The Worst Great Mind, Finale

You said

to be someone;

to be who I had always been,

though tucked behind an actor’s skin.


You said

to be honest

to the friends that never leapt;

those that held fast in firing lines.


How quickly it all was sacrificed when playing the role of God,

twisting the hands of time to combat conspiracy.

I was a fool then.

I’ve the same foolish head now,

but lately it’s found a center,

buoyed to one last reality that halts wayward destiny.

These trajectories now meet.


Call it science or call it fate.

Call it whatever needed to create

our hands holding close in a window’s dull glow.


Call it genius or insanity or calculated,

call it whatever needed to create

our lips brushing lightly in the reversal of memory.


Enraptured by a second condemned to expiration,

left fully formed in the depths of a conscious traveler,

I wonder if these constructs of the hippocampus are but hollow rooms,

the scenery drenched in grays illuminated by a mind’s touch,

but they’re never to be shared by the others who were there.


Brushing lightly in the present,

all but simple acquaintances,

half aware and half unaware.

I wonder if you’ll ever know.

I hope you’ll someday know.

Steins Gate | Okabe Rintarou meets Makise Kurisu 'Cristina' Again | Last  Episode - YouTube
I do not own this image

( ❤ Mitch)

Thanks for reading! I know this was a long one, but I had fun revisiting one of my favorite shows of all time 🙂

The Worst Great Mind, pt. 5

To correct it all;

to steal away the pen of history,

the coup of the author would be worth flawed flesh.

Imagery of tyranny leaves no impact.

An objective flies directly from a heart to the bearer of its chain

to which I am devoted to bet the last of all energy.

Let wills dissolve into laser’s precision.


Enough remains for two chances at salvation:

The excavation of normalcy turned fantasy when buried under impulses.

Tragedy nips at the heels; ignore it.

Mistakes are computed to an ultimate act of loss; move past it.

Of a million routes carved into history,

one deserves the barrage brewing inside me:

The lasting act of a character on stage.


A fratricide blinds the eyes of the fortunately ignorant,

made a feature drama as a man’s scorn drills a hole into a daughter.

Encased in shock with limbs halting in motion,

a mad scientist must come to action.

Immaculate improvisation.


Fates and forces out of mankind’s deft hand are ever so elusive.

The leader of the gate,

the seer of diverging matrixes;

he is the one to hold the key to any reality.


The irony forever dawns in the unrelenting knowledge of effects,

where the movement of the savior caused the ripples he now adjusts.

It would have to be the worst of all great minds to err so,

though never faltering as foes arched arrows into the castle.

The leader of the gate paves the way.


Destiny’s eyes can be tricked by theatrics.

The final cost comes in blood and I’ve it all to spare.

I’ll submerge beneath a rising haven.

None more will see or know the name that allowed it to soar.

Seeing life erupt in eyes once prophesized as closed,

I’ll submerge beneath my masterwork.

Distant regimes topple into forgotten chronology,

but the magnum opus is you and I.


I need no praise beyond this point of ascension through descension.

I’ve found a purpose in bleeding out.

To live or to falter at the gate,

I no longer feel a need to pretend.

I know now who I always was.

I am he who holds the key:

The leader of the gate.

Steins;Gate Opening HD on Vimeo
I do not own this image

( ❤ Mitch)

The Worst Great Mind, pt. 4

Blood runs on these hands.

Blood dries on these imperfect hands.

Blood stains this shadow of a man forced to pretend.


Contrite laughs by a grave revelation

have bound a soul to disguise himself out of desperation.

I am the character on stage armed with theatrics,

allowing white coats to cloak a thinning veneer.


A glass construct shudders at its base.

Piece it together with your arms as a fortress.

Struggling in a cityscape unphased by its lurking trauma,

piece me together as my machinery decomposes.


My constant companion, unaware as you are,

carrying the weight of a collapsing structure,

instilling confidence forgotten in the next travel backwards,

yet never absent from my mind,

cursed to remember every scene of every outcome.


Caressing now amidst a concluding drama,

is it fair now to say we’ve won?

Observing the repercussions of undoing foolish consequences,

desire flatlines in favor of a once undesirable status quo,

where a microwave meant nothing more than the sum of its parts.

