I am a unknown creation.
A staggering warrior.
A desperate vigilante.
A sinning pirate.
A singing crow.
A dead leaf.
I am the exception to every rule,
the writer's block of society.
A reaccuring dream.
A nightmare.
My hair a mess like my dirty socks,
inside out and brown.
Eyes glowing like opium lamps.
Words like smoke.
I walk like a bog mist,
shifting in and out quietly.
I am someone's hero.
I am a hornet's nest.
I am someone's worst nightmare.
I am someone's best dream.

Unknown methods behind my madness,
Unwanted attention to my brain.
Unneeded sympathy spitting in my mouth,
Unhealthy love affairs blacken my lungs.
My whisper echoes like a silent bomb,
reverberating off the walls of your skull.
Miscommunicated soliders march through air,
smoking cigarettes and crying rain.

Dead trees black like asphault,
Unfocused pictures and overexposed film.
Chipped glasses with chipped lipstick,
firewater burning in the shot glass.
Desperate woman craving a touch,
waking up without my clothes.
Watches working only nine to five,
four walls of treason and a fax machine.

Plane tickets for a new begining,
knots untied for an end.
Unexpected nucular shutdown,
losing my cool in a parking lot.
Blue-suited Nazis with blue-blooded veins,
cast in iron and led off to a cage.
Ransom paid by an artist with a gun,
who uses her teeth to cut through duct tape.

A ring for one of five fingers,
no witnesses, no reception, no neighbors.
In a niche with no offspring,
her paintings sell for any amount.
Voice like flowers and gasoline;
burning my heart like chemical burns.
Lipstick imprint on my cheek.

Up one night to hear tires.
Two rings for five fingers now.
One plane ticket farther away.
One niche for only me.
My writings sell for nothing at all,
and the mailman hates my welcome mat.
"No Trespassing" on my window,
no birds in my trees.
One bed, one couch, one basement,
filled with useless things.

Wrote a masterpiece the length of a novel,
sold for millions at a time.
Hackers stole my bank account,
now I don't have a welcome mat.
Black suits with black souls,
rob me legally;
alone with my pencil and a few ideas.
Enter the artist with her new found slave.
Her tarnished eyes lock into mine.
The slave smirks and pushes the gas,
accelerate away leaving burn marks on my grass.

Sleep on a park bench.
Rest with the birds.
Still a mystery man,
no past and no words.
Enter a little boy,
hair like fresh mulch.
Eyes aglow like shots of lithium.
Scars on his chest from trying to rescue a princess with no neeed.
He slips he a dollar,
I slip him my pencil,
for him to go homw and write a masterpiece.
The C.D stops.
The tape rewinds,
and it starts all over again.



 
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