For every
condescending syllable,
that has slipped out of
your.
Serpent like tongue.

Wish I could
squash you with my
black leather boots
&
watch you squirm.
&
Gasp for air.

Like I have done,
so many times before
your black-hole-eyes.

But, that wouldn't be the Christian thing to do.

Good thing. I got excommunicated.

Now, suffer.

The Goods kick it
on Easy Street.

One day,
I'll be a little less
broken.
Some day,
we'll be a little,
closer.

There's a calm before the storm.

But Katrina, never gave fair warning.

Be prepared.

Cause
it
will
rain
until
all the angels
feel a lil' bit
better.

She misses
me
too.

</3

And I swore,
I'd never
fall
in
love
again.

And,
I kept my part of the deal.

Fell all the way
down to my knees,
in hell.
Following through.

Only to forcefully give up
66 hand jobs.
To 6 different beasts.

Look, who's burning now?

Your spark.
Lit me like a match.
Left me to burn
like a witch on a stick.

I'm very well-done.

Oh. High, I'm Bandit.

Sit-slit-slip-away
into
the sunset.

Frozen in the feeling
of "time" ending,
in it's own way.

But yours,
is just another
crack in the mirror.

Alas, 7 more years.
Then you'll be.

Freedom forever.
&
Youth eternal.

Welcome, 2 the cult.

Wish,
you loved
me like,
I thought you did.

Should've
blown my brains out.

When all these
crazy thoughts
started singing
in my mind.

If I was in the right place.
I would have,
but I didn't.

Now.I.Suffer.

Thanks, for the stab in the back.
See you in the great below.

</3

Boy,

She's
got you
all *******
again.

Just.
Bound.
Once more.

To her
infernal-eternal,
heart breaking
beauty.

Witch, she possesses.
you,
to play the pawn
in her *****'s game.

Like a champ.

But will you really be winning?

When you find all-o-those,
***** little secrets.

She has hidden in her black-lace-*******.

Regret,
sorrow
&
despair.

This is all life,
seems
to give.

So why
should we
care?

Drink.
Dream.
Do.

Whatever it takes to get you through this.
Or take a bullet in the brain,
with a big ******' smile.
:)

Fire
burns in hell.
Too.

All
dragged down
down
d
o
w
n
to the bottom
of the abyss.

Guess I'll just start....

Drinking,
dollar store
love potions.

Only to get a stomach ache.

Those **** butterflies.
They've done it again.

.

Trust fund
kids
******* up
all of
Daddy's
liq-liq-liquor.

I hope you
choke
on your
trust fund checks.

&
Die in his wallet.

Forever, parasitic.

When everything
is said and
done.

Gone
Faded.
Jaded.
Decayed.
Dead.  
Wish.
I was.

Just remember,
I didn't chose to
be brought into this.

You just forced me through the
crack-hole.
&
Yanked me out nine months later.

Sometimes, I hate both of you for this.

He asked me if....
"It hurt, when I fell from Heaven".

I replied with a quick.
" It was painless
until my face
cracked open
on the bottom...
Of the brimstone
under-world.
They call me Fallen Angel, down there."

jkiddy.

Buried alive, beneath the rhetorical lies.
Of a thousand broken-prayer beads.

Surrounded by all of my....
False hopes.
Fake friends.
&
Some, hornet priests
who are exorcising their own demons.
On a ******* fueled ****** of sadism in it's own right.

On the dark side of the confession booth. This is nothing.

But a divine
waste of my time.
I'll see you all, in Hell.

Throwing down my towel.

To lay,
on top.

Of the
mausoleum...

So I can,
work.

On my tan.

Hating every second of it.
Sulking in the sunlight.

Cause
I'd
rather
be with you.

In
the
shade.

Oh Baby, you've done.

Captured my essence
and made me think
that
I
exist.

For a
slit-wrist second
in "time".

Until them sparks
make fire.
& take you up in his flames.

A bad dream.
Filmed right between my
starry-eyes.

Soul Photography,
uhhhh
Flashbacks of missin' you.

Until then,
I will be all black
& nothing more.

Than a wannabe-writer in the
mourning.
And a secret-screamer at night.

Giving up,
giving in
& going down
hard.

On the gas.

Oh you know,
not giving a ****
&
flying down the free way.
Like a bad *****.

Till I crash
back
into your arms.

The race is over.

Murdering murderers
done gone
melancholy
in the moonlight.
It's midnight.
The perfect time
to commit a crime.

Here's to premeditated drug dealing.
And everything else that can get me
a one way ticket.
To the Devil's bed-room.

I'm a lil'
annoying canary.

Chirp-chirp-chirping
out
the chatter.

Coming from the cat,
sitting on
your other shoulder.

Buried beneath
a broken home.
Day dreaming
of ****
that's long gone
down,
down,
down
to the darkest ditch.

I miss you.

Hell just isn't any fun, when the Devil's not at home.

I'm looking up at
nothing
but a black cloudy sky.

Guess, we better grab
our umbrellas.
&
Rock our rain coats.

It's going to rain......

Torrential, tear-storms
until the Angels below us
feel a little higher.

</3
</3
</3

&
Each slow-alone-second
will bring me closer,
to the darkness.

Closer to the sun.
Closer, to my roots.
Or to something. Good.

&
When it sets.
I too, will blend
with the darkness.

