One (Inspiration Point)

Excuse me.
One's ever so sorry
but if I could just take one minute
of your precious time
to talk about one thing
that's on my mind
it would be this:

If I were to pick one thing 
about you
one thing among the myriad
one thing I 
hated.
One thing that distilled all the bile
all the injustice 
all the falsity
all the terrible hilarity of it all
it would be your face.
Your mouth.
Your fucking bottom lip.

It juts into this inverted world
hanging like a shit of flesh
a prosthetic self-made complication,
some mirror made
to reflect outward.

But there's another thing
among the plethora.
One dent, one scratch
one chink in armour
one prick of ego
and it's this:
It's you.
You're buying rump at ribeye prices
dazzled by labels and made-up stylees
stung by hype that feeds on buzz
and mocks the meat it feeds upon.

One day you'll die.
One day you'll fade.
One day you'll go the way of all your fashion
an aperitif
for rats, coyotes.

But oh the thought.
Oh me the day.
Oh my the chance
to live openly.
For just one moment
for just one second
to live each breath
to search so freely.
Beyond reproach.
Beyond disregard.
Beyond your soulless lack of substance,
far from hyper-real
invention
far from patched up guilt and
working 
hard to work hard
live to work
forget the kids.
I'm far from this
far from oneself
I'm far from you
and all you stand for.
Far from texts misquoted freely.
Far from judgement mean and holy.
Back to bullets, whiffs of cordite.
Back to life and filthy glory.
Back to what it means to be me.
Back to me.
Back to me.
Back to what it means to be me.

I have to ask you:
Tell me truly.
Tell me really.
Shit me notly

Speak freely, truly

after all of this

Can one agree?