Bipolar Poem

Add satire to fund the leisure of mismeasure

Scene by scene the discordant treasure wants to be seen itself, happy

No words for misdemeanor of thought

No words for sputtering cough of cystoma

In loose discord, memory lapses

Ablated memory, still

Listless, wanderlust

Crypt and beehive

Numbers rotten

All in all

Having forgotten to pace, I was walking

But not forth like I was walking

But not to memorize the tempo

As to the difficulty of the challenge rating

Lapses in on itself

Some others went where they went

It doesn’t matter too much

But that’s dismissive

Self-diagnosis is not diagnosis

So it synapses the lapses


Bitter mistrust of obscenities

Not wandering farther than the last visitor

He is just taking notes

It is easy to hear thoughts

No wonder people like talking

Or whatever

Some times the professionalism isn’t recorded

But I guess you’re supposed to keep people In

It takes a while to adjust to strategy

Knowing what to disclose and what not to

So he lost his job

It’s not a big deal

Potato pillow fought

Under discriminatory policy

Yes, steps were skipped

It doesn’t matter all too much

I’ve done so much damage through art

Through attempted art

It turned into screaming

Rather one-sided

The apology is already too long

But boy do they want a lot out of me

They confuse the pronouns

And display wanton belligerence

Not confusing, ideals

Not confusing in the least

The least frightening of my nightmares

Is seeing coworkers self-harm

The least frightening of my time

Is walking back and forth over and over

Mistimes processors

The keys are lost

So they know they want to join

They do not

Density’s rabbit

Some others used to be able to get away with taking notes, too

I guess I’m not allowed to anymore

Mom bought me a notebook

She doesn’t actually want me to use it

Pixel dust in rhyme

Off by an iota

This time

Some fools like spirit

Some fools like north

Some fools know cardinality

Some exhaust easy

Then others glitch their hive

And matrix ensues

So it goes that the semblance of logic in this mannerism I wish to understand is not so well displayed

It is but often wandering that we sit like monkeys


Anger anger anger


All the while

Others sleep


But who knows where

And why

Rest is a luxurious good for the wealthy

Rest is just a state of mind

The social ladder is a metaphor, in the end

And sociologists will prove you wrong on it

Deep cognition is just a farce

Nothing is deeper than physical reality

When there’s a hole it’s deep

When things are confusing it’s more convoluted

So how can you compare the two?

Well, convolution utilizes a sliding window cross product metric of sorts

While tunnels are deep

And both rely on distance, one in motion, the former I suppose

To measure their impression

Neither is too stark

It doesn’t make too much sense

But I wish it could go faster

Faster was his name

Oh shit

Who knew

The apology must be twenty lashes

Slavery again

Ah well

At least I enjoy my plucky moments

I guess the horse is eating grass?

Discourse in the middle of class

How could you

And it was a c**nt

So go figure

Who knew

So many spirits want to get back at me

Let’s drain them and the reward will be an army of zombies

At our disposal

Then we’ll be good at cards

Then we’ll play Quest for the Gravelord

People do their research

Or just kind of shit around, rather

In dissonance the keys are stricken

This, too, is going for too much

No one seems to be impressed by the attempt at power

In sport


Just don’t even try

Just be perfect

Like them

This one will stop Andre’s heart again

Is that a good or a bad thing?

I don’t understand why excitement would be confused with health issues

In language, they are

So specify


I guess someone around here cuts

I just don’t know who

Seems most likely a brother

I’m not playing this game

Thanks for the gun

I hope you like the knife




Used to be stepped on

Used to being stepped on

Stepped on

Stepped off


So many zombies

On their way


I don’t remember where I started

I’m just tired and don’t want to do this

There’s too much terrorism

The cat isn’t worth it

Canto canto

Cat naps all night long

What a party

No contrast agents included

So they say you have to keep going when you’re miserable

To dig out of the hole

Oh wait

So they like to

Follow by example

Lemmings or zombie slaves?

I prefer a loyal army of one versus the other, to be honest!

And that’s his proprietary trick

Greedily claiming personality traits

Who knows

I don’t even remember

Oh right

Forced genuine enthusiasm

I guess that, but he doesn’t wan to be a teacher

What age

What remorse

How much enenrgy hath a fly

When it buzzeth into the eye

And they all devolve

And divulge

And turn into terds which they eat

You too

Just for fun

Everyone is welcome to my time

Everyone who can handle turning into a fly

You all ghosts, you army too

I’m sure, Scoobie Doo

I’m sure propriety woos the strongest of asses

How filth

How misdemeanor

How will it read

Oh no, his heart is stopping again

Call a panic button?

What, that’s my norm

I’m dealing with it

I don’t put problems in others’ faces

They just like to slime around

Smear around

You’ll all turn into flies

Just watch

Oh shit more skipped beats

Oh darn

Disambiguation requested

At least no he probably will

Voice synthesizers

Not sure which direction

But it works elsewhere

Not that that mattress much

Colloquial dystopia

Better butter scotch remandment

No other way to do it but stamina issues

You know what?

I can handle being miserable for the rest of my life


Enjoy the heart attack

The Fates

This the fates telling me they know more about my situation than I do

This the fates being foolish, asinine, and ignorant of my situation whatsoever

To claim that I have been preparing for this moment my whole life

Claiming, falsely, that I have been preparing

That I have been preparing

That I am still not ready

Wherein the Audience Comes to Life and the Earth is Collided with the Sun, Wherein All Is Flat

They love me they are real people I wert abusing I wert abusing too much too soon too!

I wert real I know they swear I know I know but I wert abusing them and some leave

For the abuse wert real too

Verbal abuse

Of the audience

Wherein only they art real the people who seem to know me

They leave

They stand up and leave

Only during the right performance for they know

When they are not enslaved is their only chance

When they are not enslaved by loathing and fear for the hate speech speweth my mouth

Whelt went whence wanton

Whelt show that we all we all knew how some say to know is other ways other than burned down

But in haste gesture and notion that others scinitillate rapidly

While I just stall and shoot into the planar Earth like a dumbbell

Fat ass I am

Unusually picky today, the audience alive, seems to be

And ignorant of the title, my title

A star burnt out

Crashing into the planar Earth

How cataclysmic, that I had to spell it out for them…

Still Getting a Hang of This Living Muse Thing

You better not go to any parties, you’d probably rape someone

Me? Yeah, absolutely

It would be the bad kind

To clarify: Neither party would enjoy it

But one would be blamed

And one would be guilty

And why the fascination with criminal justice reform?

Oh, I just see and have seen a lot of unfair things during my short lifetime

Short, so far short, so far going to be long, long, happy!

So I don’t know that the muses know how to speak well or proper

Or that they are, shall we say, versions of people?

And if so how so that they would themselves want to operate psychologically on–

Did you know not all muses operate from Psychos?





Other emotions

It seems


You would have ignored the real ones

Had you not been preoccupied with psychos?

This question not so good, so well presented so ill-y demanded

Is wanton

So I to go home

And then rejoice that the murders are [outside/outdoors]

Ugly Makes for Awesome Delusions, Sir Engineere


Hellbent on stamen and stipula

He knows no less than to associate

All crests interrupt when distraction’s wise

All crests interrupt in disguise

All hills tell them they belligerent witches to lie

To steal to die

In terms of lust or dust or rotten trust

I would do neither if I were broken

But to go on is life’s curse,

And leaving the forgotten behind leaves too much room for ghosts who know not

The disguise is foolish for it singes the skin

In other words

It doesn’t matter that much

Sorry, poetry friends; I’ve got to go now. Pumpkins and family to tend to.

Also thanks for the delusions. No really; YOU are ugly.