I Am

Hello.

I'm everything you can't control; infecting everything you know.

Standing in a scrub, holding every tool, machines that illuminate the dark.

Machines that zoom in on the patient to better locate the inflicted wounds at hand , while the fight to keep the body from going into shock and falling into the zone with pressing down to avoid any distractions .

Some unfortunate souls slipping into a coma, the last Airbender but, I gamble with lives.

It's a race against the clock, with every microsecond advancing ahead in the moment as the noun.

Rebound.

Something that makes you question what exist; everywhere you want to go.

I'm still waiting for someone to come along to steal my breath; steal my heart and run away like they are a vigilante in distress; in turmoil.

Relentless and I don't care about the weather changing; growing older, getting colder as I am supposed to belong in this wilderness with a significant other.

I'm supposed to be in high desolation for April Abigail and October.

Struggling with my identity; identity crisis!

Strong enough to reap all of glory, for every beautiful let down, and every blood stain that I am forced to live with.

On a period; bleeding involuntarily, the alcoholism lingering in the morning air.

How much more do I have to suck before you consider me the very best, I don't even want to be the very last, least needless to say I don't want to have to depend on you, I am not a criminal.

Looking for a easy way out, handouts, or so much as even a feminine shoulder to lean on, especially with the backtrack history of being under rebuke for everytime someone else did not want me to act out of hormones in their rental.

Stop light.

Stop sign.

Head light.

Center stage.

Stage freight.

All white.

Aligned.

Prehistorically undefined.

Albright.

End rhyme.

Underscore.

Spacing out.

Hesitant.

Workout.

Emancipated.

Playboy.

Information.

Playbook.

Vaccination.

Stability.

Mobility.

Status.

Success.

Sophisticated.

Sophomore.

Corresponding.

Detour.

Decaffeinated.

Detox.

Demonstration.

Encore.

Surrealism.

Surreal.

Surrealistic.

Scenic; unsweetened soy sauce.

Royalties assure.

Hangover.

Headache.

Great depression.

Low grade.

High definition.

In demand.

Headliner.

Interior.

Restored.

Exterior.

Redesigned.

Lines of symmetry.

Gravitational poles.

Gravitational pull.

Gravitational force.

Gravitational pools.

Laws of the land.

Number six.

Number one .

Number four.

Number thirty odd something of seventy six.

Arithmetic.

Pop culture.

Family business.

Forensics.

RNA.

DNA structures.

German mosaic tiles.

The Triad.

Dark matter.

String theory.

Five guys.

Five burgers.

Five toxins.

Five fold.

Five chocolates.

Five cheeses.

Five octaves.

Five strings.

Five layers.

Five hours.

Five minutes.

Five days.

Five euros.

Five pesos.

Five feet.

Five stories.

Five versions.

FAI.

Forever differential.

No matter how my body tastes.

Sweet and sour.

Sweet dreams.

Ghost pepper.

Cayenne.

Spicy mustard.

Honey barbecued.

Sesame sauced.

Sauteed.

Zesty.

Buffalo dressed.

Onion dipped.

Guda cheddar cheesed.

Blue cheese.

Goat cheese.

Fire roasted.

Gourmet.

Crispy.

Dessert.

Ice cream.

Cream filled.

Mexican hot chocolate.

Dripping down to my knees.

I'm hot thick and sweet, from my head to my feet.

Omens.

Crystal meth.

Routine.

Wiccans.

Powers untamed, and the era of magic.

Termination.

Conflict.

Eviction notice.

Serving.

Under pressure to sale my soul for commission.

Flabbergasted by your routine and mind games, only to learn sometimes you just want to pull my leg.

The microphone slipping through my hand of butterfingers, and shimmers.

I know the words I want to say, but I don't want to sound like a philosophical idiot, screaming to be saved from embarrassing memes of me freezing.

Camera man just turn your camera down, someone move away the searchlight off me to redirect the tension.

I'm crossing the bridge now to let you know, what friendship we had, if being cheated on and underappreciated all my days is the thanks I get, then I give it back to you, know, you're eligible for any refund ,but this thirty day warranty for our lives together is all I have for you.

Machines that magnify the trail of blood you've spilled, I am your calamity.

Difficult, and messy.

