Oh how this misinformed storm
Misguided our consciously clear-eyed boy

Because this is truly all that he has come to be
Diagnosed and defined, by a badly handled crime of the mind

Just. Must. Amount. To. Something. Asides. From. That.
Matter of fact spectacular

While the bones of his behemoth being
have been crumbled ‘n’ crushed against every single staunchly stood upright will…
he, won’t he though!? Simply become another person’s extra-special
The truest version of He, namely

This slanted storyline like no other, indeed

These cellostapled lips of miraculous His
Unbelievable resilience
To the pause-for-sought-thought cause of a strifetime

Because his fine, fine mind
Simply gets to see many a thing which you and yours can never truly see

He loves you dearly just cannot take himself to feel you
A place to calmly go, where you do not know of

It is better to feel
Than nothing
At all

Pay attention now
For he is standing on your porch… screaming out

Watching your very own downfall
Spill and resoundingly collapse and fail to collide – wildfire when nothing is occurring – and string it all back together again

He never got the road-map for the part where your brain stops speaking
And nobody can
Possibly know

Holds these terrific demons at boisterous bay of his own agonisingly accustomed volition
– the ammunition aside fight for survival, corruptibility intertwined ’til blinded right by his very own mind is simply,
plain speaking,

And not a word can ever be whistled ‘n’ whispered – ’til shuddered ‘n’ murmured aloud – from these still cellostapled wide-shut lips

Of miraculously still stood staunchly upright his

This brain has never appeared to be,
Oh, the toiled agony, is killing We
Aside lacklustre He

And the off-switch simply does not appear to actually matter of dastardly fact exist
For its whole snide worth

This is just one little big mother-effing white lie – pummeled ‘n’ paralysed
This analytical paralysis ’til ghastly disguised

The hole in him has been torn ten times over
The hold upon him has been torn ‘n’ worn right the entire way out
Ten times over
Rejigged ‘n’ shoveled… ‘n’ shifted heavily – none too heavenly – atop time again

These demons will need to be, ignored ’til the real he
Rightfully restores itself to what is rightfully ours
Aside unstoppable his

This had to have been a mammoth mistake

This joke has been poking fun at him going on twenty-three years now
A twenty-three percent version unto He
And he fears for his simple survival

Guided by nothing as such
When a mind fails to rhyme
Either failed way frozen forth

These friends have utterly become, dependably peripheral
Against Every Single Will known to be
Soon as the simple things become an almost very nearly impossibility, yet he is still here, still perfectly imperfect/imperfectly perfect

The frustration has been… unbreakable

Inviting in the wrong people – carrying pain with no such gain

When too easy became plain mundane heartache, nestled ’til showered and saturated
Half-insane within – one stop forward and fifty shades of shit failed

Snail-pace curtailment when, really, his face should have been touching ‘n’ tasting,
the whole of our wide-eyed world

The ball-juggling Jester shackled ‘n’ shamed for very nearly nothing
Whatsoever, it seems
Too fast-paced altogether, he is twisted ‘ n’ blistered into next week, next year
Before you and yours every get to set foot amidst today

Just upset, by all of nothing, really
He’s been running at pedestrian pace, for all of these years
Never trusted his very own eager eyes enough
To make any sense of it all

To decipher and divide fact from derelict fiction

Ironic, really

Was it supposed to be, so very alarmingly easy though?

A constant fear, so near yet oh so motherfucking far from Right Here,
Right Now reality

This brain is beautiful, just been ungodly smeared in make-believe make-up for all of these years
To cover over all of the cracks
And to
Make up the deafening difference stormed silently – oh so motherfucking violently – within
All of Jekyll & HIDE He

Just look at what he has done with it – minus the freedom, fumbling at this misshapen key – and please re-partake to re-imagine,
the constant curtailment which dastardly destroyed

The other disrespectfully insinuated to be, lacklustre seventy-seven percent of He

Floundering when, really, he should have been amounting

To all out Everything, imprisoned when, really, he should have been
Untainted upon
By all of nothing

If he needed you, would you come to him
And ease his pain

Because he has, and undoubtedly shall
Ten times over again
Swallowed up by doubt
with no discernible way out
From intricately under beneath – unfathomably scatter-dashed
Remarkably within

He is sitting right here
Only ten-million miles away
From nowhere and everything

On a crash-course to unpardonable hell,
Go on, do it, justify yourself again…
And permit upon he, twenty-three more decades atop dollops

Twisted ‘n’ pained, drained to the core

We reach, yet we cannot seem
To find the real He
And all of his best cherished memories
were being brutally
broken aside demoralised
Whilst they attempted to wriggle their way out from under/beneath
… and to invaluably happen for themselves

In the first place

Laced by poison

This invisible strait-jacket has been tangled ‘n’ tied
while we witness to stand and fail to watch
His merry mind fail and fall
While unearthing nothing but matter of factual fact heartbreak – and please recall that he actually did next to absolutely Nothing wrong

The way of the OCD brain, a fight to reach a reality, finally

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