Everything I Am

It's been a million eternities since I felt that sweet touch. Months upon months of withdrawn nightmares floating in a river of loss. I see the world through auburn goggles; a stillborn planet and a frozen sun. Don't try to love me. I'm too fucked up in the skull to be what you need. I could write a love letter to the stars but they would just fade away. Everyone gives me these alien words of encouragement but I know they're laughing when I turn away. Just giggling at the monstrous flaws of a dead man. I wish I could could take everything I am, put it into a crystal ball, and smash it over the head of the world.

High Class Woman (Worthless Cunt)

So beautiful in your high heels. fancy dress, and pound of makeup. Men flock to you like maggots to a corpse. But I have my ideals and standards. I'm not going to bow down to someone who would kick me in the teeth. How many people did you cripple to get where you're at? And how many friends did you leave bleeding to stand tall? You're not worth the scum beneath my fingernails. Serving no purpose other than drying up the wallets of unsuspecting twits, twat. I only hope the fires of Hell singe your luscious hair before it turns your money and body to ash.

Who The Fuck Are You?

Five seconds into my life and you claim to know all the answers. But you seem as smart as a twig and have the personality to boot. Monotony thrives in your every movement and ignorance chimes in your voice. Getting head from a cheese grater would be better advice than the rancid, manufactured bullshit you feed me. My eyes see differently the yours. My hands feel things you'll never touch. They're walls keeping your worthless grief and militant thoughts out of my life.

Dying Romantic's Plea

If I were to promise you eternal amour, would you take it? Or you would you snap it off and throw it to the wolves? I've been kicked out of so many sublime courtships that these scrapes on my sides resemble birthmarks. You whisper with doubt in your breath: "I'll be here always." It's enough to pacify my spasmodic esteem but I know it won't last. Tonight I'll go to bed smiling only to wake up 3 months later crippled and bleeding on the border of mortality.

Picture Of A Crucifixion

Your silk skin and pure beauty can pierce my everlasting gloom, but I'd trade them for solace any day. Memories shredded and strung across the sky like bolts of lightning on Judgment Day. I can still see your hair carving a gash into the summer air. It bled for years. How you could just walk away from everything we built. Now you're at my feet and begging for me to tell you the right words. All I can say is a faint "I forgive you" beneath clenched teeth while I fantasize about punting your pretty face into the horizon.

Dancing On Land Mines

Years of forgeries and philandering boiled down to a single act of ignorance. Purloined promises embedded on your sordid tongue. I am pathetic, dancing on every land mine you've placed in front of me. Shallow graves dug for every Judas kiss are scattered across Potter's Field. Cataclysmic thoughts now violate this frail, moribund man. Companionship has wilted away like violets buried under eight feet of snow.

Cigarettes and Anti-Depressants.

Summer, an exclamation point at the end of a sentence too long and written with immaterial words. Two decades of seconds drenched in midnight. Plastic reassurances are purged from black holes and splattered on extant murals of a fallen god. He's languid from cigarettes and anti-depressants designed to mold the mind into congruency. Eyes drip dust to a floor of ash and wrists seep rivers down canyons of flesh. A curtain is pulled over his coffin; the audience applauds. A life played in front of a insensate crowd, doomed to end in trepidation.

Heathen!

Some people look forward to God's stead, but I'd prefer a beer and a cigarette instead. Cross-bearers throng dusty pages down my esophagus and I can hardly breath. Promises of a nation in the sky keep you convivial, but it doesn't work for me. Keep it to yourself.

***

Drops of faith fall from your fingertips like the prayers from your mouth. I am not the current, here to wash it away. Rather, I am the dam. Built to withstand that which threatens to extirpate my thoughts.

Your Hands, My Noose

Dark cumulonimbus poise above, a sign of our scabrous homogeneity's demise. Obdurate metacarpals are nylon molecules percolating from the extremities of a wracked willow. Pernicious pronouncements, the lacerations on sentient tactility. Vacate from rebarbative hearths. The solitary way of enduring gaiety.

