Two Funerals For The Price Of One

They propped the dying couple on elevated ground
Stood them up like mannequins rotting in the rain
Attached puppet strings made of government contracts
A pastor reads aloud from a book of necromancy
And the lovers read suicide notes to seal their love
With two words uttered to prompt the invisible killer
Now they kiss and share their poison (as good lovers should)
Before tossing a bouquet to another victim
God have mercy on these poor dead today
A stretched hearse takes them to a five star cemetery
Where they will be buried alive in suburban dreams
To decompose into each other, losing all feature
Until none is left but a mass of colorless and unfeeling flesh
Look close enough and you'll see a flicker of identity past
But it's just a child choking on the pull of their carbon rings

Beat Poem

I've ignited the forest
Sucked it through
Glass
Found that asteroids have
Angelic voices
Like infant cherubs

And I saw
Graffiti on the moon
Said that sex is god
And He is always
Judging us

And I witnessed
Saturn's rings implode
Particles of
Divorce
Love attracts but grinds

And I was there
As Atlus wept
Said the weight was
Too much
He put the Earth down
And wrapped himself
In cellophane

And I came back home
To admire the beauty
Of the burnt forest
To chill where smoke
Is always engulfing
Us

And to pray
For the cherubs

God Bless/God Damn

Our parents intercepted the cell signals
Hijacked the towers with ancient verse
Now the purpose is perfectly ingrained
Brains filtered through unread pages
They say “let Heaven absorb every midnight.”
It's been dark for a thousand years
And all the candles are wax over forlorn mouths
We wasted them trying to read stone tablets
Commandments will not save your children
The trenches are overpopulated with bullies
Byproducts of animosity don't give a damn
Look in their eyes and see the real true
When you were bloody and ashamed again
God didn't reach out his hand, as believed
Just another friend with a thousand backs turned
Childhood stumbles by, punch drunk and traumatized
What do we believe in if there is nothing for us?

Straitjacket Love Affair

I wish for a polygraph as a dowry
Because God knows I don't know
Do you weave reality or safety nets?
Rather sky-dive to Hell than get tangled
Shrug off compliments to avoid strain
My tangled spine is weary from plastic anvils
A teenager falling in love with cardboard cut-outs
Look close enough and they resemble flesh
Hell, I can't even tell the difference anymore
It's all a split second blur before the car crash
Where flames burned away my trust like skin
This faceless man loves you regardless
In spite of the paranoia that gives him shape
Silent minutes march on like brainwashed soldiers
They aim, shoot, fire, and hit
Lodging slugs in the flesh of a black hole

The Art Of Beating A Dead Horse

Strewn about a rusted bucket
The grinder's teeth are a distant memory
Fading from life.
I'm so used to cinder blocks
And atomic bombs strapped to my back
That the ocean floor is now my lover.
My deep blue everything.
She injects disease into my skin
When suicide notes get too boring.
Another night snorting ashes of dead poets
Has diluted my blood to the point of enigma.
They'll never identify me among the waste
This gutted city screams with every gust
They carry the torment to daycare centers
And animal shelters for the sick
The mind is a labyrinth of numbers
I find myself counting cliffs like black sheep
Under the overpass and over the fence
Childhood wonders as if it's normal
I've satisfied the bloodthirsty onlookers
Now staring at my reflection in the sun

Crush On Me

Highlight response
Push in
Thrust
Accomplished!

Matter of roses
Wrapped cholesterol
Feigned melting
Plagiarized proposal
All for love
(sex)

Disintegrating girl
My whole world
Pebble around Pluto
Hourglass sand grain
Peasant harlot
Thinks royalty

Adorable ignorance

Passing grades
Cheat anyway
Countless promiscuous nights
My cross hairs aimed
Target the lonely
Taken to cotton dreams
Never seen again

My love
The only one
Questions with puffed lips
Angel harp strings choke
Knuckles across cherubs
Heel to the heart
Black and blue symphony

Now take coitus
A few dead presidents
Forgive me

Show the stars
Elusive smiles
Tell the sun
Glitched forevers

Once jocose butterfly
Now leper caterpillar
Terrified Wonder Woman
Innocence dams the ditch
Lifeless, gutless, soulless
Mine forever
Our Rohypnol romance

Bless Me, Yesenin!

