it came to pass that seclusion
became his science
alone, the frail bodied boy sat one day
atrophied by his own laziness
in a quaint coffee shop that was viral
with its thought provoking propaganda
his melancholic face mirrored beautifully
in the oil slick black of the coffee
it was so bacterial
its placidity reeked of boredom
and burial..
cheeks hollowed out and sold greedily
to the consuming store of famine and apathy
lips plastered casually, yet efficiently
with lipstick, red, which spoke volumes
yes, volumes of feminine qualities
or did he really just hide the grey rancor?
the rancor of slowly impending death and decay?
his eyes were always plagued with unsatisfaction
unrequitted love, or perhaps a longing for the impossible
something he could have never had..
haunted with an unquelled thirst
maybe he just like the bloodshot quality
with his hair unkempt and in curlers of iron
all of the ends were short and long, unevenly cut
his comb had become the object of obsession
for an all too filthy sewer pipe
continuously, he continued, continuing to stare morbidly
into his half full, half empty cup of coffee..
the ashtray becoming a circus of dead ashes
as the ringleader kept on burning..
people milling around here and there
laughing gaily with each other
lazily lounging around, telling insipid anecdotes
lips formed into circles, inhaling nicotine freely
or sometimes pressed neatly upon porcelain cups..
hands moving this way and that, expressing physically..
what they could have done, all too well, verbally..
some teeth gleaming all too brightly
and some of them just wouldnt come out from behind the clouds of plaque
chrome cash register ringing, dinging..
its inbred greed all to coherent for the boy..
whilst everyone else was ignorant
cashiers saying perfunctorily, have a nice day!
like a ritual that had run its course years ago..
artificial friendliness
all i can give you is vomit
have a crappy day!
and in a sudden burst of nostalgia, the boy begins to reminisce
about the good ol days, when everything was innocence...
or the bad ol days, and hes deceiving himself?
he recalls a boy of pre-school..
power hungry, trigger happy teacher..
the orange has been consumed..
the peel is left to rot in the garbage can..
but oh no, and here comes the fascist bitch!
and suddenly the peel is left to be disintegrated into excrement
in the lower stomach and bowels of this youngin..
he remembers a boy of kindergarten
of grade one, kitchener of grade two.. london
the boy was proclaimed a loner..
and no one offered their less than sacred friendship
did he stand out a little more?
did he have the mark of cain upon his brow?
and one day the blood flowed freely from unpunctured holes
the drip drop upon the concrete scarcely heard
dotting it here and there with red..
my oh my, its a new work of art from Andy Warhol Jr.!
everything has been uprooted, everything has been fucked over..
an average paying job has been thrown away with disdain..
but forced into independent submission?
and a family moves solemnly into a wooden shithole..
from a luxurious apartment of the most gleaming white
the city left behind a clue in the first slaying of the soul
aquaintances left to rot in fake sympathy and loneliness
well miss you! - - - bullshit.
it came to pass that seclusion
became his science
just as he became the new boy in school..
the children most assuredly shunned him as an outsider..
an ignorant bitch in progress smashes down with shoes upon feet
and the desks hate him just as he wants to be their friend..
eyes following after the passing parade of loneliness
and the three years of torment and pathetic angst were nothing..
everything has been damaged
once again a family uproots the child from his home..
he had actually become accustomed to it
oh yes, the wooden shithole had become a sanctuary
and into a seven and twenty year old house they moved..
all of the furniture has been replaced anew
just as he became the new boy in school..
the children most assuredly shunned him as an outsider..
of course, into another school he moved stock and barrel..
and the racist pricks spouted their anti-anything but white..
and their own standards..
as the child continuously walked around the structure of bricks..
hour after hour, day after day..
its over .. finally
for the next year to pass was to be his worst..
from class representative, and intelligence superceding the rest..
to a lowly maggot to be picked upon..
and a stupid motherfucker in a world of sin..
from blasphemous and daunting words..
spat out like a poison that they didnt want
to a romp in a garbage can one fine winter afternoon..
oh yes, thrown in he was, but his friend was there to help..
..he orders another coffee, and lights another cigarette..