I am under spiritual attack by my government. The so-called “poison” they used on the roaches has only made them stronger, increasing their predatory weight by more than 155.341%. Bastards even used trained bed bugs on me. I knew it was them because they scanned me in the second grade to procure future infobytes and ways to re-format me. That’s how they found out I was terrified of bed bugs, and the reality of that demonic, government infestation was far more terrible than my childhood imaginings.

I went deep though. I flipped the script as I heard someone cool say once. –on them. I flipped the script on them. I never was good at being cool. The bed bugs tried to eat me, but I ate them first. They’d grow fat on my bloody essence, and I’d replenish my vitals by trapping the fattest, most alpha bugs in-between my molars, which I used to grind them into distasteful chi. O, how they feared me then! Fuck you, police state; I know how you operate. Often you ensnared my bedazzled wits with your psychic propaganda. You even recruited my friends to the CIA for an evening to force me to believe aliens were using LSD to speak to me through the TV.

And they were!

But I had no use for believing that, and it haunts me periodically still.

The Priests of Judas revealed your Eye In The Sky; revelry led to revelation and putrid inner revolution, but the real solution was all illusion. I know, a bit confusing, somewhat amusing, and it’s why for so long I kept right on using. A crazy person accused me of being interested in what she was saying, and I tell truthfully I absolutely was not going to tell the truth because the Truth doesn’t need me to. It’s fine without my spurious help. I always felt bad for Wile E. Coyote, and I know for sure why Charlie Brown kept trying to kick that fucking bitch in the pussy.

Caveat: taking any of these meds seriously is an emotional metal disease infusion, and should be avoided if one feels like being dodgy. And always remember: even if you study as hard as you can, I still won’t understand.

I sat down to share this haiku, and then realized the one friend who subscribed to my blog (I don’t know how to tell—I just know he did) is dead now because of a fentanyl overdose. Like so, so many. Anyway, I love and miss you Matt. I think you would’ve enjoyed this poem.

Reno Regency Haiku

Stoned I smash a roach 
With my boot not a lighter 
High-disrupting fuck