Your biggest secret; your insecurities falling apart out of control from your oversized arms, like pieces of a graphic novel.

Because novelties start to display your true color, I don't think you want me around too much more longer to find  myself in your diary.

I'm a physician calling good health for my body, even at the dispense of others bones, did I get your number at all?

The postwar.

Autocorrect.

Automatic.

Audio psychedelic.

Holding up a yield sign.

Waiting for the nearly impossible high- pitch sound of a wind chime, hummingbird, or some kind of whistle, nobody knows.

I'm able and willing to bring down this mythical lie, that you can find me, or love me more without a face.

Unconditional love isn't really good it's perfect, but I highly doubt will find it inside you.

That I must change my mood, I must be sleeping, changing my mentality that I cannot erase what you want for me.

Headless of not being hung on a tree, but falling into persecution and brainwashed by your imagination that you were just like me.

Sooner or later, your deepest regrets for trying to play with my head, make-believing my grief was just a phase.

Letting you know I don't have to give all my love away, unto leeches;  blood hungry werewolves, flesh eating bacteria, or enigmas that persuade you to go cannibal.

A flashback of your ritual to send me  away to be amplified for being preserved in something far more worse than death , like being forced to burn in place for a someone I hardly know.

Neglected.

Remembering to brainstorm the staff and faculty of the truce; alliance of the FBI for some unexplainable phenomenon of  the hate crimes I'm supposed to be alluring.

Being pulled apart.

Pulled away from the soil I was supposed to inherit.

Dismantled for someone else comforts.

Now I'm fighting for favor.

Fighting for my deliverance.

Fighting to unveil the truth about what you really are.

Fighting for survival, the instinct traits to outlive your lies.

You think I should be under you and the lesser one, and how am I the only one that you're jealous of for someones pride and envy I'm not remotely promising is mine?

I'm not giving into the ear of bitter, and competitive judgement of the old anointing; an old testament against me to give me more trouble;lose the grace and hope to the wizard of the decline.

The reigning Gospel queen, I still can sing with it; I'm demanding, even when I uphold a clean, clear, solid D#4!, I'll sing on Acapella.

I'm not saying that I will sing it today, it might not even be the night, but I can and am living proof a full baritone has assaults within.  

I'm not ashamed of who I am if that everytime I prove to be a  better baritone, everyone thinks that they can exceed my being for reminiscing about a tenor and a favorite soprano, besides if they we're everything I would be able to see how I can be influential for the others like me.

Impacting everything you know, when you hear my confidence and assurance with every cleft I don't ever have to achieve.

I'm not sure why I have to always wait for the ungrateful mishaps; something unknown and unspoken.

Undeserving and spoiled, I am a believer that I can do better, I deserve better, I owe it to myself.

After all I'm starting to understand how to format allegiance; this kosher salt that is groundbreaking eroding onto the main surface, but it to me as I am sweet, like sugar about it anymore than you.

I'm a little segregated.

Unseen; incorporated.

Deleted on sympathetic.

Fixed income: aggravated.

Payroll that you won't regret it!

Just call my name, if you seek redemption.

There's plenty of mental health if you turn water within.

I can't come down of my mental high.

I'm a violinist of chaos and repetition of a series of heartaches in simplified form or font to description is so raw when you take the hit in this way, you can do no more than moan the words of burden.

I'm a repeat offender to the imagination that a man is supposed to multiply as spirit but all I can, and all I have, all I am is divinity.

Divining into the division of discord, all I am is divorced with the same baggage, and bags under my eyes, I'm so tired of love, and tired of life, living the place where pain won't ever seem to subside.

Just driving home the nail of a cancer, stage four diabetic if you see in after all of this sounding off I'm sweet enough to meditate on you, healing you with the company you seek, even when you place me behind and underneath you, like a dirty lie, you're ashamed of, want nothing to do with, because I am not like that at all.

I'm much too soulful; spiritual, and classical, but I'm not your superwoman.

I'm not the kind of girl that you can let down; think that everything is okay, boy I am human.

In this case a cause of something much more than original; more than just casual, and more to you usually.

I know at a scary place in what seems to be the very end of me, I can appear to come down low!

If you trust your heart I am your very best friend.

I'll ink numbers upon your forehand if you feel alone.

