Glory Mire

I stand with dignity, my will not to submit,
I am malignant in my disposition,
Some small cancer of disposed greed,
I am excelsior, I am competent.

My honor is my crutch,
A broken metaphor or obligation of some corrupt idea,
A code by which I raise, I ride, I abide
I am exquisite, I am ideal.

Thoughts of expressive guilt,
And unfinished business of razor clawed angst
Is an explosive storm of toothless madness,
I am the sum of my faults, I am real.

Boast inside my chest, pits of my cockles
Braggart and bloodthirsty, a loaded cannon primed
Flash-pan written collection in ensorcelled tempest,
I am a blurb, I am bona fide.

In my pit, pitted against, pitied against,
Fishbowl menagerie of collated philosophy
Running with scissors stepped down in anxiety ridden abuse
I am unfeigned brutality, I am genuine.

In my mirror I have an image of mythic man,
Deep bearded, peppered with age experience, compassion, and stain
Skin that is smoked with too many problems, tinged with unbelievable pall
I am stained glass wishes, I am honest.

I am the collective pool of other’s ideas
I am the synthesis of my own creative ignorance
I am the rave reviewed rape in madness smiling
I am an ethical fallen angel.