Chaos Theory

You better hold on to that hurricane while you can

Before it's dropped and whittles to your core

Probably should have learned to restrain that energy

Drape your troubles in mountains, perhaps?

But no, it's just one big mass buried below sea level

And soon you'll be drowning in your own discontent

All because you refused to leave

An Unfinished Poem I Wrote In The Mental Hospital

I told myself if it ever came to this that I would bleed oceans

But my heart isn't pumping anything worth swimming in

Just a few gallons of leftover tar and some noxious fumes

Everything moves so slow now it's like love's organs

Frozen enough to make you want to sleep for decades

This is the holocaust for the insomniac

Who wonders the alleyways of their own brain

Trying to find a dead stray to use as a blanket or cushion

The people behind the padded walls seem so nice

Though I probably don't deserve what they're giving

My only justifiable possession is a trash can overflowing with doubt

That spills on me whenever I try to set it on fire

Possibly out of fear that I would burn the world to nothing

A personal apocalypse can happen more than once and often does

Which is what Murphy probably thought when he drafted his law

I Attempted Suicide And All I Got Were These Lousy Medications

I have exhausted the limbs of salvation
By doing absolutely nothing with everything
Grandfather clock coughs by the seconds
We shall harmonize, he and I
Burning cancer to choke out desperation
Freight train in my guts derailed from the smoke
I shit out steel and bones after every meal
And then cut myself on the remains
This world would be dead if I wasn't drained
But the western hemisphere is going numb anyway
None of it really matters at all
These pacifiers in an orange bottle I suckle
They only delay the digging of an honorable exit

The Mating Habits Of Barnyard Animals

I love it when I stick my tongue down your throat
Sewage pours from your mouth like a junkie's last breath
And when you rummage your fingers through my guts
It feels as if there are tornadoes tearing up my stomach
We hold each other as the grass below us blisters and the world burns
Debating whether or not to throw the other into the fire

My Only Anger Problem Is Existence

My mother spat me into the world at breakneck speed
Launched into the sky, my head hit the stars
I came crashing back down in a ball of burning ice
Left a hole bigger then the planet's bleeding cunt
And God watches all of this with crooked, devil eyes
Jacking off to the downtrodden faces of those like me
And then releasing on those who have it even worse
Yet He is worshiped by many in the church of Stockholm Syndrome
Like an imprisoned group of siblings raped by their father
Too terrified of consequence to be free of guilt
I break the shackles every time a memory goes by
Be it lovers and friends who abandoned truth in a ditch
Or a trillion deaths of a society that rips itself apart
But there is no catharsis in the eyes of awareness
Just regret that the universe will remain stagnant
And that I am as worthless as the Higher Power

Sex Ed

She asked me what sex is like and how it feels
I told her it's like a meteorite crashing into the earth
A wide extinction event caused by an addition of mass
When we push the virus through our gaping pores
When we launch our children into the visible unknown
One must wonder if the human race ever actually evolved
Or if it still latches onto its neanderthal dreams
Fascinated by the fire that slowly raptures us all

Life Sucks, Dickhead!

I.
Funny how a romantic becomes a misogynist
Like a chameleon who can't control his defenses
Or a homeless man who wants nothing but an embrace
Knowledge is power, this is true
It is a weapon I use against the Goddess
Before turning it on myself

II.
Sick of sickness and tired of lethargy
I focus my taste on the patches in the atmosphere
And listen to the drum circle below the bones
They gasp for sympathy and understanding
I drown them out with cigarette smoke

III.
Complacent are we, prisoners of eagles
Trapped in suburban cells
Slaves to ourselves and the dreams of vertical highways
We were just pirates, stealing weightless objects
We were just bluejays, dropping our feathers in the machine
Never noticing the world becoming darker
Or the government boarding up our windows

A Little Bitter

I hope this bastard world eats itself and chokes on the crumbs
I hope love hangs itself from the cracks in the sky
I hope my part-time friends collide into a pile of bones
I hope politicians are eaten alive by the streets
I hope the orange people fall apart in the snow
I hope I fall asleep under the sheets of forever

Trapped Above

You itch to be placed on that pedestal
Too bad it would break beneath your ego
Although I can't help but wonder
How your beauty would look, all scattered
As ugly and disoriented as your soul

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