Forget sunshine
Fabrication of Helios
Stalker's orange eye
Hidden when sought
The false cure

Dandelions bleed
Black ice drip
To grass undeterred
And a lovely oak
Dressed in winter
Sings “Boys Of Summer”
Outside my window

Damn the girls
Speaking in poetry
Sonnet love notes
Iambic break up letters
Thought I find the one
Twenty five times wrong

Damn this place
Dried shell off orbit
Ground to brimstone gives way
Weightless depression reigns
Pushing down the sky

Wave goodbye to Russia
I, who crumble
As ancient castles seized
World's last speck of warmth
Constructed to subpar knots

Watch me swing
Left
Right

Then stop

AMBER

Think about it
A doll
Stripped down
Torn from aluminum skin
Perpetual last supper
Sun worshiper
Followed God into winter

Plastic pillar
Now solitary
Stationary
White as lies
Every bone shakes
Desolated dance floor
Paranoia in a disco ball

Time
Youth
Missing children
Ashen posters plastered
Ghost town intersection
Remnants sail hopeless breathing
Disintegrated into pollution

Breath in
Then out

Cancer is here

Self-Help In A Baggie (poem)

Bless you
Lord
I am me
Free
No nerves
Severed soul
Heart held hostage

Smoke engulfs
Highest percentile
A choked out
Gag reflex
Nothingness is pink
Bluebird bliss

We scraped it off
Night-life tumors
Brain tissue bred
The neoplasia orgy
Breezed away with rust

Bless me
Lord
I am me

Soil kisses the sky

Laundromat

The flaw of worry, the humanity it shows. I find myself methodically evolving into a lesser being like love making in reverse. Sympathy has given way to oceans of indifference around our stranded bodies. I cannot help this lady drifting on a stretcher. The white coats sliced her insides and trapped her behind bars of morphine. She can untangle the binds around her but is too entranced in hypochondria dreams to care. Another insolvent night and I catch myself staring at the Titanic. She cries to me for salvation but I can't prevent her from hitting the sea floor by changing the weather. Forever will I cherish what she's done, eternal will I hold her closer than any parent. I'm just too drenched to worry or sympathize.

Suit Of Question Marks

All creativity has drained from my body. It ripped through my pores as if the tissue was caving in on itself. The poor puddle of grief has drenched the mattress where my blood is supposed to soak. Where did the originality go? Was it ever here? I've carved my offspring to the bone and still starve. Skeletons weep, washing my identity away in a murky river. Poetry is dead. I locked her in the shed and fed her nothing but scraps from dumpster dinners. Rigor mortis dances ballet in the garden where my ideas bloom. They're wilted roses mourning atop foam coffins

Grunge

Is that biocide embedded in your lips? Are your arms constructed and put together with C4? I've been to this place a thousand times before. Deja Vu would be putting it lightly. No money to bribe my way out of this, no gifts to distract the berserkers, Nothing but dedication and it's not enough. You better run before you detonate. I am not good enough for you and we both know this. Don't feel guilty because I'll blame myself in the end regardless. The chain around the moon pulls it so close that I can taste the rock and hear the crows that call it home. They all say “don't follow.” I plan on nothing until this moment happens again. It never gets easier. Just a needle pumping more embalming fluid with each subsequent injection.

I Have Testicles

Pretty lady, lay your head on my lap. I'll tell you a story about a lovely girl and her romance with a .45. The sky flashed with crimson fireworks on their wedding night (her funeral) and she never saw happiness again. I am the steel in her grip and the claymore in your chest. The eternal man resides in violent flashbacks but you can see him right before your eyes right now. Feel honored, slut! Get down on your knees and open those jaws like you imprudently did with your heart. I'll make sure to sew your lips shut later. They only need open on nights I feel alone. Thank you but the prince is in another castle. You'll never find him in your new PTSD world where every man wears my face. Take the rejection and untruths with you to the crematorium. Some day you will burn but my chill will outlast the brightest stars and the hottest suns.

Insomnia

I am not alive, drifting through breathing and blinking motions. Autumn leaves and crisp soil fade to white nothingness leaving only the reaper hand of November. Distant cities are erected then demolished in a million spare thoughts. Armageddon behind closed eyelids. I just want serenity in the chaos, to throw a black sky over the burning world. But I'm reduced to jittering like a junkie waiting for his fix of pain. Sterilize the needle so angels can march through my veins. Let the harps whisk me into a thousand year coma where I can finally exist.

NO METAPHOR

The Boy took a quick gander at his naked room. White walls, beige carpet, and a solitary window accompanied only by a mirror, a wooden chair, and a dangling rope where the light bulb should be. His brown eyes looked over the slightly overweight and scarred body draped in a dirty metal t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans painted dirt brown. Outside The Boy's window the world is alive, something he could never relate to. Sounds of car horns and playing children led him to stand atop the chair. As the rope tightened around his neck he thought about money, women, time, and where all those things went (if he ever had them in the first place.) A chubby leg knocked the chair into the pearl wall with a loud crack. Remnants of two wasted decades poured through his cigarette stained teeth and faded away into nothing. He dangled there for weeks. The Boy finally lived!

