Sounds Like a Hushed Thought

Ugh. Ugh in all its melancholic glory. I'm feeling out of it today. Can't seem to pinpoint why; it's strange considering things are going pretty damn well for me. So good that I've hit a bloody writers block. It's fucking horrible... being as writing is like breathing, I'm suffocating in this drought. Random thought: what if this is some bizarre way for my subconscious to achieve its desired goal of writing by putting me in this funk -- Counterintuitive, yes, but that’s how I like it damn it. Or it could just be normal depression of the ol' Bipolar II (though in my mind I like to call it manic-depression... the sequel!), damned ups and downs, ya know... but wouldn't the former be fucking poetic in it self?
On the topic of poetry, tonight’s piece is a little old and bizarre in itself but that’s why I like it. It has so many things going on and yet that's what makes it work. It's jumbled in all the right ways, or so I hope. Read it aloud! It’s a performance piece as most of 'em are. Go crazy with it and Enjoy.

There and Gone Again

When I was your age
-Pluto was a planet
Dancing with the ferryman
By the banks of Styx
The under over world
Filled with inverted company screaming
“Loneliness is pot marked.
That is to say,
Loneliness is pot marked.
That’s all there is to say”
Inkwells feed the hungry
Stars in heaping spoonfuls
And my sanity is north of nowhere
I implore
Dance devil men, dance!
Lest mortals choose your fate
And damn your tapping toes

… I cough for you
And choke on the smoke that was your glory
Care to spend a score?
Don’t get homesick.
When you’re here your sick of home.
We’re never happy, are we?
I asked that before, didn’t I?
I often lose my thoughts to time
In bets of tens and twenty
Cupful of coffee iced to chilled perfection
Can’t freeze the heat of memories
That refuse to die
-All I do is lie-
All my life’s a lie
And I a fallacy
A stray daydream of some godlike figure
-Sad with yesterday.

Can you turn off that light?
It burns my eyes, you see
I’m not like the others
Lone wolves howl the loudest
And humans can’t at all
Can’t you see I don’t belong?
Half moon and a stolen song
Wallowing in a December moan
Sounding something like the tale of a prophet.
Care to take a listen
Can you’re folds contain this knowledge
So knowledgeable
so goddamn knowledgeable
Though I know less than the breeze
Still… can’t forget
When I was your age
Pluto was a planet.
And he danced – so content with his loneliness
So happy in exile
So joyous for border life
And then he was gone.
Don’t you feel lucky?
Don’t you feel lucky?
Feel lucky
So… lucky.
So Lucky
So So
Lucky.
So. Mother. Fucking. Lucky.