Chaotic Massacres

riots of words ruining these dissolving brains

sometimes

giving up doesn’t seem so bad.

 

too many suggestions,

fifty-fifty-some sounds so right

the others all wrong

 

these suggestion they are

pinning me in the side

could this be acupuncture…

            poundin ,pokin

            poundin, pokin

            poundin beliefs n opinions

universal, average, basic, ordinary

innovative, creative, unique, special

re-used ideas

into my mind,

while the world whirlpools its way around me,

i

stand

still.

            no justifications

            no judgments

            no justice!

it remains firing away at me

“i

should

have

listened.”

but then i’d be givin in right?

givin in to yet another tactic

another source of coercion coaxin me to be….

but nothing fulfills me

a pleasure so exotic, or yet so erotic

is lacking

a substance so relaxing, or maybe retracting

is lacking

nothing is working to

“fix me”

after countless equations have failed to equate to amount to my value

and ended up equaling nothing

is that what i’ve come   to amount to…

 

after massive  masses of madness have

done the do

who have i succumbed to?

all these

these damn

ideas

            will create

the person i grow to become. these

damn villains and heroes with no nametags

henceforth remaining unknown; all

trying to claim this prize

the       poundin, poking

            poundin, poking

pounding  beliefs and ideas into this rotting brain of mine

 

swimming at me like sperm to the

egg

the fortunate one taken in

            will create

something, something no one is prepared for

something near two decades  too late to try and reverse

 

this chaotic massacre

this spree of shopping

no, this spree is for defense mechanisms

i am shopping for a set, to set my soul at ease

it is

            pounding…

trying to sort all these ideology advertisements

into categories

all these damn

ideas.

strongly suggested

 

momma never told me something as simple as listening would be so hard.

 

sometimes,

throwing the towel in seems like a better preference

accepting the fate of the hands who catches me as I fall

            your filthy propaganda hasn’t won me over

yet, but it still tries..it is

            poundin,poking

            poundin,poking

poking its way against steel

useless you say?

exactly I reply

stop it

this block of clay just isn’t meant to be sculpted

into your ideal person

better yet the real

the tranquil and ever the same,

Me.

 

 

 

 

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