You Can’t Hide or Run From IT

You think being
bothered by your “friend”
With their demands
and having to deal
with the complex
(or whatever they are)
emotions of another
human beings trials
and tribulations is a
big deal?

well you’ve got another
thing coming when this
gravy train of uninterrupted
Isolation runs out of tracks

You’ve got another
Thing coming

The grown up world
Will eat you the fuck up

Worse yet; there’s
No way of coming to
Terms with it

Reality is all about
Experience first
And then deal with it

Don’t be yourself.
You’re nervous right
Now, thinking about
It. Anxious and filled
With dread.
Don’t be yourself.

Nobody’s going to
Save you.
Nothing’s going to
Stop the encroaching
Sharp objects of life

You’re thinking death.
It’s so much easier
Than everything else
Just be somebody else

Hope as hard as you
Can that you’re even
Capable of being
Anything other than
What you are
What you Have been…
Try or, Face the possibility
Of… Failing life.
Fail life and life will
Eject you.

Operation Be Somebody Else
Because who you are just
Cannot handle it and will
Never be able to handle it.


Do, not, be, your, self.



Dear Diary

Sunday and Saturday, the sun’s been too bright, can’t focus my eyes.

Got a mean headache. Can barely write a damn thing.

Maybe that doesn’t matter as much as I think it does, or should, whatever.

I’ve abandoned the past with all it’s tenses and tensions.

I can truly feel it now, the present and all of it’s weight, it’s immediacy.

It ain’t romantic or anything but it’s the closest one gets to a cinematic experience.

That psychedelic camera zooming in close, panning wide, catching the blinding glare of the sun.

It’s too bright. Or my eyes need one of them prescription shaded glasses.


the quality of bringing one into direct and instant involvement with something, giving rise to a sense of urgency or excitement.

Yeah. The here and now. Though I would edit that last part and include:

[, giving rise to a sense of urgency, dread, or excitement.]


Das Monstrum behind the Closet

©2015 Asperganoid
©2015 Asperganoid

She’s in the closet; she says these are not her nightmares, she worries herself to sleep.

A slit of morning light creeps across her eye lid.

Groggy, her body’s stiff and sore, She looks up at the door,

She says there’s someone, no, some-thing; there. On the other side

She can feel its enormity, The same atmospheric presence an immense tree with dark and rugged bark radiates, intensified by the expansive branches which blot out the sky, and the thick muscular roots that bulge out of the earth, creating their own little caves with their own plethora of alien and grotesque fungi

Her bed crushes like a trodden-on can under its celestial force, its cosmic odour eats away at the carpet and walls,

She grows ever more weary. Heavy.

“Cold,” her whispered word echoes on and on, diluted only by her thoughts,

Its face, she notes, is much smaller. Smaller than her own, its a face without a nose or mouth, but completely black eyes, eyes that reflect a dense corner of space,
This nightmare which is not her own, hovers on the other side, patiently, and she can hear it thinking – waiting

“If only,” she says, “if only I could get some rest.”