Acid in the Vessel

Acid in the Vessel

God, why do I only disappoint and bring to anger

So many I seem to connect with and please so few

I appear to me a device of confrontational squalor

Activated to enact frustrated contemplations of the necessity of my presence

In these equations of accomplishment that would so often deduce

To delete my variable as a negative exponent to that they would otherwise seek

The savior of engagement has not been seen, what will you have me do

Apologies for mythologies of thought to seek to satiate a yearning to be heard

To say what you wish regardless of the realities of these fields

Club me over and over with the token phrases you wish to plow

The spheres of root balled contributions that my seeds are burdens

Yet provide no energy to dig them up, just curse the ground I have hoed

Years and I cannot help but fear the hatred  

Disappointment like the waves of this bay and no easy answer

Flaps on a flag mirroring my gaze unfurled like a portrait of my all American me

A boy embraced as a modern gladiator for spoils of war he could bring

I am nobody, a hermit recluse, dangling on suicide’s string in the swamps of my youth

Seeing the horizon of abandoned results hating myself for every word from my mouth

Love this sewer rat and licking the green and black concrete of these walls

How do I love myself to allow the possibility of refuge in the arms of an opinion?

Given freely in an external speech when attempted and failed in hands held out

To reach for other times, pursuits and saviors

I have my armor, blade, mask and scars and all of these messages

Keep me at arms. I am a runt skunk blunt drunk tube feeding a Shivo

Nobody cares if I do though, just pull the plug on these wasted days

Kick me out the hedge line of this maze into the neither void of stark

That I seem destined for this life traded with the demon to repeat and to gnash

Tell Nietzsche these times may come to pass over and over repeated and these shoulders

May worry and fear and self loath and appear worse in each iteration, knowing nothing

But a furnace celebration in waiting to end this war, would I ever find my light in the arms of a word that made sense like the dove on the branch of every thing that lives

Green and burgeoning in the arms of let it be, please God make this make sense to me