Self Deception

116 / Chosen

4-3-18
I was the chosen,
The sculpted,
Masterpiece of design.
You were the annex to all of my works,
Counterparts maybe.

Cast the shades to dim the room,
The trees want to stay till dawn.
Rest your eyes, lovers.
Let the mist catch your face
Like dew to grass,
And bleed out those droplets
When the cold is too harsh.

I'm bitter lately,
Cranberry veins-
I'll drain you,
Diuretic,
Stick to your daggers.
Chisels of masculinity,
I wear no jewels
But rather chains
And I dream in Supreme.
The fields keep changing,
I've tampered with evidence.
Spent too much time exploring
The murk in the pools.
Remind myself that
Not everyone wants this.
The spaces in the fabric,
The places I inhabit,
My knowledge
Drifts by this world
Like an artificial cologne.

My boys wear blue,
Veins of tragedies.
Lives of satires.
The art unrecognized to the characters
Is witnessed, absorbed-
I'm obsessed with your experiences,
Your humanity,
Your actions.
Red eyes spill more than
Marijuana laughter.
I think you mean more to me
Than you know.
And maybe women were the roots
To why I first got cold.
She raised two of em,
To act more like men
That anything of a delicacy.

Catch you by surprise,
Skip like a record,
You got It?
I keep my expressions limited,
Give you the first page.
Missed your type,
You're good for my art.

Your garage is my home,
(I wish I could let the world
Play video games of my life)
Red lipstick and foggy glass,
Warms up at my touch,
Clear clear clear give me love.
We're not strangers to wild aspects
Of the night,
Together,
You file your nails on
How sharp I am.
Bloody lips at your edges
Of fine dining,
Still sticks to your teeth,
Where I accept the bones you throw.
History swims laps between us,
But you need sleep-
I like a good time
But you overstepped the lines.
Sucker for love, sucker for women,
She took all you had
And I didn't see you again
Until I swallowed my fears.
Drop the spoon,
You were never meant
For mass production
Like the dishes.
Never meant to drown in a bathtub
Green hair,
You'd be fly as fuck at your own funeral,
Motherfucker.

My thighs spell loss,
Down down down-
I feel free in acceptance,
But am set up to deny it.
It was never personal,
I can't let go of what cuts me,
It's just in my nature.
Do I owe a true apology for
The acceptance of my instincts,
It's not the ideal acceptance,
But it's the real one.
I am alright with my destruction,
It's made me.

I own so much,
The weight of the world,
With a golden placard
Of entitlement.
Never does come back around,
What you give.
I'd spend my energy on the efforts
To process what you've bloodied
My body in,
But there's just so much to life,
It's easier to think of you
As a fraction
And not the determining piece.
Sometimes it feels as though I could talk forever,
Sometimes I can't spit out a sentence,
Cough up a personality.

Put your finger on the difference,
What's setting me apart.
Chosen,
I'm choking,
I believe in the reasons
I need their rationality,
Amongst all the treason.
⁃ (m.m)