I refuse to be amused, I refuse to be confused,

As I beat myself up even though I refuse to be


If I leave it all behind me could I bribe you to remind


Lost delicately in my ways, could I persuade to come and find


I've fallen behind with your fiction, allow me to skip to the


I'm not as concrete as I thought, how did I slip through the


Floating on, I've reached an all time low to spite

The ceiling,

Can I lean against these ropes till I find a way to fight

This feeling?

The worse pain you dealt, was the best pain I felt,

The more notches, the more loops, so how do I arrange my


Training against a racy past in anticipation that it may

Run slow,

"Sweating bullets" has become natural for the ones participating in

The gun show.

Stir the echoes of a moral rumpus around the "Ins and the Outs",

Harnessing an immoral compass guided by the

Sins and the doubts.

Am I asking "What If?", to disguise my knowledge of "What Is",

Or do I simply ask "What if?" To find a distraction from

"What is?"

surreal poetry
How does it work?
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Michael avant

Hello fellow creators. In short I'm nothing more than a very big fan of this art form we all love called Poetry. Playing with words and thoughts, bending and twisting ideas is all part of this therapeutic yet challenging past time. 

See all posts by Michael avant