Compartmentalized

 You cross me to hang

high place and blood

discoloring tears

taste bitter.

Why does it have to be so

can not find a lonely martyr

the way to paradise.

I live my life of its own spectacle,

and the head of it to the inside of the fool

distributed. Where are those parts of the

Gone With the Wind Sharlett, and

dancing ballerina of the Imperial

ballet?

I do not need to imitate

Organ grinder monkey, inside

always always breed of its own

remarkable rebellion.

It's semi-famous musician

bitter with my charisma in front of me

It is no longer her face book

friends of show. He removed me

friends nailed to the cross

named among the poor poet.

A friend what you put in the tray

me stubborn fellow?

I write a poem I icy

I refuse compartment holy mediocrity

I take the ankle shackles a slave.

I do not lick it as soon as the air

next to my mouth drops, I will not bow to

the authority which the shackles of their own ankles

on his journey.

My writer's plate below

it is another me tight Director,

which sits tightly Association

cash on top of the chest. I know myself

Patron of the world's children as well as mothers

sometimes it backfires me,

and perhaps it is death to me.