Low Barometer

You’ve bored me
Made me headachy

Your hostility
Posing as humid tranquility

Asking here anonymously
What everyone else, unafraid to make themselves known
Already knows

But I answer thee
I’m still fit to garden and be poetry
Though you’ve pained me

A pain in my ass, a pain in my joints
Merely temporarily

Creeping, wrinkled, you’ll continue
Pettily

grandmaster 

On the surface there’s shine 
Polished and forged
So as to showcase
A most lovable lie

Their accolades, yours
As my ears cringe 

For there is that shallow, shallow heart
Dulled early 
Tilled over
By one finely chiseled intellect

That what fear, I fear to wonder
They can never hear

3am Alchemy

Polishing the tools
Under cover of the Moon
Sterilize the wound
With Kentucky’s finest Blue
Create a masterpiece
For their eyes and accolades
Feign lamentedness
At your left feet and failed grades