Some achieve power

by pleasing their bosses

but their shoulders slump, like a woman

beaten by her father

and told

she will never be enough.

They are always waiting to be given something

and they never have the courage

to take it.

Power

is waxing and waning

like the werewolf moon

I can kill with my eyes.

It’s true, “Pride goes before a fall.”

but the humble

don’t climb mountains.

This Nietzschean desire

is not always with me.

I feel weak

most of the time.

I understand the anger people have—

it’s so undefined.

I am tired at the end of the day

and I don’t want to fill my insides with music.

People are comfortable

I want to wander

on the verge of ecstasy

There are so many

I don’t want to be

When I find myself acting like them

I think of suicide

violently exploding my brains on the wall

Writing,

is the next best thing.