When anger and rage

fill me to the brim,

I swim.

I Dim the lights

in my mind

and forget about being kind.

I let loose the bind

and scream until windows shatter;

soaking in the music amid all the clatter.

I batter up, gripping a few pounds

of molded steel and I swing,

on  e v e r y t h i n g.

There’s a ping against the glass

before it breaks.

The ground beneath me

begins to quake,

fueled by my loathing

for the fake,

those who give

just to take.

The purpose, is in the mess I make.

I dent the walls

of bathroom stalls

and punch holes

through all the halls.

Balls bounce

all around

thudding out

a very distinct sound.

Bound by the pulse

in my chest,

racing as

I bash the rest.

Dressed to kill,

I obliterate computers,

smash lamps

and scatter paper,

waiting for

my rage to taper.

I chuck every stapler

and burn all the money.

No one but me

finds it funny.

| another_proser |

In Avengers,The Hulk explains, he’s ALWAYS angry and that’s his trick,

The Violence, like growing pains, pleading you to not give a lick.

For those of us who deal with rage, we understand what he means,

Fighting to get out of this cage, perhaps before we were teens.

Our minds picture the axe on the floor, lethal intent behind its weight,

Glamorized posture through the door, fueled by something akin to hate.

The anger feels like power, pulsing with the edge of destruction,

Mental painted enemies cower, and we force a chaotic instruction.

To the observing eye however, our resolve leaves no doubt,

We tame it not to be clever, but to keep from HULKING OUT.

|| another-proser ||

nose up

smell the day

breathe toxic security

in a noose self-hung

with fist-faced glory

expose the whites

(of your eyes)

and absorb the vantage

of polished grunge-scapes

dripping pseudo-need

in obese luxury

|| another-proser ||

Life takes a perspective turn for the worst, imbedding the notion of a curse. Usually there’s a plea to humanity early on, but people… people drive them to abscond– from society, from the variety of sheeple following whatever Sheppard’s promise protection.

They see the resurrection of slavery through the advertisement of convenience, subduing a possible grievance with entertainment to dull the sense of containment. Long before the arraignment, they disassociate from the people no longer seen as equal and the hunt begins.

Taking skins from the herd mentality to hide their brutality among an intricate fallacy. In this galaxy this is the birth of a killer who becomes a pillar of perceived evil. Amid the upheaval they no longer see people, just animals for the slaughter as abundant as water.

|| another-proser ||

Flouride in the water blocking our third-eye.

Dropping our IQ...

Twenty-three studies

from four countries dismissed from on-high.

China won’t allow it in their water supply,

but they’re happy to ship it to America who’s willing to pay for the lie.

A college does a study proving America is run by a wealthy few.

No one remembers the details, we’re too busy with our own "to-do."

We complain and struggle all the same.

Some call for an insurrection of change

and are outcast as Hippy free-loader types

just venting their gripes.

People hate their jobs yet feel the need for money so intensely

to stay afloat within society,

that they can’t quit.

They’re even too scared to call bullshit

for fear of being fired.

Put on a blacklist so they can’t be hired.

Boxed into a cookie cutter mold until there’s nothing left to be inspired.

Stop being afraid and open your mind

to the possibilities of experience in time.

Cry, weep, sob, and rage.

Dance, sing, scream and claw your way out of the cage.

It’s your life, your stage,

you decide how to play the next act.

That’s a fact.

You’ll evolve from every impact

no matter how the odds are stacked.

With the right state of mind

one can see beauty

even in the middle of the storm.

Finding happiness

in the cold of rain

which will keep you warm,

and making tough choices

that go outside of the social norm.

|| another-proser ||

All the time there’s an accusation

drawing the line of my damnation

preventing moments of admiration

relenting room for acclimation

fighting the inevitable complication

rethinking a questionable consideration

trying to survive the emotional deprivation

hoping to surmise the impending devastation...

Is it retaliation for a subconscious conviction

comprised of endless psychological addiction

disconnected synapses forcing a restriction

beyond lacking the words of an accurate description

maybe just another statistic with a prescription

fighting the seven hells to dodge the next eviction

didn’t win the lottery like in the dreamless prediction

self-preservation turning the notion into affliction …

Social conscription increasing all the way to crucifixion

guilty and sentenced with the full power of jurisdiction

persecuted as the scourge of perennial dereliction

condemned before the warnings of mass interdiction

this “civilized” oppression is anything but science fiction

forever contorted by a carousel of contradiction

written in books as a historical premonition

urging the damned into faithful benediction…

|| another-proser ||

You-People.

You unnamed hoarders closing borders and giving orders.

Yes you.

You worked for your keep, sowed so you reap, leaving us in the deep.

You-fucking-People.

Entitlement bred from “earned” independence, craving reverence.

Look-at-me! Look-at-me!

