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