Self ish.

Only me in my eye, I cast I as a pupil

a student to learn what is happy beyond the pill

beyond the quill that writes upon this still

of feeling ill, unfulfilled, of time spent just reading the bill.

Feet deep unburied to gather blistered feet underneath to stand again

can't so many times was thought amidst common place disdain

in which a soar of inadequacy migraines shallowed out to sham pain

an inebriation that toxifies the champagne in that my name will never be plain

like a paper plane of tissue flying my shit stains 

where the corn of going with the grain is the only sweetness gained of my unpopular blame

waiting for reasons to twist of friendships feigned 

lack the reasons to fight became my coward like fame

up to where anger flames, becomes a perfect frame to why I should be slain

though I can't complain for I should of still constrained before the frame contains.

Selfish was never I centred in the eye

it was to entertain others with a witty reply

to never defy, to always comply

for every passer-by

to act like I have the power to always supply

to always be on standby 

ready with a show to be remotely televised 

for who am I but an average guy

that lost the will to self satisfy

that therefore turned all for another into a selfish, selfless alibi.

  

 

Under the standing of hope.

Talk fast of what I ponder harder of breaths that grow shorter

mentally hyperactive visual absorber, a vocal recorder

minus the understanding, the order, just a deficit disorder

over stimulating direct-ion to an alternating invertor 

back through a convertor, for a lobotomy of thoughts murdered

so fall asleep to dreams with dark figures inserted 

shadow bastards to hopefully keep me alerted.

Just go with the flow, just row row the boat 

upon the stream of grounded seams of what was knowingly wrote

for maps are just notes of adventurers quotes 

on their words we float as I sink with my slit throat

unable to speak in proper context but still I'm devote

to a non conned texts of my defected vote of my unique antidote

my perpetual scope, who helps me cope

to who I try and promote above my printed raincoat

and that's my tongue tied ride of  hope.

 

Eating for two.

Off the cuff, heart on my sleeve to shake a gory meeting

to ad lib the flow, minus the liberal griefing

like Aunt Flo in porn with hungry lips that got people beefing

seething though somewhat pleasing, appeasing 

teasing my unceasing thoughts upon our greeting

of a hand-shakes to my pulse that's beating.

Sit and write on what'll make me right, ever blessed

but I'm left without rest or breath, I guess I mean I'm breast bereft

a bloody open chest mixed with jest dedicated to whom I'm blindly obsessed 

to who I don't know though I'll ever guess

with different ways to express the ways I'm possessed 

with a guest who's the best part of me, and to that I'll always confess

my imagination is but a process towards a laugh of her smiling success.