The Art Of Self Degradation

I am a maggot reflected in diamonds
My flesh slowly eaten by rotted bodies
Products of me, the boy with a closet graveyard
Reeking of ghost skin and suicide sweat
Existence put into question by a winged youth
When I disappear in his sniper sights
Sometimes I wonder If I even have a heart
Maybe the butterflies ate it years ago
And I'm kept alive by the tunnel's dim light
That's burning out for my own sake
So I don't have to see the crawling apocalypse

Estrogen Molotov Cocktail

You dream of the rare marble
I fantasize about only you
Who would never chance a beggar
Even if he gave all for you
No, it's all about the perfection
Chiseled and somewhat bland
But it's worth a whole lot
And the sex is pretty good
So what if the shine blinds you?
Does it matter that it cuts you?
Left bleeding in that abyss
Allow me to throw you a rope
So you can hang yourself with it

God's Mistake

Barbed wire drips from the cracked sky
Forming dream catchers entrapping doves
I sleep in a field of yellow grass and feathers
A human compost pile on orbiting garbage
(God's little mistake lives longer than Heaven)
My mouth is a minefield of scars and stitches
It bleeds hate with every breath of death and decay
Occasionally pleading with an exiled king
To die and go straight to purgatory

Lost Touch

I cannot relate to my fellow man anymore
The soil they walk on has more in common with me
(Stagnancy molded by foot prints and afterthoughts)
They're too busy worshiping invisible sociopaths
Too caught up in the heroism of poverty genocide
I prefer the poetry of a crimson-stained wrist
Over the delicacy of a three course meal of pills
It will put this garbage heap deep into the ground
To actually be stepped on instead of just feeling that way

Dead World

The world doesn't deserve to be saved
It should die slow and painfully
Like the idea of friendship in modern times
Whittled down to money and social status
We tossed our hearts to the bonfire
To keep ourselves warm at room temperature
Replaced them with news tickers and phones
We wonder why we've been so lonely
When love is lying unconscious next to us
All we do is take the money from her pocket
And stick our dick in her before she wakes up

Don't Look At Me I'm Weird

It's the fading hours of another week
The city drinks skeletons with orange rabbits
I prefer to inhale mine with some scorched necks
Lose ourselves in coded worlds on disk
A wild desert, a cold continent, a distant planet
Awkwardness subdued like my urge to procreate
Memories made from laughs, not blackened disease
The proles ingest then gush their release
About as much as I reuse poem titles

Street Jam

In the square heart of America
I play a harp of arteries and veins
A song of love and prosperity
It freezes society for a moment
Until the politicians start weeping
Celebrities blanket the homeless
This country collapses into the clouds
Just so we can raise it to the stars
Where citizens become painite chains
Wrapped around the hands of dirt
Where the hermits can have an opinion
That matter more than the lying dead
It's a utopia found only in children's books
And a victory worth bragging about

The Message Is: There Is No Message

I am an animated adolescent
Who lives in a colorless suburb
My girlfriend is a mouse or a rat
I can never really tell which
She talks in smoke rings
Above the music our town makes
Every Christmas there is a sleepover
And the whole town argues over where
I usually just hope it’s not here
Because I feel ill in this gathering
Some rockstar said I have cancer
It’s localized in my tonisils
That I keep in a jar next to my bed

Suicide Notes For Dummies

Hey Fuckers,

You're probably surprised at this gruesome mess before you. Never would have crossed your mind that it would come to this, did it? Now that I got that last bit of sarcasm out of my system, hi! How are you? As you can see, I'm not doing too well. I'm dead! Why did I do it you're asking? Well, that's a funny story (but not really).

You see, I've always felt alone. Even surrounded by close friends. It must be how Justin Bieber feels when he's not around prepubescent twinks. Speaking of him/her, why is it that people like it have so much money when people with actual talent and good qualities clutch pennies like a hypochondriac trying to keep a cold? Seriously, I've spent most of my life being terrified of dying. Which makes this whole situation ironic...maybe. I was never clear on what true irony is.

You're probably getting bored reading this. I was pretty bored writing it. So, here is where I give away my possessions. Or else I would if I had anything worth giving away. Someone might want an Xbox 360 with barely working controllers, an 8 year old PC, and a few pennies. But deciding who would get what would take too much effort and fuck that. So you can all bicker and fight for them. Kind of like what you did when I was alive.

Well I feel as if I've said enough here. That and I can't think of anything else that's remotely interesting to say. It was nice knowing you (okay, I liked earlier when I said that was my last bit of sarcasm). Have a nice life. I hope it eats you alive like it did trying to gnaw through my fat ass.

Fuck you,
Bobby

P.S. Sorry about the messy corpse.
P.P.S. On second thought, no. I'm not.

A Personal Choice

If I were to give myself to the steel
You probably wouldn't notice at all
If you did, it would just be an afterthought
A stuck thorn you use to gain sympathy
Then promptly pull out when satisfied
My depression is like the vine it came from
It grows until it strangles the child watering it
Then hangs his body high where no one can see
Except for the dying angels and vultures

Misotheism

If you're religious, you shouldn't read this. I won't be held responsible for the anger this may cause

I fit into this world like Mercury rain drops
A petty thief in Guantanomo's bowels
Inhaling stress then exhaling awkwardness
Filter tossed to the ground, never decaying
Fear stays when everything else dies
I hold it next to my heart like a bible
When praying to a god I don't even like
Sadistic player of emotions and health
I'll make sure to flip Him off before I go to Hell
Where the flames will weld my wounds shut

I Love My Country

Happy birthday America
Subject of the patriot cult
Sacrificing the ill in your name
Fed rotted culture until you vomit
Sift through it and become educated
Toss that away and keep the bile
Just save it for a rainy day
Keep dry with flak jackets and guns
Let the poor die in the precipitation
Bury them under embezzled funds
It’s their fault for making clouds, right?
All knowing one with solutions for all
Keeps their dunce cap in the closet
Next to their Viagra and ankle monitor

Poetry Don't Work On Whores

She throws herself at pedestrians
Because that's what society dictates
An offering to the celluloid gods
Orange coated in their worthless majesty
A dry hole in her body creates a vacuum
That engulfs everything she touches
It could set the polar ice caps on fire
Uncover Atlantis as a barren desert
I feel blessed that she walked past me
As if I dodged a bullet coated in disease