I'm trying to be a better person
Really, I am
But in a world this diseased
I'm not too sure how one achieves that
With hands washed in blood

I'm willing to ****
I don't use the word ******
Though many would
But a dead fascist
Is just good poetry
A rhyming couplet that tickles
Like an ASMR video of Kalashnikovs

The system is was and always has been ******
Understandable why you'd want it burnt
But the ramifications are too numerous
To list
When there's still so many to ****.

Nostalgic love,
a warm lap to lay your head -
never to be returned.

Nostalgic love,
forgetting the enmity -
and the fights that were yet to come.

Nostalgic love,
a piece of your heart dying in your chest -
move past and carry on.

Nostalgic love,
how you taunt me in photographs -
forever imaging what never was.

Nostalgic love,
longing for a place that is no more -
you can never return home once you've left.

Nostalgic love,
forever gone.

Skull-******
and broken,
she finds herself in smoke-screened back alleys,
cheap hotels, and meetings with God.

Her AA sponsor's a bottle of champagne,
but she stays sober
because she hasn't a corkscrew.

We **** in tangle of limbs,
regret mingling with moans,
our bodies becoming one,
until we part again,
distant memories already fading
by the time the door closes.

I love in her the same things
that I hate in me,
those laughing, needling points
of failure
that seem to define my waking moments.

At least she knows what she is,
the pride of the ******
and all that.

I'm still searching for answers,
long passed the point of finding,
while she looks for a moment of peace,
an escape from this waking world,
and who am I to say she's wrong?

A better place or a better home
All I know is we're here alone
Blackened skies and wingless cries
Just which of us was it that survived?

And now the years are catching up with me, my distended belly disgorging spurts of rotten ****

And now the porcelain god grows to encompass the whole of reality

And now my energy wanes by mid-day, no longer capable of fifty-hour work days

And now, too, the flames of rebellion in me are stoked by capitalist bellows

And now the anger I lived with for so long has metastasized to the culture at large

And now I inspect my mirror image fatefully waiting to discover receding hair line, bleeding gums, and liver spots

And now the world at large coddles up to fascism like it was a warm fire on a dark night of the soul

And now I prepare my soul for the blood I will shed in the name of peace, the blood with which I will wash my hands

And now my friend's houses are burning to ashes while the rich horde water like wealth

And now I beg the god I hardly believe in for restitution, or another CEO slaying to fuel their fear

And now I lay my head to rest upon mother earth's breast and wait for the waves to take me

We all are murderers
Don't lie to yourself

Each and every one of us
Has blood on their hands

There's nothing to be done
It is what it is

Learn to accept that you
Are bleeding the world dry

Try to implement changes
That limit our damages

But don't you look in the mirror
And tell yourself
You're ******* innocent

Suicidal tendencies
Inside my brain
Will render me
Inert
A thousand times
Infinity
The threshold of
Your buggery
And tasteless fiends
We seldom see
Inside our ruptured
Appendixes
Find with peace
Our slaughtered glee
Laughter muted
Faces stuck in contorted
Glee
Like these ghosts
Now haunting me