"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


Destroying myself
Just to feel the SiNe
Of your malignancy.

Crawling underneath it
With blooded digits
Inside of woolen gloves

Attempting a sprint
On nubs that
Were once legs

Deadly Nicotine
Kills all that I have been
Chain smoking the dregs in
Ricocheting dream

Life’s too short
To walk around so angry
All of the time…

I disagree.

And am finagled dry
Just so long this remains as is
Staying so sweet…

Yours and my emancipation to tyranny.
Akin we had been made,
Substantiating the architecture
Of the triangle.

-Wednesday, January 14, 2009

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