Note From My Future Self

I hope by some unexplainable miracle that you get this and read it but I don't have high hopes. When you live in a gutter, the only elevated things are your mind from years of narcotics. I would simply tell you to give up on that stupid writer dream, throw a tarp over your mental scars, get a job, fall in with the plastic parade, conform, and plaster fake smiles on every wall. But I know you're too stubborn for that. So hear goes nothing: First, trust no one who uses the word “brother” as a term of endearment. They'll only use the blood to suffocate you. There will be pairs of beautiful eyes inviting you into forever. Don't follow. It's just where sanctuary and kindness go to die. Family ties may be strong but don't rely on them to hold you together. You may ask “what can?” but I honestly don't know out of artificial means. Don't let other's venom poison you. The only antidotes are apathy or inflated arrogance. Avoid parties. They're only filled with countless people you'll never relate to and the mornings after just paint you to look like a stunted clown. Kill your emotions and drag the corpse down High Street to show them all they'll never win. Oh, and for God's sake, don't listen to any notes claiming to be from the future!

Us

God have mercy on the High Street suckers and their liquid sorrows on tap. Yuppies exhausted from the endless prostitution of anxiety stumble on straight sidewalks, suicide bombers ignorant of their ultimate fate. We're already in Heaven. All our mistakes turned to angels when they inhaled the burning forest. They blessed us with blemishes and tainted minds. We once rode into the sunset with a rusted pick-up truck while the jury gave chase in sports cars. For a split second, life exploded into a mess of contradictions only to reappear in the shape of a flower on the their mass grave. We deserve no less. Life has lost its edge and the ghosts keep spiraling into futility.

The Brittle Dandelion's Last Vision Before Getting Trampled Underfoot

Fuck you all! I'm taking my cannonball and going to the deep end. You'll never stop me. The crows encircle a new moon and pieces of me are in each of their stomachs. Reality cracks to reveal two entities laughed out of Heaven, scarred and burned with stunted thoughts. Lord have mercy on the corner man playing marbles with his own bone marrow and the child who embraces nihilism. The bottle is pointless. The heart is pointless. The cross is pointless. Mr. Denton has broken his glasses on the front line of a personal apocalypse. I can't read the words on these walls with my cerebellum hogging the spotlight. Persistence is futile.

To No One In Particular

You have hands of gardens, voice of oceans. Eve contradicting the unwashed heathen at her feet. I know I have not been well but place me in that jacuzzi in your eyes and I'll be born again. Watch the scars peel from the flesh and down the drain to oblivion (where the ex lovers go) Let's ride high on a chariot through back roads while my esteem drags on the gravel below. The horses may cry into pure midnight but your skin flashes with miracles that put all the doctors and saints to shame. Take my discolored palm and lead me to your bed where I can dream wide awake of being a God instead of a beggar. You can give me your sorrow and foibles. I'll place them in the black hole within for you to stitch with your lips as the Mongol Empire burns in our embrace.

...But I'm Not Bitter

I could tear her down from that tightrope leading to the gator's belly or rip apart the curtains shielding gorgeous noon. Galaxies birth, die by minutes and the oceans have dried to featureless canyons. They seemed to have dissolved on those nights I never got to speak (countless words never uttered.) Friendship teeters like a snow globe balanced on a needle during an earthquake. Can she pinpoint when all the playful nudges and kisses become fatal domination and control? His love runs on sugar in the gas tank but all she can feel is the sweet taste before ignition. A million insomniac wars and suicide mornings could be avoided if I still gave a damn. It's not even worth an “I told you so!”

Glitz Pig

This game of strip poker has been drug to the morgue. Shed the skin that took you hours to process and toss it to the semen-soaked floor. Just dance! Show us your stuff, lady. They'll go gaga! Claim the snowflake and grab the sand grains. Pyramids have lost their tenets, mummies stripped down and bedecked in severed stuffed animal heads. Desert air tainted in cough syrup pushes the remedial army to some bad romance. You're not qualified to speak for a generation that's already wandering. Seas can't split if the leader is cracking graves of those who aren't even dead. Go ahead, show me your po-po-poker face. I'll call your fucking bluff

Pornography

Justice in blowtorches. Childhood sweethearts lose their virginity at the front line of a gang war. Bullets and semen shake your hand at the 5:30 traffic jam. Stuck just as planned! Every doomsday plot is hatched at a red light. Cubicle villains write a series of manifestos entitled Erotica for Fecalpheliacs. The pages line cribs of future strippers and street walkers, bred to imperfection. No sympathy shown to babies baptized at whorehouses. Place bullet casings in their rattles, tie a paper noose on the swing. Little boys make their first dollars with lemonade laundering. Little girls get their first kisses under a roofy's influence. This is our future. An orgy of lepers dehydrating under an exploding sun.

