, finally from world’s cruel ties. i will hold here, these grounds to listen for your whispers lapping against the water’s ledge wherever i may be.

A pinch of those. A pinch of said. A pinch of foes. Stir, stir, steer the world round. Of mice, men and strife Fizzing into the ground. Drink, drink, drive it down. Before kife and claim Seep onto my netting gown

There’s no map, just a faint scent Of hope embedded like fermented fish Against the cave walls I must walk through hell first. It ‘s not hot and firey Like most believe it to be – But a cold stillness that will engulf a soul At a wince That coldness never left and became A…

I am a dutiful robot Thus far – secretly in love with You-ain’t-in-Kansas feeling Like a touchdown in an airport Or Hours’ drive on a humanless road just Barreling to nowhere Important where I don’t doubt the power Of soul or need for Things Then guilt gallops in on it’s Monday matrix Horse And I…