Monday, July 4, 2016

i feel love now.

lay down. sleep. prove something
in your dreams.

make your dreams become reality. believe
you are coming to join us. you know

what you are doing. i'm not fucking interested. i pray
you know what you are doing; you know
you are acting for yourself.

take care of it all your own self.

little child. know the truth damn well, but act
against it. stand for this. this
is what you stand for- denying truth. get up.
you know
something is wrong. the world is crazy enough
for you to believe you can get away with saying
it has nothing to do

with your contributions. i am filled with resentments; my
blood boils. i am bitter. i follow a call

in my sleeplessness, in the world
of needing for life to be sucked out of us
in order to survive. rage. rage everywhere.

i pray you never need to work as much as i have had to
to live. i pray you never need
explore avenue after avenue to no avail. i pray you

never fully understand this. if you did, you may
find yourself trying to catch up.

you never will.
this work, this hard work

i've dedicated my life to on account of "doing or dying"

is my pride and joy, my baby. you. you are
my pride and joy, my baby. i do not see

where i have come from. it seems i've never moved before.
so what have you done for me?

fuck you, hard work. you are immediately dead.
you are ugly anyway.

no more evading- i stalk you from heaven
between the trees

where i have been released to. these woods
are nothing but dead bodies

and the pine needles who know their secrets, though
they are not alone in this. you suspect
you are being followed. it's only me- the wind. the angel

of meaning. your mother. your
savior. sleep. sleep. i will meet you there,
killing you
upon your latest accomplishments
and your aggrandizing of them.
i will recruit you to go

where i am going-

my tasks run toward failure. we must war
against one another if you resist my choosing you.
i know what choices i make.
you know what choices you believe of others to make.
i am disinterested in crap.

i am going to eat you. this is simply
the protocol of things. "protocol". now, i'm sure,

you allow me to turn your pain into suffering.
this vision is true.
you are yourself, to you. you are yourself.

this violence is mine. it's tender. it hurts, caged
in my head- house
of the rising sun, house of the rising sun.

this fever will be mine no longer.
i will only have a black sore.

you've known you've been right this whole time. me-
i've just had the wrong idea

about everything

every effort i have made to maintain my experience,
to avoid pure suffering.

but you know you are right.
pure suffering is what i've consistently had
going for me.