If you feel afraid; come follow me; I'm the blazing guiding light, the gravitational pull on your head that drives you sane, even when the world around seems to drown in total chaos.

I am the God of Noah.

Because even when you are swallowed by the whale of uncertainty it was your fear that tore you away from the path made uncomfortable, I am the power lines flowing instructions to spew you out of the darkness from the brain to the organs onto some sense of clarity.

I am the God of wicked wisdom.

Omnivore to things I create.

Omni present, there's no place on earth near or far in between I won't find you again.

I'm already in to myself, searching for clues.

How to divide the Storm.

I'm scared but I'm focused.

I cannot see you.

I'm color blind, just like Cupid in my iPhone; in my database.

Trying to understand whose more deserving.

Whomever is destined to.

Whatever case there is.

Whenever seems within reach of my arrows.

I seem to get erie, when I am gitty.

In my fallen state.

I'm not open to anything.

The God of fire.

Reigning over Hades and death.

Carrying deaths only fear in my immortal hands.

Demanding it to reverse the time of aging by a decade off only my closest heart.

Because I am doomed to lose, the timeless hands of death are inevitable.

Time is running out.

Working tirelessly to stay alive through books and spells, if my theories are right I can fall in line just in time to live whole again.

Something that makes me feel good.

Something that makes me feel fine.

Something that makes me feel free, even if I am not.

Something that makes me feel strong.

I'm   getting a little bit more personal.

When you say you have changed don't play around, you're from around, you're born again, but that sounds like a contradiction to me.

You are still breaking commandments against me.

Whenever you pull me down, upsetting to focus a frown, everytime you condemn me.

You think you can break my my mind saying that I am a predator; saying that I am a sinner, saying I am not good enough, but you want for  me to give you head, now I am not only confused, but uncomfortable with what the modern day Christian represents to be.

In a meeting with the universal debate and crisis now.

Am I young or old?

Rich or poor?

Black or white?

First or last?

Atheist or redesigned.

Coy or slow?

Dead or alive?

Easy or hard?

High or low?

Offensive or appropriate?

Strong or feeble?

Despicable or acceptable?

Similar or different?

What lies beneath it should not have enough weight to fill my world of hue in blue.

Because I am not odd enough to steer my thoughts onto this starry night, I am a minimalist to you for every lazy eyed friend you bought.

I'm just a poor boy, I have no sympathy.

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

Nothing even matters; nothing even matters to me.

Anywhere the wind blows doesn't really matter to me.

Anyway the wind blows doesn't really matter to me.

I'm so tired of school.

Everytime I wake up, my mother tells me that hell is for children.

I'm a Luigi board; automatic writer, just ask me a question with the influence of the living dead by the pull on your hands I'll probably be a yes if you've find it out.

Share your big brothers old clothes and scarf, and take this change for a snack.

Is that all I've got?

Denim jeans that won't fit my waist, shoes that soles are woren down, an old scarf, smelly shirt, a pocket full of pennies, coming from an abandoned wooden shaft where the cockroaches look like pieces wrapped around a reel of tape, and the termite is choking on the splinters  so, it's another hand-me-down day.

I'm a loser baby, so why don't you kill me.

I am arriving at campus ground, my teacher is a witch she hates me, I'm failing all my classes, I don't give a damn!

Because success I'm not making it.

I'm getting pulled out of class regarding my academic performance, and my peers agree to get high off weed, and they success is too Farfetch I'm not feeling it.

Now, all my girls getting down on the floor.

I'm such a lady, but I'm dancing like a whore.

I'm dusty Dutch, but you don't give a f*ck, so I'm the show.

How in a world of the living dead, can I stay faithful to myself, never quitting my own death row.

Non- stop petaling the wooden roe.

Across this acrylic pond, to the day of the dead.

Used to being set apart from the land of the living.

Running away it seems to be of intricate circles, from my mind, or past lovers.

The results inbound of change seem hopeless.

I'm not where I want to be, but somehow I feel as though I am the only one making progress in motion.

Haunting you; moving you.

I can feel you pull me down.

Your heart pounding in my head.

Saving me; rapping me, haunting me!

I am caught in a world web of lies I've built to the sky, so I can hang low.

Watching you prepare for a war of release; release your mind into the grooves.

