Sitting in the basement writing to the devil burning a candle, record playing black metal thought about anarchy, all the blood I’ve ever seen or maybe the apocalypse waiting at my door
I’m so bored maybe burn a bible, maybe drink a little more
Sitting on the staircase staring at the ceiling trying out this notion that I’ve never had a feeling thought about holding a little sacrifice but I need to find a ****** and that’s too much of a chore
I’m so bored maybe burn a church, maybe drink a little more
Now I have to use the bathroom but it’s upstairs the thought alone is morbid and I just don’t ******* care just sit here in the blackness feeling like a goat’s head writing to the devil but my wrist is getting sore
I’m so bored maybe ***** blood if I drink a little more
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 4:01 PM UTC
We dream dreamy dreams under warm blankets and quiet stars
no noise no clamor to fill the atmosphere. The song of a thousand
silences vibrate in unison with breathing. Each exhale a new movement
through the universe. In and out, drift solemnly, like the ghost on a row
boat wading through fog and sorrow. A heart hollow to the tune of love
and jubilation. Only haze, vague and out of focus. The fuzz of an old
photograph bearing faces long forgotten. Gone, with the seconds,
minutes, and centuries that have been and never will be again. The one
we all share. Soon after closing our eyes to reality. Long after the sun
has faded from view, long before it should return once more, leaving the
moon as the sky’s only companion. When our heartbeats have slowed,
relaxed, a breath before fatal. That’s when it begins. The portal to the
other end of our mind. The room of warped mirrors. Reflections of our
ideas and experiences. twisted manifestations of thought and memory
for us to analyze through cryptic imagery and distorted stimuli. Here is
where we encounter all we admire and all we disdain, mashed into one
contorted vortex of sight and emotion. This is the dream…
Apr 28, 2013
Apr 28, 2013 at 3:47 PM UTC
The dust has been lifted
Wise words from the man in the red truck
As he eluded provocative ants dancing ‘round cigarette ash
Pokemon never behaved like jackals
Or any other eighties hair metal bands for that matter
At least Pantera shredded their way out of that shtick
It allowed me to quench my thirst with neon Gatorade
And stomaching peninsulas
This is why starch as a way to mend secular viral videos
Was never a serious consideration
That right belongs to the intergalactic Prince Albert
Of the Ziggy Stardust federation
It’s what made me feel secure with crack and root beer
Can I get a signal out here,
Or did the waffle train miss me by a nano robot?
God save this illustrious choir of cephalopods and naval lint
Before they find their way into the haphazard way
I chop chicken under drunken stars
A wizard once led me to this concussion
But I cannot remember the first door he smashed with a crowbar
I know it had only been six years since Julia Roberts was in Erin Brockovich
The movie about the alien cyborg, who birthed Africanized
Native American bumble bees
Or was that merely a fan fiction continuation?
That’s when the itch in my head stopped….
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:38 PM UTC
High as a kite
not stuck in a tree
not on the floor
in space probably
vibrating
with green cows
an yarn
giggling paradise of stars
swoon
cats falling out of cabinets
but i digress
die gressssss
die grassssss
this is getting a bit weird
my blood vessels are riddled with glitter
don’t tell the rabbi…
happy 420
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
The woman in the solar system
she makes me bright and warm
I dance in auras and nebulas
and **** oblivion
I said the woman in the solar system
has got me by the mind
jet black and purple plasma
on my tongue, can’t get enough
(see how she waves)
I vibrate through her own dimension
an intergalactic ********
I hold my breath
transcendental death
through time, space, and her ******
the woman in the solar system
made of ether and hydrogen
sings a universal
distorted sound
dancing cosmic energy
exactly what she is to me
through space and eternity…
Apr 17, 2013
Apr 17, 2013 at 5:23 PM UTC
Lights, boredom, beer, and socks
this is how we define the outcome
of pin up girl robots
and the threshold you’re too dumb to notice
its refuse they say
like some salt tower ready to pop marmalade
No one pees the bed anymore
and why should they?
questions for an irritable spine flu
Never the less, we are doomed to listen to ****** rap music
while washing the four hundred and fifty-seventh **** sponge
on the planet Umlow
I think i may have lied
who cares, you already read it
so taking it back would only make me a badger
No
a tapir
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 10:04 PM UTC
She wore a glittering gown
Beneath cold grey sky
He wore a brown rotting raincoat
Under April sunshine
She, smelling of coconut and tulips
Chugged bourbon straight
He smelled like wet cement and smoke
And sipped wine from a juice box
They met on a rust smothered playground
She, for a funeral- he, on holiday
They danced in circles for hours and hours
He hummed Vivaldi
She hummed slayer
Both were of literary greatness
He-Fox in Socks
Her-The Inferno
Neither knew love to be equal parts
Beautiful
And grotesque
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 5:26 PM UTC
I wanna Play this trumpet
louder than you
quicker thank monkeys
flinging their poo
daylight, nighttime
anywhere at all
****** up **** ups drop and crawl
for me
to blow my horn
like you blow ****
brass, *** grass
and **** that’s sick
drunk off beer
and question marks
evil smirks
in trailer parks
cigarettes
and jacking off
hitting bongs
until I cough
choke
i spoke
too quick
again,
*** brass, and **** that’s sick
Mar 29, 2013
Mar 29, 2013 at 4:33 PM UTC
Some days i sit at this cushy chair, hard on my *** bored, eyes glued to the glare of questionable information and quiet chuckles. Don’t know where to go from here-Refresh. Click. Click. **** Back. Perhaps smoke more, or read less, give some madness to this rhyme. Or, is that how the saying goes? Sorry, got lost staring at my cat on a rug. It’s a neat rug. The black circles on a brown and grey background. It’s almost enchanting. I, like my feline friends, am fixated by this sublime texture. Oh yea, about the boredom…
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 4:57 PM UTC
Poetry is art
it is beautiful
grabs the ***** with words
and refuses
to let go
from the moment the stanza
reaches your brain
you're hooked
like the first beer
the first line of *******
it takes the wheel
and drives you
to insanity
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:05 PM UTC