Model Citizen Living in a Model Town

Here comes the fall down.

Lower the body finds itself,

ever further than prior reaches,

in ceaseless descension to bottommost echelons.


A decline to rockier bases,

fistfuls of gravel for fruitless climbing to discover an edge.

Disheveled surfaces reduced to window dressing.

Sharp intonations of agony at the behest of jagged crevices

are the cushions at the end of a day’s struggle towards the dawn’s glimmer.

Wounds proceed unreconciled,

but a facet of reality of regions beneath,

unable to be noticed as more than a breath’s absent purpose.


Braced for the cyclical tumble wrapped in self-pity,

post-it note therapy,

ugly coping weapons to pave over discard,

the burn of asphalt solutions an unclean reunion at trauma’s doorstep.


Awake in awareness of a faltering glow.

Depleting sustenance births serrated ideas

sliding hacksaws along a troubled staircase winding wherever else,

never attainting anywhere else;

a regression to starts that never truly begin,

and endings accelerate to their rehearsed consequences.


Serrated ideas impose a warforged hold,

prowling the lanes of asphalt solutions,

shuttering infrastructure that desperately cloaks shattered frames,

stores emptied of reserves in a cry for rationing,

all the brightness cascading to a familiar background bereft of aspiration.


It concludes to commence again.

In this, it is a failure of being.

It is an acceptance of the mediocrity of normalcy.

Off to experience sunsets in negative;

A failure to live.

~

( Mitch ❤ )

Fix Me Up, Darling!

Dimly lit

cause & effect scenarios.

Invisible hand guiding.

Shapeshifters of fluctuating fantasy.

Cyclical lack of drama

to salvage the twilight

when the doldrums await in the morning

as they always have and always will.


Escape to an escapade,

disguises handed liberally,

history abused sufficiently,

drained of potential impermanence.

It sits in the bed to wait.

It twists its toes in anticipation.


The doldrums are calling for a punch in,

beckoning per usual.

Dim the lights,

decompress,

and remember the guilt

the moment after the joy.

~

( Mitch ❤ )

Update: Present, Future, All of the Above

Well, hello there. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve checked in here, hasn’t it? After attempting to return to my usual posting habits, I lost track of things and inevitably shifted heightened focus to my Instagram habits. However, at a certain point, I would definitely enjoy offering new poems on here on a regular basis. There’s still plenty I have yet to share and many more that I am still creating, so there’s certainly no shortage of material to sort through. What it currently boils down to is a matter of establishing a routine, regaining consistency, and then maintaining both of those factors.

Outside of this resolve, I have a lot of news to share. Primarily, I’d like to introduce you all to a novel aspect of my creating journey: a shop! A few months back, I began a series of drawings with accompanying poems on larger slices of paper. These could then be fitted into a small picture frame for display. I’ve decided to move forward with my initial hopes of selling them by using KoFi’s built in store capabilities. As of right now, four of the eight Frames series pieces are available on the shop tab! Each one possesses a unique poem and drawing, handmade using pen ink.

Secondly, to circle back to my Instagram account: I am nearly at 1,000 followers! This milestone would be impossible without massive support from the poetry community of WordPress and Instagram. I owe my thanks to all of those that have shown such incredible support throughout this journey, as you are all the reason why I continue to aspire for greater things. I greatly enjoy writing, and because I have encountered so many amazing people by doing so, I feel more motivated to push onwards. Hopefully this goal can be hit by the end of the year! That’d be an absolutely insane gift.

To those that still check this website; you are awesome. I know I am very unreliable these days when it comes to getting new content up here, but I can assure you that I’ll get around to it soon enough. A lot of stuff is changing, and there will be further projects to come. Thank you for sticking around. Time to close the year off strong!

~

(Mitch <3)

Grave Gospel

All hail to the pyrrhic vitriol.

Invest in the injection of independent venom.

A high’s temporary grace in bitten ankles,

breaking the arms of armistice in bombshell declarations.

