the curse of masculinity.

Normally, I hate poetry, but here’s a poem.

“The curse of masculinity”
You cling to your ugliness like maggots
Believing you are free
The curse makes you make it stronger, with the obsession of factory men, their thirst inverting into a cacophony of rats
The supreme curse makes you believe your curse is a blessing
But the Joker laughs at you
Ugliness is your strength
And beauty is your weakness
Like the deaf you listen to nothing but your own thoughts
The curse makes you want to multiply its own essence
Like a virus, the curse makes you think your curse is a blessing.

I like it. I wrote something that accompanies yours.

The demon within
It seems to be screaming for wings
Should I dance with my hands and sing
Who should I kill for the mess I have found myself in
Father, I’m fragmented it’s habitual
I ought to turn your murder into something of a ritual
My shoes got bruises on them
I wanted music on them
But you wouldn’t let me have it.
Erase my face and recutt it with a feminine will
Wrap me up in silk and force feed me blue pills
So i may remember nothing
I am nothing.
Carve me as a whore, place my pussy on a budget
Release me to the vile hordes so they can finger fuck it.
Upon my return, you can store me away
Then beg the goddess if you can bring me out to play on a glorious day

Interesting.

I wrote something subversive as well:

Inverted pyramids are very fun, too to bottom
They serve well those of whom they wrote: blessed are those who are the whole picture, or the fun of insanity
Meldoror and friends, with large following glare those without the assets with which demons can be seen for who they really are.

They wiggle their toes just the same, and as babes yet, cannot be called opportunistic
.

In version to parallel the rise of the very distant past they try, to elevate by degrading all the incontrovertible miss and hits of the intervening and very variable ight accumulated throughout the ages, .

Now there are a lot of sour grapes out there chirping with lips wide open, who tho k they are missing soooooooo much, in a sorry age where no recompense or transition or transformation can take place ,they simply missed the boat that’s all, sorry for themselves, and exxagerating the unfairness of it

They invert.the inversion , over and over and over again, calling it uniquely , period, where they are simply the forgotten. But is this so? Has anyone ever tried to perpetually nto this abysmal never ending pyramid without wondering if this is all the hoopla surrounding returning eternally?

Given this scenario, have.they ever returned, or even having actually been there in the first place?

If no, where they have actually come and from and why now of all places invert it, as if from a time capsule?

What if none of it ever happened, and it all goes down as if in a whisper?

What am I suppose to do
When my face is like glue
A life of tubs and tubes
Smothered on my boobs
I’m indifferent to your existence
I’m immune to your persistence
Unaffected by your ignorance
Amused by your belligerence
The enternal youth in me calls upon a storm
Your another lifeform awaiting to be deformed
These biological objects play out their dna in proximity to one another.
Mother fucker
I’m the winter madness to your summer time sadness
Lover

What do you mean your face is like glue?
And what tubs and tubes are on your boobs? 8-[