Sunday, June 5, 2016

I am just weird for you

The idea of Glory is fucked up,
We are fucked up.
you are fucked up,
I am not,
I am just weird for you,
face it.

That motherfucker did not know that he was going to die,
when he drank that night,
He choked and choked and choked
on his vomit,
you know who I am talking about?
then you're even more fucked up.

He shot his brains out,
what a glorious way to die,
people made him glorious,
poets made him glorious,
Bukowski made his death look glorious,
poets make shit look glorious,
poets make their insecurities look glorious,
that's what most of them do,
you know who I am talking about?
then you're even more fucked up.

Your existence is by chance, it's not a choice,
your behavior is clearly not a choice
you live to celebrate others,
you live to celebrate more when others die,
and even more when others die fucked up.
you idolize it,
you are fans, and followers, and commentators and analysts.
you're not doers, you drink and drink to puke, and drink to hide that smell and choke on it,
you're not real, you're just a mirror of  who you celebrate and idolize,
and ironically most of them till date have all been fucked up.
so you're fucked up.
you are the people who make flags out of fabrics,
you don't understand Art,
you're just selling and buying and celebrating shit, in the name of marketing.

you are scared,
you are insecure,
you are nervous, and you cannot fight a case,
you're just a judge, you just pass judgments,
which is just a reflection, not a choice.

They say that poets write well when they're old,
because they write for themselves and not others,
they write to read and not to sell,
they are less pleasing,
(pleasing encourages mediocrity, and mediocrity can never make a difference)
more brutal, honest.
because they can count the days/ hours/ minutes/ seconds to their death.
they don't have to face your poor judgments,
they don't have to face your insecurities,
they don't have to face you anymore.
they'll just die,
and then you'll celebrate it.
because you're fucked up.

I am not fucked up,
I am just weird for you,
I will face you, and I will fight you, and I'll choke you,
I will not wait till I am old, and weak, and cannot control my own fart,
I am not you,
I don't need crowds, and people, and grass and wine,
because the things that make you and I high are not the same.

I don't see any glory in dying fucked up,
I don't see any glory in living fucked up,
I don't need to be remembered as glorious as the others,
as your idea of glory is fucked up.

I am just weird for you,
face it!

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