Would You Dance With Me?

Wishes beget construction of atomic weaponry beneath the dance ball. Glass slippers tapped patterns of withdrawal on a plutonium floor. The song was forgotten decades ago but I love the sentimentality. Some star is mummified in the urinal and Sergei Yesenin is perched above on a clogged pipe. A group of girls showed me the view from Hell on a white line between numbers. I saw my mom there for a split second. They drug me to the disco ball that flickered along with my aphrodisiac yearning. We danced until I passed out next to a poster that read “Reach for the stars!” The morning reminded me of poverty and a thousand regrets. There's no women here, no euphoria. Just glass shards scraping a bomb like some feline scratching a pole of nails.

Misanthropy As A Defense Mechanism

Soak the air in thermite

Light a glass pipe

Conflagration shields

Broken phone lines

Four letter liaisons

Condensed rejection

New age Salem

Outcast's tears glitch

Weightless stones resting

A jury of sun skin

They claim venom

I'm a goat

Not a snake

Jagged lines in fur

Grazing 180 degree plains

Desperation falls on apathy

Reinstate the immortal

Holidays of solitude

It's all self defense

All psychology

Lupus

Sidewalks of our old neighborhood detached themselves from distorted roads. The concrete serpent constricts me from time to time. It's the only embrace that's really true. A woman with red skin avoiding the sun like her emotions. Used to nothing other than death. Every want I had was punished with a trip to the prison you constructed in your yelling. Condemned to feel sympathy for things I didn't understand. There were middle schoolers writing my condemnations in the hallways and beautiful women trying to burn me from their minds. My nylon fantasies boiled worry in that heart you occasionally put in the refrigerator. Our home was my shanty asylum where the armed villagers could never find me. Contact is cancer. Today everything is gone. The safe home whittled away with your immune system. Society grows on my conscious like malignant cells. Touch me, embrace me like I never did. Bring back the days of the first diagnosis. I'm holding on to a stone body with your name etched in it. And years...

Scavenger

I can't admit to meeting Luck. Never saw her face in the flood of damsels. Black, blond, purple hair skipping across a city of aquatic graves. I'm dry but still soaked to the yearning bone. My hands stained from scavenging in troughs filled with atria and ventricles. They were out of key to the symphony of an ashen psyche. Every beat is stuck to me like filth. The flower voices, galaxy eyes, jaguar bodies. The peaceful yearnings that project home movies on storm clouds. I've placed them all next to me in bed where dozens of attempts have slept and slipped through my arms. I am lucky.

Night Recess

Gang members in stained jackets march down forgotten avenues. Electric vines are vomited from the cracks in the cement, gnawing at the numb cattle like starving cobras. Some boy asks a girl” “Want to dance in Dusk's caress?” when the moon burnt out centuries ago. One can still catch a glance of a star in martial law. The police adorn themselves in white robes and brandish manufactured chemicals at us unruly. To protect and pacify. We're already imprisoned in forests of gray matter. Life is aborted over and over again to produce stem cells for the prison system. Solitude through socialization. Remember, butterflies always congregate but never speak. Love is revolution.

The Tip Of My Pistol Is Smeared With Lipstick

The revolution was dead before you set foot out of suburbia. They manufactured suffering and you bought it with a forced frown. Flash binary tears for the audience of owls perched on fine wooden desks. They can't differentiate between punctured flesh and pirated witchcraft. You've written doctrines in butchered English and abbreviated feeling. I've flirted with dumpsters and shook hands with skeletons. Others have famished in the stomachs of cities and riddled family photographs with bullets. Wail about paternity while tainted babies sleep in abandoned forts. Sympathy has been drained from the world and placed in the pool outside your home. This whole malady is a fad. Kill yourself.

Dark Comedy

Wrap your spine around me. Squeeze tight so puss blasts through the pores. Take some pictures and make a collage entitled: “Society's Downfall” Please don't mind the mess. I've been cleaning it up for decades. The filth simply falls from my tongue and fingertips. In fact, this yellow and black mess is the most beautiful thing I've seen in a while. It'll be at home here if I don't scare it off first. Don't bother hiding that culpatory glance. You have the eyes of my mother, the lips of an ex. There's nothing that can please you here and I can't buy your respect. I can't even afford it for myself. Someday the aluminum floor beneath my toes will swallow me whole like a steer eating shit. They'll bury me in a tuxedo of rags and torn jeans if I don't beat them to it.