The cords have been untangled.

A smile regains its shape.


But a snag—

a gear caught in transition—

a jarring realization—

innocence flickers out of focus,

a glitch in convoluted reality.

An explosion seemingly years past resonates in the now.

The now is nowhere near safe.


A line is caught on an error of existence;

a flaw of life when its destination had been decided—

a glitch in convoluted reality.


Of all futures,

one is a victory only Pyrrhus would accept.

One is certain defeat;

the utter destruction of me in every outcome.

The now is nowhere near safe.


Makise Kurisu must die.

I do not own this image

( ❤ Mitch)

The Worst Great Mind, pt. 3

Immaculate are the schematics,

but failure stalks among the details.

Measure the second hand,

mark the precise point of departure.

The lesson is nullified upon the winding of time.


Adding selfishness to subtract the joy of others,

I cannot trust even the neighbor selling lies on the bottom floor.

Operating only on the diminishing flame of insanity

as a tunnel narrows,

the light succumbing to a constricted hope.


Wave goodbye to a doomed voyage.

Accept the resignation of falling short.

Every impact leaves an irreparable dent on this sinking frame.

Sucking dry the flower of optimism bred in by foolish dreams,

it cannot be the fault of yours.

What I would do to hold and console,

allow reserves to crumble into the ash of burnt imagination,

yet trapped in the hell of purgatory may I always be found.


In each relapse to destiny’s prologue,

a flash of red hair sneaks into my eye.

In pieces scattered across fluctuating worlds,

she remains ignorant of how she reconstructs my puzzle.

Reassurance is forgotten in the blink of a condemned endeavor.

She always returns to draw color into blanks.


In every action there have been reasons to abandon,

and through experience I cannot comprehend why anyone would save me.

I only know that a second chain is growing in my depths.


In shadows of self-imposed dilemmas,

crawling from exit to entrance;

a loop straight to a runaway escape,

she always returns,

and I find new strength.

I do not own this image

(<3 Mitch)

The Worst Great Mind, pt. 2

Continuously extinguished.

I watch anguished at unshakable fate.

Shackled to the will of time,

she slips into the cracks between conflicting lines.


No greater force exists that I would never bear,

but attempts are fruitless versus the paradox I created.

Worried are all that see a slow descent towards surrender.

They cannot know the danger faced.

They can never see.


A sight once so clear is mired in future deaths.

The butterfly’s wings have been rendered to shreds,

peeled off surgically to fulfill human impulses.

Must I reverse all and erase what brought growth?

Have I come to hold the hammer that strikes down all creation?


Ushering a father to his grave,

a child back to their isolation,

a rebel into endless woe;

is this the cost that must be paid?

To drag a weary soul back to its brink where emptiness awaits;

is this the cost that must be paid to see your smile?

To feel the warmth residing in the room

that marches valiantly in a life built of lies and posturing,

I’d slice off every limb if only to hear your laugh.


Brilliance is the haven out of reach.

Painfully aware now how far below I am.

If drifting into rifts cut into reality’s fabric,

a single chain linked to the center ensnares a wavering heart.

I would pay the cost to return to that realm.

I will pay the cost to know happiness again.


Madness be damned.

Precious Mayuri and Okabe : steinsgate
I do not own this image

(<3 Mitch)

The Worst Great Mind, pt. 1

Call it happenstance.

Call it determination.

Call it destiny preordained.

I am stood here all the same.


Call it genius.

Call it insanity.

Call it calculated.

I measure to the same failure.


Is it per my hand

or per my will

or per the pain of others

that I am henceforth pushed forward?


Driven by desire

and driven back by the selfsame urges

as reality itself bends.


I was familiar

and am now made alien,

venturing to known lands rendered unknown,

and the fault requires ownership.


At the head of a vessel

now spiraled out of control,

who am I to say I am not the one at blame?


Smothered by the demise of dreams

and the strangling of security

brought to fathoms below in a muzzle’s flash

or sliced in the aftermath of a car crash,

I alone bear witness.

I alone possess the guilt.

I alone am stranded between a creeping future of wrongs

and a reality I avoided.

Steins;Gate Ep. 13: Fate | Moe Sucks
I do not own this image

( ❤ Mitch)