burning sage
to expel the darkness
capturing the essence
of auspicious dread
slowly working this
half formed fear
into full on panic
coaxing out anxieties
to coalesce into
a tale of bubbling madness
dripping toxic tar to
stain the page

the real insanity
is shaping the next tale
while strangling every
last bit of agony
from the current
keeping each flowing
channeling emotions
which threaten to
tear me apart in
a mental tug of war
as the real world
burns around me

if there truly is
a real world whatsoever
it becomes increasingly
difficult to determine
as conflicting reports
come from multiple
eye witnesses which
each describe events
in unique hues of their
own particular madness

rarely ever do i feel
any sort of happiness
but there are moments
where absurd word play
give a contentious sort
of chaotic contentment
when a fool feels he
is finally focusing on
fucking up the status quo
by refusing to bend to
archaic rules and trope

poetry is cutting open
an artery and letting
the agony do all the work
summing up the viscera
before the wound closes
then documenting as each
one closes to expose a
scarred panaoma of failures
while writing fiction is
applying the same pain to
an imaginary character
who might actually have
a hope of a happy ending

the only closure in
typing out ‘the end’
is getting to cut open
the next obsession to
root around its guts
to try and pluck out
a nasty golden bezoar
before the next story
begins to scream excitedly