1946-

The disrespect.
The amounts I have lived with,
The slithers coming my way
Every.
Gods.
Damn.
Day.
Looking for ways to bring us down.
Craving the validation
Of the mouthbreathing,
Unstable, unfit for public
Creatures.
Trying to break through
The breasts,
Because they are
All you can see
While casting
The subjective judgement.
All you can bring
Is the arrogant slime
That seeps out if your holes
While you portray
The facade
Nobody cares about.
Nobody will mop
Whatever is left;
You have passed the stage
Of being recyclable.
The view must go.
And it will.
Not now,
Not yet.
The children nobody wanted
Will destroy everything
Your foul mind has tried
Creating.
They will be the downfall.
They will close the shop down.
Every piece of paper
Bringing closer
The twisted reality
That will not be averted.
You wanted a future?
Syke.
You are not getting any.
Nobody is.
The tired children
Of the millennium
Are happy
For this monstrosity
To be over.
We will have the
Last laugh along with
The the future
You were so hopeful about,
While your booming aspirations
Are on fire.
Keep spitting,
We’ll be the ones laughing
When your ashes
Are left where they are
While the streets burn
And the celebrations
No longer involve your
Toxicity.
Nobody cares about
The crosses you used to
Hide behind,
So how about you just
Go play hide
And
Fuck
Yourselves?

Paperweight

You leap with the energy
At me.
I am the paperweight
Made of cadmium
That blocks the wind
From flying everything
Everywhere.
The boring one,
The buzzkill,
The scenario-based robot
That pulls all the joy
Out of your breath.
The one who
Can only exist
In a plane of the rigid
Structures.
Useless to the human
Interactions,
Helpful to the whomever
Is in control.
Forcing the flood
Only when there is
Nowhere else to go.
Always the negative,
Always the worst case scenario;
Squishing anything pleasant
Out of every interaction.
No space for joy, compassion,
Or love.
The space has been taken over
By the things
Opaque,
Unimportant, and yet
Pressing.
Too much confusion.
Feel free to knock
The paperweight
Off the desk.
Let the wind fill the pages for a while.
Who cares about the existing cracks,
The usual stuff won’t
Work anymore.
Be sad about
Losing the page you had liked the most
For a while.
Embrace the draft
Until you can find something
Heavy enough to replace
That old thing;
Something less harmful,
Something with a bit more of a
Positive charge;
Something less
Toxic to you.

Entertainment

If I had known
This was the last time
I would have taken
All of myself,
And been louder.
I would have screamed
As loud as a human
Can be.
I would have
Called to
Everybody,
Not that it matters,
Because
I know nobody.
I am that lonely loser
With nobody;
A loud screech
Whether you are
Prepared for it
Or not.
Bring me the feelings
Thay nobody cared about
So I can be the pioneer
Of taking it all
And bottling it inside.
Waiting till the limits are reached;
Until the words are
Too inconvenient
To be my friends.
Waiting till
My mouth cannot contain
The flow,
Till the eyes are full,
Till the soul is bursting.
Would it make a difference then?
Would anything be right?
Is my input needed?
I might be just an NPC
Who contributes
To scheduled cues.
I am but an insignificant
Blip on the notes
That you will wipe away,
That will be gone
Without a second thought.
Some “not motivational enough poster”
That will be forgotten.
Useless words.
Forced smile,
Sunflower field,
Misplaced energy
Just to take the seeds
And further the growth
Of this massive space.
Adapt the happy face
And fake the life
Behind the iris.
Give me the trampoline
To make this one
More spectacular.
Give the folk
Their entertainment.
No-one cares about
The last words anyway.

Coma

One day I disappeared.
Woke up in the morning
Finding myself non-existent.
The other side of the mirror
Still  has my fingerprints.
8 o’clock.  Sunrise. My messy bedroom.
I see a woman enter the room with a child.
Should I beat against the glass,
Try make them see me?
Useless idea. Just like myself.
Now my fingerprints are gone,
The lady wiped them off the mirror.
No more trace of me.
They were leaving. The child looked in my direction
And waved goodbye.
My last goodbye.
The end unexpectedly crawled up
And winked at me as I stood there
Suffocating  from the perplexity
Which has emerged  from myself.
Memories are being erased,
My brain is an old memory drive.
The system has crashed.
Mirrors have turned blue.
I cannot see you anymore.
No more rain drops at the windows,
Snowflakes  on the hair…
This is it.
Pull the plug.
I can’t  take this anymore.
Please.

Pixels

I am a leafless tree.

Green is fading to grey with every day

That turns into minutes

And seconds;

Time is picking up speed and taking off.

I can’t follow,

I am busy counting numbers and pixels.

Absorbed by the monotonous sounds

I don’t raise my head towards the other pair of eyes;

It’s not looking at me anymore.

I see shades of blue directed elsewhere.

Longing for the past,

Reminiscing of the lost,

Of the useless.

The dreary air is crawling into the lungs

And greying me out.

I am pixelating.

Now you can’t tell me from the pixels

That I was so busy counting.