Cigarettes

Our courtship was denied at the Supreme level but we're viruses in this concrete bloodstream. There's a slow dance on a floor of corpses, knives binge on the beat. Does the twinkle in my eye match the neon light in your heart? Just look next door at the pet cemetery. They gassed the crows and put our names on the stones. The two of us are fugitives wanted at The Last Supper. White suits will spread wildfire to get us out of bed in the morning. But we're bad. We've sent oil rig engineers to an asteroid headed for Earth and bred zombies in civilian designated areas. Tomorrow they'll tie our entrails to a cross but tonight we'll be martyrs swinging blissfully from a broken pendulum.

Wholesome

Stand back, don't get involved! This is between me and the little ones. They ignited a bomb at the school yard. Look at the skin all colored in diseased dreams. You've outdone yourselves this time. Hey, hands off! I said I can handle this. Go deal with the starving Ethiopian in our back yard. I hear they like radiation. Children, don't ever forget that life lays with big suits in a clouded palace. They don't want to start the flame in your heart. They only want to set the world on fire. When you were younger I said you would never amount to much but you've stood me up, corrected. Let's lay under an asbestos blanket and watch slow motion footage of cancer growing. It's the least we could do together. I'll tell the police you're risen beyond Saturn. Just tell your mother to whip up some more pox for dinner.

Earache

Nihl. America perched peacefully on a black oak on a moonless eve. I see nothing but a faint light in the darkness. Is it salvation or my digital clock? Is it weird I don't care? We quarrel in the canals knee deep in infection. Eighty three have died today. Ninety five died yesterday. Their bodies are now a dam we built a little ways up. I want to riddle this place with M-80s and place a few thousand sticks of dynamite in the oval office. A great show to play along to the ringing in my head. Serve up some pills and pass the syrup, baby, cause it's gonna be a long night!

Such A Pity

Like a kitten that has outgrown the thread, I tire from the sight of blood. Once crimson roses have whittled to drab and dreary abortions. I'm running out of places to hide my treasured mistakes. They dissolve acid but burn so delicately. I can never get the smoke out of my clothes. Every method has been done to so many deaths. The Statue of Liberty strangled with scissors embedded in her skull, guts spilled to the cement flooding the street in cyanide. Such a boring sight. I'd long for more but there's nothing left. The world is a bomb ready to detonate and freeze us all.

Nihilism?

October breeze bristles the grass behind my face. This season resuscitates conflicting nostalgia and grief. So many have fallen from my grasp at the cliffs of Autumn. Some tripped into coffins while others stumbled into the arms of better lovers. No matter. All love is predestined to plummet as cold rain on helpless leaves. On this clear night I sit in an inclined field and light a glass pipe. It's crackling harmonizes with the crickets to make a beautiful symphony. Laying on the grass, I stare at the sky in cliché fashion. So many stars. They should all disappear. Imagine this dying planet encased in black like a grieving widow! Riots would purge the continents into flame. Finally something we would could all see eye to eye on. I think of annihilation while the face of a beautiful girl gazes at me through dew drops on the grass. Serene, she sings gospel for a church of heathens. Life is beautiful, life is wonderful. Everyone is dead and the ashes claw at our bones.

Fable

Steve and John used to walk down to the reservoir and fuck behind the waterfall to hide their love. One day they saw Jesus, his leg trapped under a boulder. They used their limited strength to push it into the sea, sealing the waterfall forever. Our Savior gave them each a kiss and promised the star-struck lovers entrance into Heaven. A few weeks later some rednecks caught them making love and hung their dainty bodies from an oak tree overlooking the reservoir. Three months passed and a tornado ravished the inbreds' trailer park; ripping their obese, snuff spit-drenched bodies to bits. Now Steve and John sip wine coolers with God while the heathens get sodomized in Hell.

Chemo

Dissecting this database of pornography at my fingertips, I ponder the fickleness of fate. Do lovers fall together or fall from dreams? The latest one rests as I drag her body across stones and thorns. A crimson snake follows us on this path, as if to say “Life is cancer.” She lays at peace in her decorative soil coffin. This makeshift graveyard is beautiful with the leaves falling like corpses from rotted nooses. It's so easy to envy the beautiful and their ignorance to the world. I sometimes wish for the privilege of sleeping next to them sometimes. To feel warm next to their frost as the leukemia swallows us all.

