I Hate My Real Mind

I'm not going to even try.
This is all honesty.
A true complaint.
There is no one out
there to read this
anyways.

Remember all the Other Bad Times

The rude, impending pressure
of those you no longer see,
they protrude a sound of snares
and horrible laughter.
One files themselves under the
category of "non-existent" and
"worthless" because the trial in
ones mind is on-going.
This worthless person with a mind
illustrated to you previous to the sentence
is the author of this poem now.
The mystery is gone.
Is this no longer a poem?

Review the Past Months

Posture eyes
locked upon
a heated opinion
of what it takes to
be me.

She is the Sad One

The corner of the new square pond
responds to light in amusement.
Be proud of the thankful clouds
that supplement your hair with
mounds of white, luscious lumps.
Lighter then air.
I am thinned out to something like
butter melted on a pan on a hot stove.
I am soon to completely melt and
dissolve into nothingness.
I am already easy to miss.

Attack the Others

Do not touch me
in the afternoon
when it is time
to do the fruit.
Dimming lightbulb
is human frog legs.
What did she say?

Dimming lightbulb

is human frog legs.

Horror and Jelly

This is nothing free,
we aspire for trophies
and we tremble in juries
in a hurry to capture
realistic mercies.
In a sandwich anatomy,
it's very own ecology,
an ecosystem so dynamically
sound that we forget about
the bread and we think about
the jam.
A car crash resembles our
world more then a flower
bed ever should.
A broken mess
unlike that of a refined
coat of a well bred dog.

Whims

No, two, three, no.
Yes, four, six, no.
Answer traces time
too slow.
No more fur on
caterpillars back.
I sneezed and the
world was over.