In these droning hours—

Snaking pavement,

Grass coated medians:

Another couple hundred miles,

Another tank of diesel fuel,

Another nook and cranny town

Left unexplored by my consciousness

As the gas logo sign posts,

Bat me in the eye

Like flies

Pillars and bridges are swooping down

With on and off ramps

Leading to livelihoods

That embrace all the homes

That I defy.

Would they ever acknowledge the

Sentence to freedom, the

Wandering, quivering, blues that (I)

Want to leave behind me.

The diesel echoes in and out

Of ominous, overcast

Purple anger

And I will travel onward

And I’m ignoring the reflected

Spite spat

Upon the mournful plains.

This moving truck is full.

I’ve left nothing behind

Except for friends, family and Rimma

Who is so much on my mind.

I remember the rainy night

In her apartment’s hush

When the only light in the world

Was the bulb hanging above us.

Rimma’s foreign accent

Was so far away from home.

Rimma’s beauty was so lonely

Rimma’s life was on the roam

I see Rimma on every horizon

When my heart sits frozen in fear.

And now that I am finally on the road

I have left her behind to find her here.

So I am trying to find Rimma

And no matter what happens to me

I will still see Rimma on the horizon

And be graced by her eternity.

The post Leaving My Hometown with Nothing but a Platonic Relationship appeared first on Redefining "Psychosis".

You should know, cause I already told you

That I’m lying—that my love is for never.

Now I can see that your attractive look

Diminishes as time passes on, first

Impressions of your beauty, I know I mistook

Because now your pimple skin has pus;

Now you hobble, dusting spider webs, gawking

Cause this old delinquent gave you a cus

As you smell like some rank, dirty underwear

Especially after you insisted that I bleach

Skid marks off my aged tighty whitey spare.

Then you go off to the toilet seat

While I’m smoking a bone, and I’m thinking:

“You know, farting should be discreet”

And yes we’re both from northern towns,

And yes we both support the same political party—

When chance is like this, you place your bets down!

And so here you are, paying rent to live with me

But why are you there, smiling, drinking tea

While I’m here, pitcher full of martini.

Please go fix your school girl hair some other way

I, myself, would be hip with a mohawk or krisna tail,

But I couldn’t find either in a toupee.

Oops, there goes your humpback-whaling whine

Bleeding for affirmations of my eternal love,

While I, with my Playboys, am feeling just fine.

And now I’m sending you this Hallmark card

After they’ve gone and throwd me in jail,

And I’ll be happy here mooning the guard

And bullying the skinny kid with purple hair;

At which point I realize that you’re special to me.

I, a threat to all whose commissary I share,

Am here without you, shirtless in my dominion

Cause regardless of what anybody says of my hernia gut,

I can count on you for a numb-nun-special one.

All you readers forming disgustful theory

Better learn that love at its best persists on a shelf.

You are single, or celibate, or less normal than me

And cannot admit that every restless, questing soul

Abounds outside love’s confines.  So criticize me

From the depths of your existential hole,

I know that the miracle of love is the act of not loving too.

It is a quest for stench and misery and marriage

So we ain’t alone when we take off our rancid shoe.

The post The Average, One-Lining, Love-Liable Narrator appeared first on Redefining "Psychosis".