That Mirror In Your Pocket Would Look Better On My Bedroom Floor

Hey baby, do you come here often? Why lean against that bar when you can be leaning on me instead? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the Alpha Male weaned on the devil's breast. Don't bother speaking. Your mouth is only useful for giving me a merciful drought. I can tell you're an Epsilon Female. Jesus, you're not even blonde. Let's call a cab and we can go to my place. Shed that revealing skin, girl! Show me your assets and we can discuss a business merger in the waking hours. Dating? No way. That “love” thing is worthless when we have flesh. Let's make MTV proud. You can pay for the morning after. Not my problem. Never call me. I can't hear you when you're so far down on the knees. It must have hurt when you fell from Heaven but it will hurt more when I kick that tight ass out my door.

A Random Song By Billie Holiday

Maybe you'll find me tied to some train tracks in a black and white town. Cut the ropes and guide me to rainbow screens. Those eyes shine but with which color I have no idea and it doesn't matter. I just want to get lost in something other than my own devices. It's too foggy and cold in this labyrinth. Speak and I'll listen forever. Prove that you're not all the same. I'd set myself on fire for the knowledge. For you, my diamond, the rain drops would be rose petals and the desert an oasis. Every grain of sand would have your name written on it ten times over. Let us bring the world down to worship us and our pure love. Let us slow dance in the middle of forever before I realize I'm holding onto nothing but a ghost.

Happy Time Harry

This is beautiful, no question. A dust garden in full bloom under a wooden sky. Dance with me where wingless butterflies flutter on linoleum beaches. They're claustrophobic and the walls are embracing like lovers. The sun is always shining here. It's placed in a glass pane above the cotton gurney. Want to watch it set with me? It'll only take a second. The patient needs a hand to heal. Infections spread fast when they start beneath the skull. You should see the pills they gave me. They're the color of a girl's eyes I used to court. Disjointed little things manufactured in some blackened dream with a taste of forbidden fruit. I swallow them with a bottle of arsenic and pray for life.

Six Sides That All Look The Same

I believe in predetermined lives, mine written behind the scenes. Invisible men with cluttered desks racking brains over a single word. Work it, babes! Mine can't be as creative. Too busy forging hair from marble and brushing teeth in acid. Gotta look good for the starving dogs outside. Think green, my little pups! We can save the world with spoiled banter! Tomorrow I'll walk into a burning building and save a few orphans, then maybe I'll find true love in a clichéd showdown. Life's so simpler when my paper forefathers forge this personality for me.

Sleeping

We've awoken from dreams of scripted households to a nightmare of a microwaved world. Instant gratification comes to the front door dressed in blood-stained Gucci, a warning tattooed on their fingers: “They've planted viruses in suburbia. Run for your lives!” No one's hip unless they run in a square and we're driving comatose. A shanty town has been built at Lincoln's feet, held together by dollar bills. The residents listen to eyeliner symphonies sung by an army of underage prostitutes (we gotta soften the shells!) Everyone plays Big Brother today since their peers shoveled artificial sweetener into the corneas. Dear uncle has decorated our faces with a money shot and asked “Are you full?” We're not even half.

Kill Me, Please!

I'm the bee's knee's, the cat's pajamas. A clean bill of health on my mind. Where's the beef? I find it all in a good year's work. Another day another dollar. Money makes the world go 'round! I save 15% or more on car insurance and so can you! Sign on the dotted line, let's have lunch! We can discuss the endless potential of plastics over some coffee. I take mine with creamer. Got milk? On sale for $29.99! And if you call within the next 5 seconds, you get this anti-zit cream FREE! So just call or send me a txt. Your need is our concern.

Razing Paris

The uniformed men came in to sweep our town of organ dealers and smitten lovers. A posse of dust figurines met them at the city.gates. One proclaimed: “Let that which bends be eternally justified.” There's a boy lost in the town square and a girl atop the clock tower brandishing her sniper rifle, arteries high on sunshine and eyes flickering like static. She pulls the trigger and a bullet kisses his chest, leaving a cross. Borders were ripped apart as dolls melted into the salty breeze. We've been exterminated for the good of beating hearts with only a few hands missing on the incident report.