Lassen Sie Gehen

There's a girl weeping in a solitary womb feeding on lust and desire. And there's a boy with stagnant eyes burning a hole into a foggy mirror.

This is another brief reflection of a romance broken and left to die. Neither of us knew what we wanted, my love, and it ripped our appendages into giblets fed to a beast that only exists in nightmares. So close we came to wrap our arms around each other's cold and pale bodies. So close we came to tying our heartstrings into a perfect noose. I don't believe in God, yet I prayed every night to meld my lips with yours. But the match cannot kiss the fuse without predestined eradication. Black nostalgia swims in our every word. Let's let go of these rusted chains that bind us, honey. Let us smile at the heartache and move on to the labyrinth of future days.

The girl burns a hole into a foggy mirror with eyes like lakes. The boy lies motionless in a solitary womb feeding on loneliness and grief.

Autumn Rose

Depression hovers above my skull like a black helicopter following my every move. I'm an alien on my own planet, out of place and just flat-out weird. A misplaced step can cripple my bones and one person's rejection can set me on fire. Flammable flesh afloat in a creek of gasoline polluted with their words (like matches). They'll sometimes sit next to my bed and grasp my hardened hand, asking how I feel. I tell them I'm a rose wilting away in a grave of autumn's leaves.

You...

I think I loathe you. How you kiss me deeply but won't take me inside. You're free to do what you will but all you seem to accomplish is strapping me into an electric chair and whispering "Never leave." The weight of a dozen pythons are wrapped around the neck of my conscience when I tell you to fuck off. But tonight I'm setting them free, slithering straight to the question mark that is your heart.

Payback's A Whore, And We're The Pimps

Cunt politician, sitting on your chair cushioned from the poor's skin. Signing your name in blood on papers that cut our freedom. Fuck you! You hide in your tailor-made suit covering up your insecurities and penis envy. And you speak of liberty, then rape us with your wooden fist. There will be another war on American soil. Gangsters will clean graffiti and wash the city of evil; the homeless will arrest criminals wearing badges and live in mansions. We will impale you with the cross you use to justify your injurious actions. Our decisions won't emanate from the upper 1%. They'll flow from the commoner's mouth and our children's movements. The broken chains have been buried in your grave. Now you feel as we did, getting sodomized and tossed in the Styx river.

Dead Girl

She's perched atop a mountain, watching me wade through five feet of bile and regret. I would think she gets some sick orgasm from the sight but I know it kills her with every arduous second. I'm buried beneath her sulfuric tongue while teeth are knocked down my throat and I'm commanded to smile. Now the dead girl weeps as she engraves a breakup letter on my chest. Words the scars will remind me of for the rest of my life. Walking away, hair flowing in the air like cigarette smoke, she leaves a trail of tears leading to my bath of blood. A broken home and forceful affection have molded a tattered woman into a cold-hearted mistress dripping with sorrow. She dies everyday only to be born again with a gun in her mouth aiming for her cranium and your heart.

COMPLETE CHAOS!

UFOs circle above Small Town, America, probing the first borns and sending them off to die like unicorns lining up in a sniper's sights. The grains of sand under their feet are innocent fighters caught in the crossfire of camouflaged propaganda. The Earth's ceiling becomes black as a politician's heart as bombs heal it of ugly majesty. Meanwhile peaceful protesters impale the common man with picket signs reading "No blood for oil!" Riots are birthed for the cause of harmony and fires are set to cool down the tempers of citizens. All of this brought to your television by The Heart Of Man: "Forcing everyone into submission since the dawn of time!"

The Problem With Being Kind

"You are a mean, selfish asshole and a failure! You'll never get anywhere in life!" she screams at me through tangled lines. "Yeah, that's what they tell me," I replied before pushing the red circle and slamming the phone down. The problem with being kind is that one slip up will get you labeled as Pol Pot's reincarnation. Meanwhile, the ladies fawn and drown in the aura of those who beat them and put them down. I light up a smoke and lay back, erasing her numbers and deleting her names. I am reborn, or perhaps just relieved. Maybe she was right.

