Going to War to Score

Thu, 08/01/2013 - 05:07 -- sbedian


The women come after a day of battle,

With myself, of course, the forces inside me endorse me,

I yell out of my mind, shouting obscenities,

Generating enmities with levity, betrayal, I hate the trails of blood left in the wake of,

The earthquake that shocks even heaven above,

There are other paths to attention, mention not what it needs bought or sold,

Don’t be so cold, it’s not for money at all, it’s for the love of it all, have a ball with it,

There must be a clean path to the attention, not in the aftermath of bloodlust,

The woman would be just if the man was just good, and good at what he should be,

Glad to be useful, gradually less and less a tool, and more a deliberate actor,

React not to anger sough power devours your will to do well,

Entrance to hell always begins with an idea filled with pride and potential,

No place to hide when they kick you out on the street, maybe a bench to sit on and rest your feet,

What then, what’s left?  This most likely won’t happen, even if thrown out it would be a slow process,

I’d apply for student loans, get a job, pay more fight less,

As long as there’s meds this life could still be blessed,

Without those though…well, I digress,

This test of character this schizoid bipolar hysterical reaction to the retraction of genius,

The reduction in cleanliness and the seduction of a real test,

A woman once wrote, “I’m on a boat in the ocean, there’s no motion, I’m all alone,

Always unknown, I want to be thrown in the frenzy, to seek destiny, to get messed with and be,

More than the medicated me could ever be,” 

This lingers in my mind as well at times when hell comes and unwinds the safe dwelling places,

Though my scheming self finds solace in knowing  the possible, real success of this amazing blessing,

The free loony, undressing coolly, but riches must flow through me and out back to others,

With no end in sight, just a constant stream of lovers,

I’m frightened by this idea, this potent reality,

I’m afraid of being shattered, of that eventuality,

Then I’m afraid of success, and the choices it would bring,

Once again I digress, the song of freedom can always sing.

When I go off my pills, several things always happen,

I first go to hell, and bear all the demons of the world in myself,

If the torture continues and I endure with no physical mistakes made,

And I’m given the leisure of time to myself and a place paid for,

The demons desists finally, though violently it seems,

Leaving their traces on my mind, the hell in my dreams,

The next thing to happen, is once again sleep,

Without heavy downers, in the kitchen I always creep,

When darkness finally takes me, and I awake soon after,

When I realize I’m alive, my joy is my laughter,

The one thing I worry about in this scheme,

Intense hallucinations, waking dreams,

I’d need a strong place, a safe haven to hide,

At that point the walls are thrown down, there’s no pride,

No ego, no self, no identity left, of all things that sane one’s have I’d be bereft,

Acid is nothing, compared to the real me,

I trip harder than any drug could cause others to be,

All of that totally naturally,

Technically I have potential of visionary substantial,

I’d be terrified though, now I am just thinking it could be so,

I’m afraid I would die, or suffer forever,

Like going to hell, no change in the weather,

I’m afraid of mistakes that would kill me so quick,

Like women who’d love me and my stupid dick,

I’d make myself sick drawn temptation to me,

Just like my life is now, this I can see.

I hate thinking of this, this horrible thing,

It seems like a crime, like I’d just be sinning,

I’m actually more deeply terrified of this,

Than any conception of life’s lost good bliss.


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