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Super Sanity?!!!
Villains carry many forms.
Villains arche-typing with brute force.

He tried to write and the pen sprung,
the pun not intended struck someone’s
mind, the prose was a rose in a garden
of poetic plants, the poem too long
to be a sonnet was read by a bunch,
the creation of ego be-gun, the trigger
slung his mind to be set amongst
set lights, readers became mice
searching for cheesy writes, his skull
grew large, he could not see through
the sea of his volatile silence, thoughts
imprisoned in brackets, imagination
a stance for literary sanitation,
substance became a sad depressing
part of their lines, none knew how to
dance with curves of their cursive,
so he became the villain; the chief
governing the new regime of blissful
depth, time had come for him to be felt,
to be shelved, to be paged, to be heard,
and also to be dead…
Then he split to bring back the
gist; Pennyfool and Margites;
old man deceased, new men released.

Dead poet; no society!

Agent of verbal chaos;                                             Pennyfool.
“Theory of a sane man, read a page,
he’s still a sage in a cage of his head,
intrinsic slave; we masters hold the
staff over the extrinsic world, split
the masses, this ocean de-parts heart
through the disguise of being art,
throw darts as the words carry means,
what it all means? The podium is a trap;
I still illustrate depictions of ancient
deities; I’m literally phishing id-entities,
open the tin of nightmares; the lid
stuck and egos can’t breathe, shut jar.
The last young man was a viking; he’s
a king and fragility is stumbling; drop
the tin and summon a modern day Osiris,
expanding iris, genealogy of Isis,
pupil stuttering; vision is buffering;
time has come for wars and vandalizing;
pop the earth with a toothpick,
dark lord, new Darth, bring imperial death,
invader of brainwaves; now everyone’s cuddling,
fear is enlightening; not cute palm trees.
Flee, the strange fruit dangles, no it bears
no Eden apples, new scarecrow, the dark
mind squirting through pens, penetrating
cerebrals not as*****
The screams echo, get this man his medals.
I’m the wise one, done collecting
everyone’s wisdom tooth!”

From their stored-away verses,
he came out like Moses stuttering;
Margites sounding like gunfights;
words toxic like sodium sulfite.                                  Margites
“Torn emblem, might be the ego
growing old, counsel my presence,
maybe Emily Rose wasn’t a lore,
loosen the tension;
fold the page once more,
cradle of the madman;
await the lore of the lord coming
to smite the daemons,
Reality now grey, the rainbow an old
ribbon for a birthday he never got;
loot the system; Enron was my fault.
I walks with talks, with syllables for
swords, words lack constructs,
deduct wisdom from the foolish
man’s left hand,
tending to scathe the world with a scythe;
words carrying no context;
reaping sense from a broken sentence;
sane tax is paid by the death of my
neural networks,
bow down the lordt has stapled
his existence on this verbal pavement.
Feel the crippling tension,
the stretching tendons, find me in
your head, that’s my pilgrimage,
I stage a headache while your mind quakes,
you’re all damaged, scavenging for
acceptance on platforms that
crayon addiction with heart illustrations,
we’re all villains, some have more
reasons, some more oblivious, some
just spew nonsense while I emit
carnage and disguising it for substance!”

It’s a beautiful depiction of
a sane man, words and ego spam,
it’s all a norm, forming thoughts
and letting go of the literary laws,
soon the villains grow bold enough
to attempt the purification of the
main folk, be prepared for whatever
comes forth, where a mere word
shall determine the figment of life,
it’s Pennyfool not being Pennywise
trying to build his Pennyworth,
it’s Margites with his bashing stunts,
and critical darts; it’s a Mr Robot
sequel, with villains for egos,
the writer a mere infant infected
with a devastating curse of being
literate at a young age, flip the page,
his fingers already dance on those
punched lines, still we’re all villains
in nappies; from dropping babies and
slapping grannies, dark thoughts
and everyone dodging insanity for
a fallacy of sanity, we’re the fallen
entities with tendencies of questioning
our peace till we’re left scattered in pieces,
no more peace treaties, we’re minions
cute enough to forget we’re accomplices
of the greatest crime; Human Existence!

Philosophisticater the caterer…

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’ and Friends

Artwork by DC Comics

℗ Philosophistication Poetry ℗

2020 All Rights Reserved ©

Hello Darkness My Old Friends

Who’s the Hero?

Who’s the Villain?

What are you?

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