This is absolute codswallop

my aura remains infectious

it moves in waves

it's fluctuant

and yet I evade another performance of mine-

like a shirk.

When i should be competitively ruthless  as a shark

but, like a snake I slither away unnoticed

Typical Erin the artist a renowned flake

As a starving artist I feel it's my obligation to give the-

audience one hell of a performance.

In my presence you'll find yourself in a trigger-

trigger perspiration.

I'm embarrassed and I know it's a good thing,

sweating like a gypsy with a promise ring she wears on her bare knuckle fists-

to a brother who is two years dead.

I kept it and now it feels like a hallucination

just a delirium and unfamiliar

I know psychosis and this,

this isn't it.

It's fear is comparative

They crave to hear my articulate dialectic poetic perspective.

Witty with wisdom, charm and intellect

I need to be their favorite prophet

I will go mad and lose it

If I cannot publish my poetry or step on a stage in clang of a riot.

I am the beast and the beast is me.

Slainte,

xx Erin N. Buckley xx