Harvest the honeybees;
Pluck their budding wings and
place 'em at his base for all the world to see.
Topple the God's that took away our sheen.
Park your disobedience in a bucket of Soylent Green.
Climb the pyramid scheme with a gut full of gasoline
then scream, "A kamikaze ain't got a ******* thing on me."
Regurgitate your dwindling dreams all over their Dramamine.
For ****'s sake folks, they took Morpheus and fed him to the sea.
Sorry, but the subroutine's got me itching for an inch of breeze
and the Machine Queen next to me is pressuring me like a submarine.
It's touchscreen feelings meets a world that wont stop bleeding.
I'm sure the regime's got their fist's full with antifreeze from the
last time they marched quarantined sardines to the guillotine.

Praise Prometheus.

I am the Frankenstein
of my inspirations
A **** poor compilation
of yesterday's explanations
I shave with a meat cleaver
chop liver the nonbelievers
You could never save me
I'm where's Waldo against a backdrop of galaxy sized barber shop lollipops

I'm but a spec of dust
eroding the cusp
of Aries and Taorus
Pack the semblance
of an avalanche behind
eyes torn with crust
Finished Tour de Combust
with a surfboard copped
from every soul hushed
just so I could say I did
it when no one else would

I'm starting to think I lack a personality
That or you just think I'm hideous
Which I would have to agree
If that were the case

Black hoodie, half woolly,
stuck prematurely playing hooky.
Born with a ******'s book
like I was Chuck trying to cross the brook.
Cross your wood then look
to the words left carved in your mood
and ask yourself if this is something
you'd wanna pursue like glue.
Clutching questions in your palms
like a *** begging for a lesson.
Not me not I, I'm a certified deadbeat for life.

Doritos and cheese puffs
grease the tips of my fingers.
I'm a mess; a complete word press.
Undressed - more or less.

Mismatched socks
and I don't give a ****.
Just take them off
get in bed; let's beat the clock.

T-Rex joined a marching band.
A round of applause if you could.
The man deserves a hand.

A picture of you still
sits in my wallet.
I bring it out when
I'm at all the parties.

Cockroaches in the carpet.
I can't stop watching them frolic.
Nightcrawlers in a bucket.
I think they need a rocket.

The kid's been caught up in a current;
he's currently thought of as a servent.
His life's purpose: to bear down the weight of a ***** little brown voodoo doll pendant that's drapped around his neck like
a gold chain stark with disorderly fashion.
Here's the catch: only he controls it.
Grasp at the lantern moon through
the thick of darkness.

The Slumbering One. The Never Enough.
A butcher of thumbs; he's dumb, numb to the tumbling hands of a clock gone wrong,
clawing its way through the wind of them empty halls.

I imagine all sorts of things happen
when he closes his eyes at night and vacates the premises, like dragons and magic in a land inhabited by sages and witches which of course favour the taste of peasants and gizzards mixed
with the innocence of children.
Where he's the knight sent to slay
all that is wicked. But who's to say?
He's to busy caught up with the current.

We are all dead
We just don't know it yet

I sold myself as an ocean.
Sailed it til I was lost out in the open.
I wonder if it's cause I thought myself brave.
The waves seem to sink beneath the days.

I've idolized for some time now
the stone altars which lie numb
Countless sums found their way to zero
for no other reason than to become some hero
Maybe I'm just ******, but something tells me
I'd treat that **** like it's my do or die pillow
I can hear the beat of their drums
running a marathon towards my tomb
Help me help you
I bleed dumb, I bleed young
take me before the night comes

Lock me up and throw away the key
It's kind of ironic the way red compliments
the rocks only when the sun is hung highest
Death to the tyrants I will not be silenced
I'll constantly ***** this corrosive lifeblood
til it crashes 'cross the cosmos like some defiant comet
I do not need a realignment my mind is it's own climate
and I'll keep heading for the highlands
like I'm climbing for the brightest
Forgive me, I'm just farsighted and this here island
looks more like a diamond than confinement

How come the only time
I feel real is when I cry?
Stick me in the freezer
and forget me for a while.
Let me perpetually die
via frostbite til my colors
go from blue to a darker hue
you wouldn't recognize.
Maybe then I'd find the piece of mind
I've long denied.
Maybe then I'd feel alive.
If I told you I loved you
it wouldn't be a lie
Truth be told I wouldn't
get the words out fast enough
and by the time they came your way the earth would have turned
and your world changed.
So I sit in place with this
dumb look up on my face
while my heart beats itself
to death inside its cage.

I walked into the store today,
saw single roses on display
and thought to myself,
"This would look good on her shelf."
But then the gravity of the situation
hit me and sank in like quicksand;
I wish she was by my side
so I can show her everyday
just how much more she's worth
than a single ******* rose
on some stupid made up day.

