“Torn” Poetry

You know…I really do wonder if I’m talking to ghosts…

Truth be told, I want people to think I’m “crazy.” Not as in diagnosable with actual mental illness but dismissible. Because the things I say are terrifying if they’re real. And people don’t care enough about me to bother feeling even the tiniest bit unpleasant egotistically speaking to honestly consider what I’m saying. At least, I doubt it.

People have shit in my face with gross self-righteousness and Hellish egotism my whole life. Practically literally. Because I’m the meaning of it all, right? *eye-roll* I’m “what they can never be?” And they’d rather I be dead than be reminded of the massive failure of the 20th Century to come through on its promises. And the deathly future we all look forward to today.

… …

So I wipe people’s willfully disposed excrement off of my face and rub it back in their faces. It’s their shit. Don’t they want it back? I wasn’t using it. I don’t want or need it.

*smile and laugh*

Now that I’ve said that I’ll say the rest. Simply put: I’m not God.

Before Instagram I used to experience the flaws more and they’d give me hope. I’d see God’s love in the flaws. The flaws in the narrative. But people try to gain psychological power on that site and online in general.

The internet is a place to create something modern people may not have seen before. And it’s primitive and dangerous to those who are vulnerable as it’s the base level of humanity without a conscious collective hope of Christ. It’s also a meta gathering place and it’s profound and completely uncharted.

“You’re never going to get out.” Jerome says glumly to Lacey with an ironic and empathetic laugh at the end. He means that she’s locked inside of it. And it’s difficult for her to even know what it is.

…Well, not this side of Paradise at least.

Is it some secret super organization that uses witchcraft and telepathy? Did they find her through demons and science? (Are they mutually exclusive anyway?) …Did they feel pulled to her because of the oil? Her possible father who was born in 1894? Both? There’s no way to really know…for certain. People often lie to protect themselves and their families.

Did she not develop actual schizophrenia but some ability to perceive things spiritually? Like the Asmat, actually. But independently from their culture, of course.


What happened to Lacey? And thank goodness not many people know or “care.” Because golly…people rarely care.

Elisa cries empathetically about Lacey.

“Is it that bad? asks Lacey.

“It’s bad.” says Elisa.

And now what? Dead men are almost manifesting daily. Dead families. And the Christians are preparing for the literal end of the world.

So…*shake it, byotch!*

Who fucks who honey? Or is it who fucks whom? You want to fuck your mother? (Obviously abhorrent and entirely gross and not at all normal. Either you’re deranged or you’re being abused or both.) Or what? You want to throw her down the stairs if she bursts your narcissistic bubble? Reminds you that bisexual men sometimes fall in love with women more than men? That straight men can be more complicated and sensitive and mature than you? More sophisticated? Wiser? More genetically blessed? (My kids don’t have gross or evil-violent desires, thankfully.)

Genetically blessed? Hmm. Are you white? White enough? Honestly you’re probably not. But if Margaret Sanger couldn’t shake it hard enough to fix the problem…it might not be “fixable.” White people still exist anyway.

Are white people all Asmat now Jack? Is that what happened in 1961 that “started it all?” Except we don’t respect trees enough nor literally eat human heads. Did we sort this out? Well?