The Place of A Deranged Loner

 

They say most writing is autobiographical,

A bridge,

Between insanity, mania, and politically correct,

Most writers capture their audiences,

With grim tales of wild female conquests,

Graphic images of violent streets,

Jolly riffing of Monday dawn hangovers,

Somber tales of unimaginable melancholia,

And,

Powerful statements so politically conscious;

It’s easy to laud such and consume their works voraciously,

Quote their verses and identify their subtle quips of humor,

I would too,

As I did for a time,

But one thing really bugs me,

What’s the place of a deranged loner?

How do you get to let them see your canvass?

It sure isn’t gangbanging or wild orgies,

You’d rather have a pint with the devil than have a woman over,

It’s nothing motivational or sad,

All you dream of is getting through the day,

Or pious and political,

It really isn’t something about anything,

It is just a concoction of everything,

An array of gibberish, sense, misanthropy, and everything in between,

So,

How do you let them see that?

How do you let them see that everything they see on the streets,

Runs even wilder in your mind?

I haven’t really gotten to the answer yet,

What’s the place of a deranged loner?

@Job Kerry