Myths and legends,
That’s what you’ll get in your dreams today.
Sleep on your broken glass floor,
scream! Scream!
Look at all the fake faces on the floor,
designed by your deep-tempted blood.

Slip onto the corner of 5th,
come lay on the grass from our divine god,
come drink the coffee of ethics,
let us peel your LSD skin,
***** the dishearten world,
look into our dispirit world,
do you belong? .

Go sleep with the drunks,
let them play with you,
lets relive all the hipster days,
when liquor was quicker,
gave us that heterogeneous slur in the chops.
We can smoke all the hale cigarettes
on this earth, but that’s just a myth.

While waiting, tired and sore, my eyes tremble in
awareness. Trying to wake up in a notorious dream.
Bronze statues of gay senators, tales of despair, and
maniacs. I think of Ginsberg and his reach to free
speech, to tell all the fakers to smoke a dinosaur,
to see the real world. I think of my sister, deceased,
rotting down below, people praying to their unreal God.

I dream of living in a narrow world, where the creeps judge
the freaks, and prey on the high school cheerleaders.

3 lights, 2 dead, 1 burning out.

I sit in my square bedroom,
bay side blue walls. My heroes are dead,
my only brother dead, paintings from my faded out great-grandmother hanging on the wall.
Cd’s of suicidal music,
stolen books from school,
MAD magazines, no not that kind of madness you schmuck!
Books filled with my ***** word poetry,
two alarm clocks, one for noise, and the other
for amusement. I sink, getting more tired, sinking in my box bed.
What will I dream tonight?
Sleep.
I wake up with Shakespeare written on my lips.



2009

A short man who looks like Popeye, he has that grin, and his name is Edward. I worked with him the other day, he was slowly trying to communicate with me, I wasn't in the mood. I had been up for almost 27 hrs. I went to the washroom and the locker room smelled like cheap dope; there was a man hiding in the corner smoking a cigarette. The back of the factory has more freedom, the television is blasting, radios are blaring. People are always shouting, and the leader Richard, the crazy frenchy is telling me my father’s gone ******* and he can’t work anymore.

Tomorrow is a new day, a day where you will maybe feel the same as yesterday, suicide knocks on your door, don’t answer it.
It is 5 am now and I am writing poems on my computer about love and girls
The computer has no emotions
My lonely hard **** has no emotions
and life. . . Life is just life.

She never wore dresses
She never wore short shorts
I kissed her viciously on those dry lips and she complains of the pain but she can’t stop kissing me
Someone outside yells I need a smoke
I need one too

She lost her uncle from a drowning
and I had lost my sister to almost
the same feeling of no air
chocking
my sister never got to see the
light of day
it made us closer knowing we both
faced tragedy at a young age
we listened to music at night
she starts crying because she
misses her uncle
she cried in my arms
crying for her uncle
for her ex whom she cheated on
with me
One time I threw her off me
she got me mad
she got off my bed
put her shoes on
was about to walk out my door
suddenly I said wait come here
she of course starts crying

I had hurt her many times
she did the same
why didn't I let her go?
relationships are sometimes a
******* war
and I kept making sure
the war never stopped

it seems the spiders are taking over this

small town

last year was the infestation of the flies

a spider on my wall

eating another bugs heart out

ripping its limbs

and tearing away the body

the spider thinks it is  king in my house

another four out of nowhere

and my book

my foot **** the *******

killing something innocent

I am guilty