The Beast is Me
This is absolute codswallop
my aura remains infectious
it moves in waves
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-
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.
xx Erin N. Buckley xx