Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for language.
Fuck this shit, none of it will change history.
It wont even change my parents mind that I'm a loser, a perdedor, a black sheep, with none of the enigma, all of the hostility.
The bastard son who broke the link of prize children. Earth bound, well adjusted, conceded, and admitting nothing.
Never feel guilt. Never feel embarrassment. Never feel that you are anything but your fathers son. So few things bring me joy, but Its hard to stay still.
My head rushes and worries me of pleasures i wont or cannot surmount. My eyes betray anger, frustration, hatred, sub-par fuel for a finicky machine, does it want companionship? Does it want fame? Will it aubstitute with infamy? Am I lying to myself or them?
In public my shell resumes its flimsy facade but my field overseer wont grant me the freedom to not care what they see. I want to share my enlightenment with someone.
But I hate the frivolity of chatter and distraction. My mind spews acid and my conscience assumes a trenchant stare at any who disturb it.
Pleasant thoughts are made flimsy and sterile by acrid chemicals that churn of their own accord, they don't metastisize for the soil is with blight.
I am the linemen at the wheel but not the captain of my soul. I answer to proccesses wholy unstoppable and fractally dismal.
Im outwardly reaching but my taciturn reply leaves much to be desired. Im selective in my friendships and Ive spat on the forheads of decent men for forgiveness from some malevolent god.
Ive spurned the glazed stare of mobs, Surreal visions clouding thier judgment, the lizard brain cutting thier influence in half, the half that held contempt, and the hypocritic luagh.
I've participated in such things, a bystander, I censored myself for fear of retribution.
I skinned myself and my self righteous liberalism lay bear on a welcome mat to violent lechers.
My enemies dirtied it, my selfsame brothers clawed at it. I didnt stomp on their fingers but I let them wear away. Id been the subject of cruel jest earlier my companion would have joined the lynch mob.
But I cut the scapegoat from his whipping post and he took a pound of flesh with him never alloted. My flesh, he took to his tormenters.
Devils advocate his chosen lie. All I can do now is feel a singeing disgust at my submissive nature.
And regret and ring bells selling repentance for respect.
But Why did I not then free my self same moderate? Fear my friend , it is real but irrelevant.