Noise Labyrinths

The rites of normalcy are exhausting.

I am expected to rein in this sea of crackling distortion 

every morning

and present a somewhat contained

organized

balanced

version of myself

and the joy and energy of my being

-perhaps a remnant of an age of innocence

present only in dreams conjured by someone else-

kick and scream

-a tantrum of repression

of a shape that could find no soul-

the punctuation is off,

so is the rhythm and the meter,

it reminds me of the first time I heard Despise You

-that is my mind

that is the sound of my heart

when I fall in the mud,

that is the noise my mouth made

when I realized I could never rest-

I am transported to the present tense

-my house is an altar to symmetry

neatly stacked books

a feng shui of simulacra-

aspirational desires

aspirational aesthetics

-my enemies have symmetric faces

perfect lighting on everything

they are as beautiful as they are venomous

may they rot in the pit of my resentment-

alcohol turns my pain into charm,

the cluttered folds of my greyish, feeble mind

a garden of excentricities

for the denizens of order to walk through

and whisper in awe and morbid curiosity

"how can he live like that?

I wish I had the confidence to be that outrageous"

I am slowly approaching my desk

I should stop

they will find out

they can't find out

When I was 12 I played Metal Gear Solid 4 times in a row

during three days,

I had no memory card

-could love bloom on a battlefield?-

I still don't know.

I don't remember what I did when I was 12.

I sit down

I open my computer

and begin working on the assignments I have for the day.

The rites of normalcy are exhausting

and

  inescapable.