Just In Case

Your pale skin shins in summer's lonely heat. Wrap barbed wire around my neck and drag me through a garden of lust. Force feed me pleasantries and make me chug boiling infatuation. I resist your flirtation, pushing it away like insects hungry for blood. I'm still standing and waiting for you to slip over your false emotions. The sight of white pigmentation sliding across cracked ground will be a saving grace. I will not be pulled around by you. I will not be your little sex toy. I WILL NOT BE YOUR "JUST IN CASE"!

Nympho

Your tongue cuts in some kind of alien language I can't understand. A blade that slashes deeper than a sword. Mixed statements of love and uncertainty have forced me to shield myself from any aspect of your existence. You're a nympho that would take my cock but leave my spirit all cold and alone. I'd rather just watch as you wrap your serpent arms around other men. I feel sorry for those poor suckers knowing they're on a one way plane to the deepest bowels of Hell.

The Spider

He weaved his shelter while smoke possessed his entire aura. Now the spider dangles from a branch like a broken pendulum. Addiction was his life and his life was a cross slowly burning on a mountain's summit only to be blown away by a gust of poison.

I saw the most refreshing sight today. A middle-aged man driving a beat up truck... with liberal stickers on the back! an Obama/Biden one, a big media one with an X through it, and one that said "Vote Democrat." I couldn't help but smile and get filled with hope.

M/S

In a quick glance, we seem perectly fine
But cancer grips her spirit and regret grips mine

Chemicals cause her to purge it all to the ground
I can't help but cringe anticipating that sound

It's all left her with nothing but flesh covering bone
Her spirit is gone, and everything else she has known

Like the sun struggling to break through winter's cold
I can do nothing but watch her crumble and grow old

So many nights we sat, contemplating existence
So many obstacles blocking the light in the distance

There are only a few ways to take away this type of pain
But you can't accomplish any of them without leaving a stain

Tonight I'll take away all these negative things we feel
Lay it all to rest forever with two chunks of steel

Don't Bother

I gave Existence my entire life and dedication. All I got in return was a rusted bucket filled to the brim with dirty syringes. There's a girl in a black mask slowly creeping to my doorstep. I wish she'd hurry up and knock already.

I saw their funeral a few years ago. They buried each other under six feet of vows and dirty promises. The tombstones read "Happily married" but they should have said "Mutually rotting." Now they're just skeletons brooding in the caskets they built for one another,

They've been telling me that my words are painful and cantankerous. It's far from my intention. I feel that enough for myself. The clocks move slowly and spit magma onto my bed. I just want everyone to know I'm brimming with love while my arteries overflow with contempt.

One second is a euphoric field. The next is an apocalyptic warzone. There's a blond girl twirling in the grass while bullets rain like acid. I'd grasp her hand but I'd just get caught in the crossfire.

Glory Days

Listening to Springsteen's song, I can't help but remember the few I've had. I may not be able to speak of athletics or accomplishments. Those are scarce as civilization in the bowels of a forgotten jungle. However, I can mention some good times and the girls that got away. I remember drinking until the sun awoke from it's hibernation while grinning and purging into the wind. I'd smoke until my throat turned into a desert of tar and euphoria. The women have come and gone. I recall the girl from across the tracks stealing my innocence on a hot summer night. The woman from Colorado and I sitting on the bleachers on a winter day just embracing and chatting, thankful to be with each other. Those things are all in the past, but they won't be the last glory days I have. There will be plenty more. And they will pass me by like the wink in a young girl's eye.

The Miracle Of Rebirth

On occasion I'll sit and wonder how you are. If you and that little ray of light inside you are doing well. I sure hope so. At times I regret what happened between us, though I don't fault myself. Love has a way of making things tainted and bruised even when they're in full bloom. I'll never leak my sorrows to the ground over our unfortunate doom. Life will be just fine without you. I know you'll probably never read this, and maybe that's a good thing. Because the best way to make peace is to move on and not cripple yourself because of someone else's perception.