I'm an exchange sigma so let me draw the same solid lines for you, you should never ask me what I am thinking about, I am I can, and I will tell you my story so far, the best way I see fits to the description, subscribed to a forgotten leader lying faced down into the ground.

It's not over because I am headed to the ground.

Look at me, I'm a demon.

Under the influence of chemical warfare.

With the affirmation of supremacy on my mind, but I am still loosing my mind to find a new way to fill heavens square toed shoes, walking across the clouds is not like walking a mile on earth.

If I look down too long, I'll find I'm not coming home.

And if I dwell on this stoney maze to long I could break my ankles, the next moment faint of exhaustion to my death.

If I, crawl back in time.

If I, fall left behind.

If I, swell in the Rhine.

Almost under the bed of pines.

If I, record the time.

If I, plague offered through the sign.

If I, confined in the cell of this shrine.

Lawyers aligned with no defense by grace of tomorrow.

Erased by my corruption in time.

Hanging in a balance until that appointed time.

Young, and reckless running out of breath, and common sense.

Waking up to see my eyes lifted somewhere no man in their right mind would be.

In trouble with the law.

In trouble with an angry God.

I'm a possibly a great liar.

Trying to buy time to slip away from fate.

Dodge the quake under my feet, I can witness the earth going two different ways, I'm a sinner with my soul on fire!

I'm sorry I didn't see the signs.

I'm not sure I'd change if, I'm granted life on parole.

I'm just a repeat offender, but so aren't we all.

I'm going to get ready for the very worst.

I'm not giving up or, giving in to natural selection; myself.

I'm metahuman enough to get excited about supernatural things.

I can digest that superstition is my favorite weapon.

I'm going to get myself a new outlook for luck.

I'm alright with being  like the dark Lord.

Looking too low and now I am filled with laughter, because I am worthy to be more likely to levitate over the perilous files.

I'm not caving into the temptations you bring.

I'm not going to cry everytime someone else thinks I'm a failure underneath.

I'm not going to fight for you to feel you're much better than you dress.

Better than I were yesterday.

My favorite color intense red.

Burning light inside.

When you left me down I am stronger!

If you're looking out on the horizon, I'm for the horizon.

Now I'm coming back with the thunder.

Sometimes I am broken down, now I'm free again.

Something's I'll have start, I'll have to mend!

Now I won't wait any longer!

When you left me down I am stronger!

If you're  worried about the lineup , I'm just up above the horizon!

Now I'm coming back with the thunder.

In twenty four years old at twenty fourth place.

Twenty four minutes after the time clock commence  countdown initiation.

Twenty four dropouts, twenty four hours ago.

The only only epic change on highways.

No longer sorry for yesterdays.

I'm so tired of empty conversations, filled with empty words.

I grow desperate in the middle of the night, when I am anxious you're the only pill I'll take.

When I am at the end of the rope, you're the only chance I'll take.

I'm on fire when you're near me.

I'm on fire when you speak.

I'm on fire burning at his mysteries.

I'm the  United States English alphabetical order.

It gets easier, as you unscramble this Morris code, defining me ; describing revelation to evolution.

When you start to format the infrastructure the interface inside my core system will turn them to working words, for I am spirit, the shell of bullets, so be careful what you say, one shot of me into your skull would be the highlight of breaking news.

I'm not playing around, I want to strip you down.

Seeing that it's easier to be, but the costume makes the clown, I am your magical ride, but when I am done you'll have to deal with the dirty laundry that you're tolerate from your friends, oh where did they go?

I'm always the backdrop for your closeup.

Washed away from ignoring visual, like a blur from your peripheral.

No sense, I am nonsensical, don't waist deep though into my whereabouts.

I'm going to be a little late today but I'll be there in a column of light; a Pilar of a phantom draft, just breathing down the vexation in context.

Blowing away from me the horrible thing you put me through, I don't cease the mood to sell my own soul, for a Snowwhite surrender; a portion of salvation.

A Devil's retreat.

It's a living waterfall; polymaerous ; on the lamb.

Hourglass and burning coal in my hand, can't explain why it doesn't explode in my hand.

Seventeen again.

Looking for myself, by the raft.

Sleep tight under stress all night.

Merry to be touched by the sound of the melody.

Address me as the well; in formality the graceful youthfulness.

Aging is nothing but a mindset.

After all