The Innocence Of A Little Girl

"You'll always be mommy's little angel" she told me
Right before I stabbed her in the neck with scissors
Red geyser pulsing like the lies from her mouth
The gash could never match my lacerations
Constellation of terror adorned on my back
Family nights of "beat the failed little sister"
Dear brother can't scream in ecstasy anymore
His neck caressed with a jump rope from the ceiling fan
Daddy will never mark me with unrestrained pleasure
Too difficult with his dick in a meat grinder
Bastard family wilted as frosted sunflowers
The abused became the abuser (eye for a knife)
Wearing that crimson shoe, I am finally a princess

Birds, Bees, Booze, And Broken Hymens

A marble statue carved in perfect formation

I hate this, my beautiful exterior

Clouded judgment like arrogance in reverse

Therefore this “ugliness” must be shown

Skimp on cloth to attract the vultures

An addiction to attention in advanced withdraw

Need another shot boys. Who wants to give?

Don't be shy, these spread legs are a centerpiece!

Someone needs to peg my loathing away

Faceless with no reason or origin

Like my fetus in a garbage can

Don't tell me it's fake (though my tits are)

Where are you going? I must never be alone!

Oh well, time for another drink

Maybe I'll find another excuse in this bottle

God knows it'll never be enough

Coward With Bruised Knuckles

Refusing resolution, you've drawn the fists

Hungry for conflict and disgusted by peace

Savage beat-downs simpler than therapy

Too complex for the putrefied mind we have here

Masturbating on a badly drawn picture of Jesus

Painted with your own festering feces

“God damn those who preach kindness!”

Obnoxious war cry of the drama student

Your cheeks are red, your knuckles are blue

Just mascara covering the frightened child within

Cling

I owe you everything including the world
My muse, reason, goddess. My skin and scar
Show the view behind goggles, infatuation tint
Everything is pink through your eyes
To me, they're all gray with no feature
Distortion without interruption or force
Television snow flickering on a bad porno
Static moans with no climax in sight
This is worthless and nihilistic
Like a guardian angel in peaceful moments
My phone replaced with your poem
Badly worded, littered with false emotion
The moon gets ugly when it's all we see
The sun gets cold when it's all we feel
I'm so sick of seeing your face when I dream
Stuck to me, my magnet of feces and shrills
The reason it's better to just be alone sometimes

A Bit Closer To Heaven

I remember the snowflake dancing on my neck
Like a figure skater carving death threats in ice
The cold wouldn't faze me, not what I am now
Happiness died on the floor of my home years ago
Crimson jewelry decorated my love, a junkie's catharsis
My child now dreaming green in a tipped-over crib
The world has become as New York City
Frozen in it's own animosity, tainted with noir
Screams of my family pushing toward the final word
A bullet screaming in it's trail to the witch responsible
Maybe I would find solace in the Valhalla of revenge
Maybe I would finally wake up from the American Dream

Heroin Queen

When I walked into the apartment, a tourniquet was already wrapped around her arm as she was injecting the brown sugar within. A body thin as icicles in spring sat in a throne room adorned with pizza boxes, empty beer cans, and paraphernalia. I gazed into her eyes and saw an innocent child smothered in nations of sepia smoke, yearning for a hand. The Heroin Queen flashed me her smile, teeth yellow like sunflowers. A garden I've frolicked in several times before. She asked me if I wanted a shot.

“I'll pass, thank you. How long do you plan on living like this?”

“I'm not alive. I've been dead for years. The gak just keeps my heart beating,” she replied

“You know, it doesn't have to be this way. You can always quit,” I told her

“To cease the drug is to cease breathing.”

That's when she nodded off. I walked over to her and gently caressed her hair. It was black confetti falling off into my hands. Leaving the apartment, my thoughts turned to life in general. How promising existences can turn into septic ponds in a split second. Back in the day we dated, it was a beautiful thing. The two of us reciting poetry to each other while the stars smiled. She said: “My love caresses you like a storm around the earth, rain dampening the depression inside. Let me hold your body as we melt into heaven like angels on fire.”

And then there was my line: “I want your essence in my blood, the unrestrained rivers flow. Let the dams burst with the intensity of our love and watch the world drown.”

Now she was loveless in her own gulag, the only feeling being craving. I wanted to tell her my heart beat only for the black-haired beauty. Nothing could express the regret to make her understand. The needle was an abusive lover, severing all ties she had. That night it killed her.

At the funeral there were only five people. No tears were shed since everyone saw it coming. The Heroin Queen looked at peace in ther coffin, free from the bounds of perpetual abuse. The pastor said some words about Heaven but I wasn't paying attention (anything would be bliss for her now, even if it was an eternity in fire.) My only thoughts where the “what ifs.” What if I saved her that night? Perhaps the two of us would be on a mountaintop right now instead, forging a reality that would put any romance novel to shame.

