I used to do art work, not paintings, or sculpture. but odd prints made with turpentine and photocopies transferred to canvas or paper. I used to write poetry, quite a bit. Then I stopped doing all things creative and I’m not entirely sure why. I have a couple of hundred poems in various degrees of completeness in many notebooks, on scraps of paper, and rattling around in the chaos that is my mind. A couple of years back, my wife took a lot of time to transcribe all my scribblings into a compiled word document, which I’m sure took her quite a long time because of the voluminous amounts of verbiage, compounded by my horrible handwriting.
I was sitting at my desk today during lunch (thanks to crummy weather) and decided to try and write a poem. it’s similar in vein to many of my older works, but is heavily influenced by the fact that The Hollywood Undead were playing on Slacker, and I watched two episodes of Dexter last night. It is by no means complete, but it is what it is; me dipping my toe back into the creative waters.
Without further adieu, I present SOciopath (yep the o is supposed to be capitalized)
When you look do you see me The real me the one with the empty eyes, barren soul the one who is callus and apathetic the one I protect not The me I project the one with all the answers the one with the confidence the one who cares about the trivial little things in your life The razor barbed nerves frayed and frazzled or the charming gent who has you dazzled SO When you look do you see me or who you want me to be