On Sunday, April 1, 2018 at 7:29:19 AM UTC-4, Robert Morpheal wrote:
> 010418A
> ------------
>
> They always torment me,
> if a teardrop chances
> to moisten my eyes.
>
> Teasing relentlessly
> with rumours of your interest,
> as to my unattractive existence.
>
> You were one of those pretty faces,
> that could have the pretty ones,
> creating emphasis to my ugliness.
>
> Our being that sort of situation
> that can never really happen,
> in consideration of what we become.
>
> An infinite abyss
> of socially imposed differences,
> forcing us in different directions.
>
> Left to litanies of made up tales
> with no substance in facts,
> offering no real connection.
>
> If I dare to weep one tear,
> of my abominable self pity,
> I am given more untrue tales.
>
> Fabrications of virtual worlds,
> where we are said to actually exist,
> as another subversion of the truth.
>
> That momentary breach of barriers
> that led to nothing but mended fences,
> and the memory to teasing pains.
>
> I forget so very much,
> so why could I not forget you too,
> as completely as I forget numbers.
>
> It is such a mortal sin
> to forget numbers and other trivia
> such as names, men, and histories.
>
> Memory is another curse,
> as to remembering the forbidden,
> and forgetting what is required.
>
> The gender label on my documents.,
> proves to be nothing more
> than a tortured condition.
>
> Can one shed one's skin,
> so as to get away
> from the torturers ?
>
> ------------------------
>
> 010418B
> -----------
>
> All that is emergent,
> is another sort of disaster,
> adding to prior convictions.
>
> They are trying to wear out,
> and eradicate,
> the degenerate art criminal.
>
> Appearing to want nothing left,
> of anything to identify with,
> beyond starving the broken spirit.
>
> Only the formalities
> of what would pass as a funeral,
> separating living from dead.
>
> Left to that endless procession,
> that spasms its way,
> toward inevitable rigor mortis.
>
> The threat of an emptied room,
> that was used as storage,
> for unpopular clutter.
>
> They do not care about anything,
> and seem intent on destroying
> anything that they have used.
>
> No evidence as to the contrary,
> having been found,
> in all that fishing for answers.
>
> Everything another prize fight,
> never winning any prize.
> The purse always proving emptied.
>
> You can only go so many rounds,
> before they knock you down and out,
> so you cannot get back up again.
>
> They pound you down,
> telling you no one wanted you to win,
> saying that is why you won't.
>
> ------------------------------------------
>
> 010418C
> ------------
>
> Struggling to conform
> to living lies for money;
> always needed so badly.
>
> Always the corrupt variable,
> in some algebra of need
> that proves incalculable.
>
> Constantly dead broke,
> and forced to self sacrificing,
> to make a loneliest dollar.
>
> They get at you that way,
> as to the horrors of fat chance,
> and feeling smothered.
>
> Running completely out
> of any remaining resemblance
> to anything one could relate to.
>
> Feeling as though having lost
> all of one's senses,
> and gone to a dark place.
>
> The wear indicators
> are a feeling in the bones,
> of more deterioration.
>
> So much falling apart,
> kept down, deep, inside,
> and trying to appear solid.
>
> Perpetual accusations,
> of not being faithful
> to the right lies.
>
> True to one's self
> is merely another death sentence
> carried out by one's opposition.
>
> There is no survival in that,
> so you smash the mirror
> that you hate looking into.
>
> You have to be careful,
> to keep yourself “well” concealed,
> always surrounded by hostiles.
>
> Found out would be the end,
> and they would make turtle soup
> from the scooped out remains.
>
> -------------------------------------
>
> 010418D
> ------------
>
> Running dead out of time,
> as to finding anyone
> who would make any difference.
>
> Rumours that there is someone,
> and what she wants to do,
> but no one ever materializes.
>
> Meaningless flesh traps,
> or made prisoner in a monastery,
> and not enjoying it with the boys.
>
> Tried to do it yourself,
> but that was doomed to failure,
> and it always costs heavily.
>
> Feeling trashed by the rich,
> poisoned by the poor,
> and cut off from knowing anyone.
>
> Gnawed at by desires to do things,
> that can never get done,
> because they require different people.
>
> You always get the wrong people,
> for anything that is on your list,
> and end up striking yourself off.
>
> The accusations become endless,
> as to failing to want
> all the allegedly right things in life.
>
> You are constantly sentenced
> as never looking like you should,
> and never doing what you should.
>
> That is said to justify everything
> as to why no one is ever interested,
> that you wanted any interest from.
>
> ------------------------------------------
>
> 010418E
> -----------
>
> You hear all the doors closing,
> as you start to suffocate,
> in that tight confining space.
>
> They keep telling you
> that no one wanted you.
> No point arguing with them.
>
> You will never be yourself
> the way they have you pinned
> to a bulletin board.
>
> Your face feels torn off,
> making you feel a need
> to buy a new one.
>
> Not that you can afford it,
> though it is as outdated a style
> as anything else that you own.
>
> Perhaps change your name.
> Erasing yourself,
> from anyone's notes.
>
> Maybe you could disappear,
> somewhere other
> than the North woods.
>
> Already feeling chewed on
> by various beasts,
> eating at whatever is left.
>
> ------------------------------
>
> 010418F
> ------------
>
> It never ended up
> or in any way went any way
> that they said that it would go.
>
> Led to believe so many times,
> in nothing to believe in,
> and never any relief.
>
> It must be some sort of experiment,
> but they never reimburse the subject,
> for time taken and time spent.
>
> Death's door seeming nearer
> than any fat chance in hell,
> of untangling any of the mess.
>
> The mess always growing larger,
> as to further restrictions
> on any potential freedoms of action.
>
> Cannot even get tied up
> in any mutually consensual manner,
> with anyone in pleasant dreams.
>
> Salivate like a dog
> dead beat from kept running after it,
> and never getting any.
>
> Predators sense desires for freedom,
> and then swoop in for the kill
> to drag it down to the bottom.
>
> It all always costs more,
> than you could fantasize
> in your sickest imaginings.
>
> Always something else
> which you cannot possibly afford,
> that is pocket change to someone else.
>
> Lose track of any indications,
> as to what it all tallies up to,
> if a claim could actually be made.
>
> All that it has ever done,
> is make you poorer
> and more alone.
What are you talking about? is this a poam>?
>
> ----------------------------
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