Missed Web free your inner fez

Beatitudes

I am nothing but imitations,
a puppet of my (unknown) deceit.
I've wasted years
smashing my unbroken mask
only to remain daunted
and undignified.
Even this morose output is
but a shadow of my soul—
nothing exists,
and I am fully aware
of my limitations.
They stare at me thru
the darkness and rape
my dreams with visions
of false hope disguised as
carnage and tears.
Their kaleidoscopic colors
smash a black and white sex
with loneliness and
self-affliction.

(I dream of waterfalls
and kiss the tempested,
jagged boulders of a
bottomless pit
and fall indefinite,
forever full of faults and
originals sins)

Destiny is a
self-imposed injustice
where I stand motionless,
an immature adult without
the beauty of expression
or faith.
I blanket my needs
with ripe impotence.

(I told you that I loved you
and enjoyed your laugh until
I realized it was aimed at me)

II

My life is not a cavalier escapade.
There are no heroes to
save me from my demons.
There is no fate smiling down
upon me from the heavens;
only a destiny that rides
like a bullet train
across the wilderness,
and I am too meek to
inherit the earth.

III
"Come follow me, and I will make you fishers of men." Matt. 4:19

I worshipped gods
for a millennia
struck out like a rabid dog
canvassing the dead end streets
with my decrees,
only to limp back
empty-handed.

Look at this failed
jaded fisherman...

nobody knows you
until you're dead
'cos really, there's nothing to be said

nobody knows you
until you're dead
'cos really, there's nothing to be said

nobody knows you
nobody knows you
dead dead
there's nothing in your head

lost the will to survive
religion has failed
mind has failed
truth is blind
God doesn't want to exist
'cept as an oxymoron.
GOD = BLIND TRUTH
I scream
and you scream back insulted,
vilifying injustice
upon my soul,
stealing from me
what wasn't my flock
in the first place with
false promises of
food & wine.

And you wonder why I'm suicidal

So, what now?—
The denouement?
Tragedy's wet dream?
Not even God can get off
that easily.
What? want me to decree that
today's the day for taking
and not giving?
Feign a depressed happiness?
blame myself for
Hiroshima
'cos I'm American
and Kirstalnacht on
my German temperament?
Well you can fuck
my poem's determined ass.
I'm telling you:
this game that I am
forced to play
(my genetic fault, I'm sure)
is a bit tired
don't you think?
Oh, have pity on me,
I'm one of the blessed depressed!

Oh, weep my tears
and hold me—
NO—DON'T! DON'T TOUCH ME!

and nobody loves me

I'm a victim of
fill in the blank
And no, I'm not hungry this year
but thank you for the thought

God bless America,
where the meek inherit
a church facade.
Fuck this poem
and this "denouement."
Fuck Christ and Christmas
and failed marriages and car and beer
commercials and ye olde prophets
and all those above in aeroplanes and
below in subways and god fuck my mother
and my father and curse aunt tilly's bad
hip and curse my fucking ass

see what happens when
you don't take your
Prozac—

Can I borrow a shrink?

Will somebody please
lend me a shrink?

I've got to talk
to somebody!

I'm all alone

Please,
help me or I'm gonna die
Sincerely...

Really, I am a sincere
poet, when I'm sincere enough
to cry.