"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

M.O.

Breathe through the colander of obsession
A gas mask worn, molesting
With metal hand clasping that manic
Face you wish to save,
I am sorry that
From my vantage point here
What I see is a guise of panic;

Inhale, imbibe
Your own vomit
As what you see is what always I breathe;
It all, even at my worst
I can perceive;
What at my best I will attempt to deceive
With an “I” before your Elegy,
Stipulated ever since your nadir
Was wrought in pursuing Cunt, conceived
I had arrived and still do strive
For thousands of years, as the brunt
Achieved long before your boats even breached
And came to believe in the counter-culture
Of that shore which with missing sandmen
I have maintained, my dears.

The Billy Gull of life’s left brain
I’ve strangled
And dragged away many nights;
Dreams are yet managing to catch up
To me and there is little you
Can do but serve my queries
Outright;
Those who entail my plight
Hold bars against this
Rip and splicing of their carotid understanding
To espouse bulimic integrity?
From there I would deign
To apply the Liston knife
Semantically
And dissect their conspiracy
With strife, though
It seems that with
Their all too important yet discontented guts
It is intertwined.

Foreseen by me, at this advent
You will die.
And my poetry will fall to it’s knees,
A behest unto natural laws it doth behoove;
Begging for your life with syllogism
That cannot make due;
Do we thus agree? You never wanted anything
To do with what I sought or what I will
Nor would you have wanted it to rescue you
As if you could deign to think it should;
For as far back as I’ve known
Rethinking and shirking memories
Even prised women, disposable, then of supposed ken may still revere,
Of them to this day I wouldn’t think to care,
The pain, perhaps ’tis in penance for having even known them, it is when
My Modus Operandi is currently at work that
Even my best of friends shrug and leave the room.

-BrianshipPotemkin,  October 9th Р, 2011

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