My favorite button
on the keyboard
is Ctrl.

    (Ctrl + C)
    (Ctrl + C)
    (Ctrl + C)
    (Ctrl + C)
    (Ctrl + C)
    
        Safe is a set of five.

Don’t ask me why –
I couldn’t begin to answer.

All is good, good is all
All is good, good is all

Is it?
Yes, it is
At least . . .
I need want to believe it is
It’s my hope,
For my sanity

All is good, good is all
All is good, good is all

PART I: AI is created
I think God made you and me out of binary code You call me an enigma,
But I do not speak your language. You would be the 1’s.
Standing tall
Always at the top
Perfect Aryan halo on your head I would be the 0’s.
Zero.

Scream. yellin all the time. a chill pill Is what you need to find some. I like to bury myself very deep within my mind. You say i’m mental, but i’m sentimental when it comes down to my rhymes. you just take my rhyme book and throw them away all time.

This darkness inside my heart
Residing in my pitiless mind
A fuel to a fire of ever-burning odium

That cutting sarcasm of such cruelty
The cold cynical aura that never abates
What is it that filled me with such hate?

I used to rely on compliments
But now I strive off them
I used to keep my chin up
But now I cry non-stop
I used to follow my sister
But now I lead us deeper in the dark
I used to try to be myself
But now it’s no use trying

My brain likes to run amuck.    
Some days it gets stuck on the same thought:
You are in love with someone and they do not love you.
You ate too much today and are now chubby, too chubby in fact to be loved by anybody.

I was in the middle of Alabama, silhouette illuminated by the golden hour’s subtle sunlight, engrossed in a conversation with my cousin, just catching up.
He’d asked me if I was any better, and I’d told him that “at least I know my triggers now.” 

Imagine yourself in a room full of balloons in a variety of colors, all with little white string.
Each balloon is an event; a lunch with friends, a family reunion, a party, a date.
You try to be attentive and pick up a balloon, only to have it pop in your unsuspecting hands.

Therapy. What an odd word. A word that entails problems that you can’t solve yourself. A word that only applies to people with enough money to get other people to solve their problems for them. Therapy is such a bitch.