Identity crisis: IC Round 1: Battler 1 vs Battler 16

The Monologue of Maclure

Before the Great Gig

They told me, as I clawed into this world, that the stars had parted

Darkness redefined, it made two lines to trace and mark the target

True, I may be scarred and tarnished but my life started marvellous 

On par with artisans regarding smarts, my wits remarkably quick

It’s hard to admit. Fuck their rules. Pardon? In my heart, it was sick 

The spark within dimmed and I started to slip in a darkened abyss

When Public School started, I quit. It is harm that they’re giving

They harness the gifted, carved and whittled to an artists depiction

I saw the glitches, the faults, the messes, defaulted settings and exit.

Since, I’ve sought to unclog their brains, drain toxins, deposit confidence

I guess it’s obvious, they mention profession prospects, I resolved the question

Was off to college next, dissolved the texts and all their lessons

They saw my flawless tests and moved me on to quench my thirst

Became a MENSA member, they assessed me and said I’m worth it

I invented obscure methods guessing how the first seconds emerged.

Gained respect from the worthy who renamed me Professor Maclure

My credited work flourished to earn off the debt I pretend to have learned from

Mind Tricks

Ignorance an illness. I’m injecting the serum. Proved to be famous.

Erect a fading nation doomed to be witless. Soon I will change it

My methods set the stage to graduate with two different majors

Mentor and connect to every student soothed with studious nature

Peruse through their papers, correct and grading essays daily

Contending with the ruthless ways laced in the computer age

It’s stapled stupid on our youths wits, this a wasted planet

Their brains are ravaged. Creative ways misplaced and damaged

We’ll fade to ashes in the days to pass with our face in a tablet

Chains attach us to created habits. We must break and crack it

Taking back our fate. That statements verbatim of what I say in class

I made them panic thinking I’d create reactions, but nothing changed

It’s a painful stance. Insane, exactly. I’m trying to escape the madness.

Razorblade Salvation

That’s it. I cave in. 

They say the tricks to stay optimistic when distant rays are eviscerated in vicious hatred

Cause victims fade in an instant, but persistent braveries a cake which only winners bake

My dinner plate is full of bacon, take a taste, my nose is dripping

I’ve grown old in this position. Become cold, I’ve froze the fiction

Even folded since our only pull for hope are moulded mimics

My souls submitted, given in to things to cope with living.

I’ve kicked opiate addictions which no one even knows existed
Despite my role in dishing wisdom, I haven’t honed my mission

Not even close to gripping my goal, so I slit my throat, the killer,

Because deaths more optimistic than this robot globe we live in.