frustration

Enough!

I got asked a question today.
Leading word, Why. In my
experience the only significant way
to annoy me is to ask Why,
Why do you stick around Society,
If you hate the sleaze, the sly,
The devious, and how, they ask,
Aren’t you one of them? Why?

Lower your senses, you swine.
You think my opinion makes a scrap
of difference to the way they drink their wine,
eat their hor d’ouvres, and kneecap
each other with stilettos on the parquet
dancefloor, well it doesn’t. At all.
Nor does it matter at all what I say,
I can babble and blast and cat-call
however I want, it takes more than that to sway
those ballgown-suffocating people.
And face it – you know I’m right,
Society’s nose is turned up from the urchins to the church steeple,
and from the Mid-day and the Mid-night,
It matters shit to them, what time they gather to intermingle,
And to spit and lie when their opponent is out of sight,
They’ve not got the pride to open their rusty mouth,
to spill their curses to my face, well!
I do not offer them the courtesy of my tongue.

A scrawl on a wall told me to follow
what I’m good at, and not what I like,
which to some days I regret. A hollow
life protrudes through, a heart-intersecting-spike,
But yet I live comfortably when I learn to swallow
that damned pride I desire, and I strike
the Society’s rooms with my presence. To recieve
the little titbits of what those ladies know I crave,
I can put up a lie, I spend my whole life to deceive,
what stops me from doing it now? The tongue
between my teeth, and the taste of blood is my relief
from this little violin horror show! Begone!
I have had enough!

Enough!
Enough of the second-eyed stares,
Time enough to remind you not a single one of you cares!
Open your lockets of your most dear,
Look how you’ve betrayed them, shed a damned tear!
Don’t make me dance yet another waltzing tune
with a hand on heart and rhythm in unison,
Sooner I be dead, dead and gone,
Than hear the tap of one-two-three and three-two-one;
Sooner I hear the click of a snuff box close,
Than be able to see up every bloody nose
of the men who toss their heads back and let their laughter roar,
You can hear the mighty bellow from across the floor!
Sooner I see the light in their eyes fade,
As I expose this expensively-uniformed charade;
Sooner I kill myself than suffer more of this stuff,
Let met to the middle of the floor, let me shout my, “Enough!”

And then…
When, in the silence, the sound of a pin…
Might just – just – be heard…
I realise I truly shouted my word.
Not only that, my mouth keeps going,
Slandering the night, my tongue is sowing
the seeds of my expulsion from this little clique,
Well, I didn’t say I wanted to stay in it,
But oh! how they stare! With their illustrious eyes,
Like molten orbs, their gazes is my prize,
Forget the sordid poem of love on my desk at home,
The downfall of a God! In me!
They advance, hands a-grasp,
Some Men faint, some Ladies gasp,
Eager to toss me far out of the door,
Come on, simpletons, throw me more!
Into the bushes of fungus statement,
Over the fountain, onto the pavement,
My sleeves are torn, revealing skin,
Hello, true horror lurking within
your ugly Society, I knew it was true!
You’re nothing without me!
But I’m something without you!

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III: From Lull

Is it so fucking hard to simply be accepted by someone? Or is it just my destiny to walk through this wretched earth both hating and hated?

No, “hated” is far too strong. And “accepted” is also wrong.

Strike both of them. Shit.

Is it so hard to just mean something to someone – there, that sounds better already – rather than just… mediocre? I mean, it’s a rough estimation here, but I’m certain that’s what every human aspires to. People want to be loved, they want to be someone’s Number One, they want to be the first and last thought in someone’s head of a day. And then you have the people who will be happy with being hated… the ones who enjoy revelling in the anger and misery of others. You’ll probably still remember someone who did you very wrong twenty years down the line.

And that means – what? – that they mean something to you, correct? Yes – I might be someone’s brother, but that means shit. Of course Lois will remember me always, I’ll be so important to her. But she doesn’t count, why would she? She’s been around me long enough – and I around her – for both of us to piss each other off.

Although I don’t remember ever pissing her off. She pisses me off though.

But – where was I? Oh. I’d rather mean something, something real, to someone. Being a brother doesn’t count. And, and I know I say this with hypocrisy and a scoff, I’d rather be on someone’s Nice list than their Naughty list. Why wouldn’t I want someone to smile fondly at my memory, as blunt and unfriendly as it is.

Perhaps I’m just going soft, perhaps I’m… no, never mind. I don’t know what I mean.

It just… it’s sigh-worthy. I’m not someone’s anything. I’m anyone’s nothing.

Jesus Christ, I’m everyone’s nothing.