It's just me and a crow
on some backwoods road,
face to face with no where to go;
a staring contest for the sole.
Hold on, let's go - Slow motion control. Switchblade rotation, high noon,  
Sun down fashion and
we packed pistols for questions.
Yet, we say nothing.
It's stiff lips in either direction.

I've always felt like a lab rat trapped
inside a cage getting laughed at by
fat cats in pristine white lab coats
These feline felons are playing god with
my anthill mind; too bad I'm a termite
rewired with fine wire terminator style
There's a magnifying glass high
above slinging beams of shine at
the solar panel buried in my back
Rusty and corroded this little robot
took the impossible and imploded

Poetry is the last of the great Titans
Which once grazed upon the crop's offer
like a saucer leading cattle to the slaughter
Til the mediums after turned conglomerate
and banished our overlord to tartarus

-

My words are not a painting
nor the frame used to hang one
There is no currency in words
written silently on a blank page
Our savior remains dormant
locked beneath the magma
only gracing those who acknowledge
It's dwindling existence

I brought your letter
to the edge of a creek
where black birds reign
and the red ants crawl
I left it with the current
All your worth
A handful of words
Bottled to preserve
I left it with the current
and watched it drift away
I left it with the current
and watched you slip away

I'm disgusted;
in a **** drunk tantrum
fist pounding my Zooplankton reflection
Mundane is my nation's only anthem; all hail your fellow cowardly clansman
Syphon the Phantom from me
It's been playing tic with the region
of my brain that dictates passion
Grapple hook the Madman from
his wouldbe castle and cast him
Cast him cast him cast him
to the depths of Phantasm
Let the Tall Man have him
I'll greet the surgeon's scalpel
with a basket of placid
like here you can have this
The type to commit suicide
with a flare gun in a snow storm
It's cold where the blood churns

I'd hold the door open for you
but on the horizon is a battalion
of electronic contraptions
trying to syphon the passion
from my canyon of Jasmines

I wanna lose any semblance of control
Repel down that little lost rabbit hole
Gnaw on the skull and cross bones of
every single bible beater that stood before
their throne like a scarecrow to it's corn
I won't barricade my door, Conquistador
Open the floodgates; bring me the seafloor
10,000 leagues deep and I'm still breathing
I'm teething on a tombstone like Casper
Now all I need is an inquisitive barn owl
prowling for an irrelevant answer

The drippings from my heart
turned ground to glue
and there I stood,
forever trapped by you.

My thoughts became a ball
bouncing over preordained dialog
shuffling from end to end
leaving hoofprints condemned
A scattershot of expression
tickling the back of my skull
For the sentences I spoke
fell from my mouth
like a rabid dog dripped foam
and within hung the beat
of a foolish man's sunken soul

I heard the dreaded Devil's hour grew a tongue
to call and taunt his name, but rings like steam in vain

Dilapidated hooves ooze aimlessly from out the cave
like calcium cracking forth unto and through the waves

Fresh against the pave they split and fray
Fresh against the pave they put the grit in grave

There's always gonna be two sides to things so we
play on swings and make believe we're in between

The declaration within my gut
remains grounded, constant.
Something slithers where others should fly.
I've died, decayed.. probably for a while.
I'm defiled but free.
A king commanding seeds.
A fool demanding pleasantries.
A forgotten thought forever unseen.
I'd smile but I'd rather not.

I can't keep it together much longer
Everything I do is cliche
Another piece to a puzzle
That was solved long ago
I'm just another double
A second rate product
In a race with the expiration date

Each letter I've built with brick.
Mortar made of my night's lament.
Every poem littered with soot
and tattered footprints that skim.

I've bellowed over the valley's forge;
indeed on through to forever more.
Still, the hours draw with no return.
The phantom's vigil is all for naught
when a crow roosts upon it's jump.

I shall be done akin to the fallen king
who so heavily bears his mangled crown,
with quill in hand pecking feverishly
away at the hourglass's quick sand.

My final few words will be that of a book
reveled by many yet thumbed by none,
"I've finally rid myself from this contraption.*"

Maybe today
I'll grow a pair of cords
and shimmy my way on up her skirt
while hollering out my heart
onto the naked floor.

Gridlocked teeth keep gritting
Blistered cheeks keep splitting
A ******* freak who keeps spinning
I think they think I'm thinking
My dreams are drowning
I think they think I'm quitting
Ice Giants wage war
My hands are losing
Mythical beings try science
My nerves are bruising
If my life was a string
Their theory would be confusing

I was sitting in my car today
stressing 'bout Night's revenge
when a man in black waltzed up to me.
He placed a gun to my temple and said,
"Son, what exactly do you need?"
I looked him in the eyes
and said, "Can't you see?
I'm flying without wings.
I'm clapping without hands.
I'm running but cannot
find the strength to stand.
Do your best to bring me back
from these God forsaken lands.
Look me in the face and squeeze
that trigger like a man.

This isn't art it's poetry
Emotion disguised as prose
Letters poised with potency
Hopefulness freed vocally
This isn't art it's honesty