Fat Ninja

sullen souled
sorry faced
lonely heart
faceless art
sense of senseless
self-sacrifice
loved but not loved
held yet not held
left in quiet hell
devious, torturer mind
silent assassin
kills with complacency
the quill is my defense
my weapon
to stave off madness
fend off isolation
fight the fear
of being
thoughts beyond words
suddenly find expression
condensed
compressed
put to liquid form
forced through
tiny aperture
taking shape from
mangled mess of
chaotic consciousness
with a life so full
how can it be that
I can feel so empty
I think it�s my emotional
estrangement from my family
I am an orphan of
circumstance and consequence
with no sense of self
no origin to reflect upon
the mongrel child of
ambivalence and the way things are
but my God,
what a gift is writing
how immeasurable a thing art is
it is naked truth
the last bastion of the soul
the final rampart
where passion and spirit and intellect
make their final stand
against the siege
of social dogmatism
they yet wave their brilliant, fluttering banner
knowing that they too may fall in time
and to think
we invited these
all-consuming, treacherous,
essence-crushing
vampires of ideology and progress
into our homes to
rape our minds,
plunder our souls,
and destroy our nature
in our quest for purpose
we have betrayed ourselves

This was a stream-of-consciousness piece I wrote some time ago. I don’t remember when.

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