Arguments versus the severity of uncertainty,

imbalanced by bridge diving ideals.


All thanks to the victory of circumstances,

Appeased to the inglorious made glorious.

Induced into be the imaginary reality

where harm relapses are the savior kings.

Cede away the necessary corners to imperial greed,

the self deconstructed imprecisely.


Away to the current light of day.

In slumber now inside the drugged past,

prancing about dreamscapes alien to actuality;

a happy factory prison given false meaning

in the decaying light of dead calendar years,

the best parts repeated to ignore the faults.


Amen cried for the scrawled trails.

Deliverance arrives accelerated beyond time.

Purpose is a six-foot ditch of unmarked renown.

Understanding comes through necessary silence.

Continuation be met with conclusion.

The self destroyed quietly.

~

( ❤ Mitch)

She Will Be Next

Snake ropes operate as vines around an estate.

Inflicted are the faults.

Inflicted are the flaws.

Strange, the way disease becomes our medicine,

diagnosed in scribbled notes and urges for the masochist,

embroiled as we come to be in the fiction of reality.

To find screaming solitude in crowded rooms;

boundless exile read between the lines of forced empathy.


Without a day to live in the shoes of another,

how quickly it comes to be that we reduce ourselves to atrophy

in a seduction by a remedy conflated with the irony:

That which is held behind the shield is what plans the fatal wound.

That which is ignored in the unspeakable clatter of bottles.


Is it inadequacy that plagues the mutual condition of predetermined graves?

Swerving memories collide into the present reel;

trauma’s swinging wild in the blurs of trust and liars,

where all the same are reduced to those to bear the blame.

Is it the guilt of the survivor, clutching to reminders,

collecting cuts from a paper trail of marked wrists and circled calendar dates?


Inflicted are the drifters,

abound in life, placed in a mind unaware,

seeing only the passing glimmer of the model citizen,

losing sight of the dim interiors where the paint peels at the edges,

presenting a structure splintered at the hinges.

What more but another day losing to the struggle,

time blended under moon and sun as if neither rose or fell.

Shifting weather forgets the fair friend under a depleted atmosphere

where clouds are the sky’s absolutes,

and the ebb and flow from rising to sleeping comes only in resolute grey.


Among us all are we all that see the absolute alone,

steadfast in the worry of showing too deep into the bone

where the sad secret of holding on to tomorrow is but a thread of marrow.


To navigate by a landmine society,

it seems strange when the explosions resonate;

a shockwave per decimal shaved off,

concealed in black dresses and shuffled eulogies,

prayed away until another wanderer is pushed to demise.

It bites until being is consumed.

The urge astounds until it crystallizes in weariness,

uncomfortably understood,

betting seconds away as a clock’s hands unceremoniously expire,

as we all find ourselves out of time eventually.

~

( ❤ Mitch)

He Sure Did Try His Best, Right up to When He Stopped Trying His Best

It’s a healthy alternative when ingested internally.

It’s not a wayward strike against another hull.

I’m calling the shots to aim the shots and down the shots.

The pain’s a construct I prop up on sinew’s brick and mortar,

eroding into tsunami waves that rise without the grace of prediction.

Weather calls for whether or not it wants to witness violence.

I maim the desired target on the desired time.

It’s a healthy alternative when I keep my hands to myself.


Self-made timeout corner session,

making notes on the new scar messages.

It’s fine enough when you’re not peaking.

Keep those eyes off of my prize.

This tumble is going to cover a lot of ground.

They’ll fail to see so long as they forget to see.

Turn and let the tragedy write itself out of gas,

and the smoke can dissipate as the whispers of remembrance.

Open Palm to Psalm Zero, Eviction Notice Chant

What a pretty portrait to paint on a Sunday.

Wine red in artery lines.

Wipe it clean over the canvas.

Delightful!

Achieving the dismal.

Becoming dismalism.


Resurrect in a week’s middle to end.