After they buried her I stayed at the grave, gazing at the horizon. The sun was hiding from this fretful day behind a white veil. My Heroin Queen is the sun, and I the veil. Together at last and forever, only in the skies. Only in dreams.

I'm Not Bitter

Joined the parade early in life
Psychiatrists and therapists
Marching to the tune of textbooks
They gave my sorrow a name
And I melded to the diagnosis
Bipolar breath reeking of failure
Sliding across the asphalt of anxiety
Too long knocking at depression's door
Knuckles bruised from fighting with myself
Looks, actions, inabilities, and mistakes
Reasons I'm constantly fighting this war
All battles taking place in the mirror or head
Wishing to fight you/them instead
Too terrified to fire at those potentially innocent
This alien boy just wants compassion
Where friendship and love lay dying in a ditch
For men steal, women lie, humanity shrugs
The misanthrope is just a romantic who sees clearly
And God knows he loves you all

Euthanize!

Exhausted all resources
Now a wasteland of flesh
The mind is a chronic illness
Vomit stains on self-image
A cancer growth on sanity
And me, the walking infection
Trying cures of razors and pills
Daily therapy with a noose
Like trying to kill God
Suicide is not a physical thing
It always happens within
Long before the deed takes place
I've been dead for a decade now

Summer Fling

There was a time when you and I
Blind to the tight hand of life
Would sit in an inclined field
Under an audience of stars
Discussing the worthlessness of life
You would smoke a cigarette or two
And I tried to warn away the cancer
That smile could burn it away
A giggle and a puff, then exhalation
You claimed to be a rebel
It was nailed down at the time
No interest in school or authority
Then there was me, angelic by comparison
Ready to obey anyone intimidating enough
You knew that and took it with stride
My tattered goddess from across the tracks
All chains rust and break away
I won't bother with the mundane details
Five years ago it was a personal apocalypse
But the world still breathes softly
Sometimes when I smoke a thought is born
That beautiful face in teenage mold
“What if?” tattooed on the forehead
It's brushed to the side, forgotten
No use to dwell on ghosts
You could be swimming in the sewers
Frolicking in heaven with the perfect man
It all means absolutely nothing to me

Faust

Demons dressed to arouse and charm
Showing skin for the witting worshiper
Hands clasped in prayer, tangled with webs
The pact signed in your own bile
For this courtship, you exchange:

• Your money
• Your freedom
• Your friends
• Your identity
• Your existence

Happiness is yours. Celebrate!
Throw a funeral for the one in love
Buried in a suit and recycled vows
The bones have superior lives now
Standing out more than my friend, the shell
Stuck in a perpetual suburban nightmare
Your apathy for life hovering over like memories
The ring on your finger is just a fancy prison

Like Lemmings

In blue fog she puffs on a cigarette

Peeling another man's skin from her teeth

Tossed to the wind, fading as dried leaves

I wish every night to be the next victim

The orgasm of falling apart in her gnawing frenzy

We're already mush before she bites down

Eyes like hammers to tenderize diamond boys

“Make me a statistic, left crippled in the ocean”

I'll die honored at the feet of statuesque glamour

God Is A Carrot?

We're free from the shackles of monarchy

But still bowing to the royalty on the street

White trash princesses, high class whores

Tonight we pray to the glittering slut

They bottled up the sun and bathed her

No identity, promiscuity the only trait

Laying to the top of this world

Face splattered on every page read

Now she's all we can think about

Our God is sinful and sacrilegious

The church's hymns replaced with pornography

Hell is a place of mass media rejection

Invisible to her manufactured love

Accept the orange queen or rot in solitude

Beauty is dead and lying is sexy

Death Is A Teenager

The nameless boy stands facing the entrance

A house of knowledge with laughing walls

The rain pours like homicide from his psyche

Wind blowing his tangled blond hair

Thin as a paper cut but housing a world of grief

The circus came and went in his head

All left is garbage piled to crimson-tinted eyes

Every word will be avenged, every taunt retorted

He opens the door and brings the gallows with him

Two .45s drawn before the young ones could repent

They were all guilty of being normal, sentenced to be statistics

Fireworks erupting in an ocean of oil and gasoline

Screams flying in the air mixing with blood

The schoolhouse was renovated to Potter's Field

Survivors clinging to their vital signs

Wondering what all the "harmless" teasing made

But the nameless boy will have the last laugh

Flashing a rare smile before turning the anguish on himself

Now the walls will weep until this generation passes

Mourning the loss of so many potential futures

Ended in an orgy of misanthropy,frustration, loneliness

Somewhere down the line all of this will be forgotten

And the nameless boy will return to another town

Shooting up his peers for another string of worthless insults