I want to write.

I'm going to write a tragedy of self interest,

founded on the principle that no man is equal to another.

I'm gong to plan a vortex in space

wherein anger management constitutes government.

I'm going to recreate the Big Ban theory to prove it's impossible,

and then do it backwards to wipe out the memory.

I'm going to make the stars shine the way they never have before this -

so bright they blind your hearts to searching souls.

I'm going to tear you apart and arrange the pieces alphabetically

because geometric shapes are no longer my favorite category.

I am going to end you with brilliance and anger

combined in a dazzling world of men.

I am going to enhance your senses

until you can't recall anything beyond the moment that hasn't happened quite yet.

I'm going to decode, reprogram and reinvent this section of the universe

because it's mine for the taking and making and I've been waiting so long

for them to notice.

I want to write.

Remind me to ask you,

sometime,

if it feels the same every time

or if each moment

each new person

has their own flavor

and if so

should I stop

trying to remember

and just try

to be.

Rap?

Messed up
dressed up
angry kid lets up
lets down underground
empty randos going ’round
spray cans
raybands
drinking kids late and
sag marks, tagged parts
bungled these works of art
stressed out
lets out
getting them threats out
of the way, underpaid
working men getting laid.