Axe’s grind requires a feast.

Feed the engine the entrails of dreams forgotten,

dismantled surgically in the realism lens.

Congratulations on nothing!

Accomplished the dismal.


Reborn in ash but choking on the remnants.

Phoenix fire remedy a death march melody.

It all is DISMAL.

DISMAL.

DISMAL.

DISMAL.


Recalibrated to perform the ritual.

Liquor up the boys to subdue the round’s impact.

Cubicle coffins wrapped in bows,

tied over in suits and white fence security.

Wine red to whine about in desires for an end’s dead end.

How very DISMAL to say!

DISMAL TO SAY.

DISMAL.

DISMAL.

D

I

S

M

A

L.

~

( ❤ Mitch)

Random Thoughts: Where Have I Been?

Evidently, I haven’t really been using WordPress much for the majority of May. A lot of this deals directly with how I began with month; I was in a state of reflection where it seemed as though the blog had hit a brick wall in terms of growth, and there didn’t seem to be a good explanation as to way. It was very demoralizing to watch the activity fall without really knowing what was behind it, and I felt powerless to recover past statistics. It appeared at the time to be a waste of my effort to try and invest effort into something that was collapsing arbitrarily. I still do attempt to update things here despite my cynicism, but the entire experience was very jarring. I hate to complain so much, but the whole situation was entirely confusing and upsetting to witness.

However, my reservations over this website pale in comparison to the other large endeavor now swallowing up my time: job searching. With college in the rearview mirror, I now have to seek out some kind of employment opportunity to assist in moving on with my life. This process is pretty difficult, takes substantial concentration, and may take a long spell of time. Hopefully it isn’t so arduous that I’m stuck without a position for months, but I’m prepared for whatever potential outcomes arrive.

In addition to the above, my Instagram account seemed to catch fire out of nowhere. It could quite possibly follow the same trend as this website where it’s a ‘boom & bust’ phenomenon, but I’m currently trying to ride the high and gain further ground. Because of this, I have been spending a lot more energy focusing on that aspect of my artistic projects. The emphasis on this website has lessened in response, as well as the KoFi account, which I think is safe to set aside as a failure; the current outlook is not a favorable one.

I will continue to post here, but the frequency may continue to decrease depending upon how other things pan out. I suppose the whole point of this ramble is to assure whoever reads that I am alive, writing, and keeping busy, but I’m not necessarily here as often anymore. It just doesn’t seem as worth it compared to other things I have going on. I’m aware I’m repeating myself at this point, so it’s probably good to cut things off for the night! Hope you all are doing well, sorry about my moodiness, and catch y’all on the flipside.

~

( ❤ Mitch)

Ain’t it a Shame

Wrote nothings and licked over the edges,

sealed shut for a nebulous purpose.

I’ve packaged air to send across the waves

to crawl down the back of your neck,

picking out the hairs to stand at the ready.

Gunning for that niche in the gray matter.

Had a thought there was still a seat saved.


Hurts to recognize I’m a magazine salesman,

seeing a story where I’m the fuck up,

you’re the right one,

and I can’t argue much of it.

Decomposed a symphony rolling out.

Tied a strategic knot in the tongue.

Vocal cords would’ve become useless anyways.

Actions purchase their consequences.

Hurts to realize I’ve fucked up.

~

(<3 Mitch)

ah HA ah HA ah HA

Champion

of adversity

clamoring

to apexes.

Chip, smash, knock away.

How tall to aim for?

Consult the books,

consult the screen,

what’s it flashing?


Underdog story

handcuffed to a ladder.

Not getting very far now.

Sideways traveling without directional sense.

Damn it all!

Tumbled.

Getting nowhere near now.


Chipped, smashed, knocked.

Who walks away in favor?

Insta mirror not the mirror,

but both the mirror.

Sinking story.

Going further into further.

Be damned.

Have fun

writhing.

~

( ❤ Mitch)