Tax deductions for all your charity, you’re no rarity, just another parody.

To You-People…

The Poor aren’t on the list, they don’t exist, and you beat them down if they resist.

Mentally. Physically.

Money isn’t happiness but you don’t share, wouldn’t dare, and try not to care.

Maybe you don’t.

Leaving a Legacy for your kin, (embracing)dodging sin, and living to win.

You.

From those paycheck to paycheck or living on a luxury yacht deck.

Same-fucking-People.

Nothing of worth to say yet you ramble all day about not getting it your way.

Ungrateful-People.

Too disgruntled to know what you got, much gets left to rot because you overbought.

You know who.

Gluttonous without even realizing, so many options it’s paralyzing and tantalizing.

Super-Size me.

Seems cheap but it’s one meal, buy to make your own and the savings are real.

Absent-minded-People.

You’re not helping another soul, it’s not your role, not without some kind of toll.

You-People.

Talk peace and make war, shop at a big-box store, yet still believe you’ve a compassionate core.

Kill me.

So blind to others plight, skewed perceptions of wrong and right with little hope in sight.

Yes, You-People.

Those People.

Us.

|| another-proser ||

Those who believe the sky is the limit,

never truly make it off the ground,

The intuitive few can feel the evil emit,

fighting what keeps them bound.

Some are inconsiderate and explicit,

promiscuously guaranteed to astound,

But where darkness flows in every digit,

the part that loved has drowned.

Suffering a spiritual emaciation,

being morbidly inspired by humanity,

With clawing insistence of total agitation,

leaning towards insanity.

Nerves twitch for a bloody escalation,

the kind that kills all vanity.

No one is safe from moral decapitation,

not even those of Christianity.

The pain will make the strong cower,

in the heart the sickness rides.

Optics will watch everything go sour,

prying between the divides.

With a maim, a break and a scour,

the hunter exposes the lies.

But where rage fuels the inner power,

the part that loved just fries.

What radiates in the husk of this skin,

is a driven boiling brutality.

Breeding the residual taint from within,

spawning a cruel criminality.

Absent the ethical consideration of sin,

devoid of sentimentality.

The kind to die in an effort to win,

especially in a bare handed fatality.

Unsuspecting targets are bound by chains,

forced to endure without debate.

The hurt drips out of them leaving red stains,

a bloody way to sedate.

No remorse because only a hallow remains,

inviting everyone to retaliate.

Proof when damnation circulates the veins,

the part that loved will exsanguinate.

|| another-proser ||

“Sollicitatio Venditatae” the vaunting of public taunting

flaunting convenience and appeasements for the wanting

a jaunting needs the seeds of deeds lecherously daunting

haunting wholesome someones into righteous bonding

responding to influence of the profiteers corresponding

absconding morals steered by the power of cleared checks

| SEX SELLS |

a carousel of corporate consideration for mass subjugation

adoration in the application of vivid subliminal presentation

affirmation simplified down to a catchy character animation

segmentation is strategized for optimal mental penetration

vindication with proclamation of change in local legislation

education deprivation filled by degradation dressed as honey

| MONEY IS POWER |

paid by the hour vastly under weighted minimum wages

stages to stick consumers into cultivated categorical cages

gauges for which everything is pitched on glossy front pages

all ages under siege with sounds and sights of the outrages

it engages self-preservation of individuality until it enrages

contagious conscription to societies glamorized ideals thereof

| PURE-LOVE CONQUERS |

going bonkers over clear rocks as the definition of desire

flier-wrapped walls willing preparation for a chance to retire

choir sung chorus chiming the time for a family sale on fire

buyer banter to bolster unique confidence under the wire

higher hype to stand in line waiting for it to transpire

acquire the taste of happiness with savory salacious-lies

| ADVERTISE HERE |

pseudo austere civilizations promote flirtation of every fixation

privation automation for specific proprietary spending allocation

vacation for less while sponsoring the solutions for starvation

gas station billboards mounted for location-location-location

quotation mutation of a good intention to evoke damnation

translation is in the effort to inspire a choice of one over the other

| another_proser |

I live in a world of corruption and debauchery painted pretty for public consumption. I watch the people toddle along with society because they don’t otherwise know how to function. I bite my tongue and hold my words; explaining would take a relative eternity. I’m a black-sheep among strangers, aware everyone has an insecurity (or three.)

I often question my identity– to get by, their must be masking. Never-mind it’s the same set of questions that everyone else has been asking;

Who am I?

Who do I want to be as the little fish in a big pond?

How do I make it through without trying to abscond?

If thought is power, then why aren’t I where I want to be?

Can we accurately say the only obstacle has been me?

For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, but no one said anything about assured satisfaction. “Welcome to the Real World," become the words we learn to dread, "decided for yourself; we’re alive until we’re dead” remains the part usually left unread and unsaid.

|| another-proser ||