&
****, will look
a
little better.

While I'm still here
screaming,
"someone save me from myself".

As I keep on run-run-running
a blood-red black.
Race-line, to the finish.
To hallways that need sounds.

In homes.
That you have had
to have been in at least,
once before.

Till, the next time.
I'm be swimmin'
until I can lie
about this,
no more.

But I think.
That the last line,
will
hurt
the most.
</3

Sick-sick-sick.
&
I'm staring
all starry-eyed
at my body.

From across the bathroom floor,
dissipating.

Disappearing into
the thick-thick
forget-me- not
fog.

Lost in looks
I use to call my own.
But now my conscious is looking
at my-itself in the mirror.

I see shadows.
Stalk-sulk-lurking,
behind me.
Too.

I'm just trying to
shed some light on the
situation.

So,
maybe,
they'll just leave me alone.

& we'll
just live,
the Adam's Family
dream-life.

In our
big-black-brick-death-mansion.
<3
Humbled & hardened
by times & all of her troubles.

Spiked with agony.
Splashed with misery.
But I'll love every minute,
of my
dark/******/serene,
day-dream.

You'll be,
Morticia.
&
I'll play Gomez.

No pun intended.
But after-all
aren't we just the replications
of sorrow from a beautiful sight?

Well......

Here's to the
blackest roses
with
the sharpest thorns.

That're long-lost
& lonely
in the dark part of the forest.

Now,
drink the punch
&
die.

Hello, "Hero" Dr.'s.

Are you having
fun;
handing out ****** hidden,
in little,
tiny pills?

Prescription.
Addiction.

Swimming in the fog.
Until it finally
swallows
you up.
&
Spits, you out dead.


Welcome, to the real-world.
**** gets better.

<3

In the moment.
In the money.

Cash speaks for itself.
If you have enough of it.

One gun, $600.
A round of bullets. $6.
Knowing that you have
a six-shot round.

&
enough money,
to get you
out of any kind of legal troubles.
Priceless.

Choose Visa.
Killah, it's your vice.

My eyes, will rain
tear-drops
of tequila.
When I think
about you too.

They'll run down my
dead-white,-
porcelain-poltergeist
cheeks.
To the crack,
tip of my
toilet-talk-tongue.

It should just be bitten off
& Bleeding, by itself.

Darling, you haven't been the same since you switched your scripts.

Baby,
Our hearts are soon to
be
hollowed out & holey.
Half-way gone.
Half-way to the moon-hearts.
This is not permanent but we're forever.

But the moon was full the night before.
So it has been nothing but fading with the sorrow.
&
Darling, I'll be howling at the half moon for you.
</3

All in all
withdrawal,
was wonderful.

**** always work
itself out of the worse
& into the better <3.

Only if you can.

***** up.
Let go. &
Rage, like a wild ****....

For a couple of weeks.
I wuzza
Witch in withdrawal.

Until the haus,
came to get me
from the West.

Your common sense.....

Yeah, it
knows no logic.

Guess,
I'm just talkin' to a big,
boring brick-wall.
Again.

I'd rather be talking to myself, honestly.

I'm not
Surprised,
no-no-no-no

Disappointed?
You betchya.

But what can one expect.

When we live inside
one giant
circular-cynical-cycle.

Oh High,
I'm Bandit.

& I'd like to
Thank you,
for paying me lip service.

I'm forever in (your) debt.

Going out,
getting good.

All gothed-out,
glamorous.

Drop-dead.
Gore-geoous.

It's a curse.
Only
the truly beautiful at <3,
have it.

Talent.

Get it.
Dig it.
Dug it.

GOOD :)

I am just every drop of blood
the razor blades
made
me.

Drag downers
dragging themselves along
the skin surface
of my blood-flow
free way.
Wrists.

While,
I am screaming.
"I hate you" .

At the top of my black-tar
******
coated-codine lungs.

Yogurrrrr?
Help a ***** out.
&
go check on that crack pipe.
Uhhh.
I mean check the pipe for crack.

Cuz dem smokey rocks
make a bruthah go
cray-cray.

Welcome to the Goth Opera.
I'm just playing pretend,
anti-christ tonight.

Just show no fear.

Never cry.
Never love
Never die.

Liars live lies
for ever.

Yellow eyed wolves
with
sharp-pearly whites.

Are lusting after you.

But they just want to ,
paint their teeth.

With your,
blood-red-dead.

Sheepy

sheep

sheople

carcass.....

You are a
big, blue ocean
deep with thought
& wide with worry.

As you lay beside me
shaking from the shake down
of a cold wind’s breath.

I begin to laugh for,
I'm the next hurricane.
Who will rage a storm
across your waters.

I'm badder than Katrina,
& you best be
bowing both heads down,
***** Boy.

Before you
start, talking to me.

That's just how you do.
When youz in the presence
of  bad *****.

Well ****.
It's like I fell into this web.
A ****** and crawled out of it
a ****.
Funny how things go.

Let's flip this table.
Lemme just flip you off real quick.  
Cause this time,
I'll be walking right
out
the web.

Walking all over your little
E-Go
punch yourself in the ****.
Maybe,
you can feel something real.
For once.

lol.

You can't fool
me anymore.
I invented twank trickery.
*****, you can just call me
Bandit now.

& Oh,
my frost bitten
lungs,
lose their breath.
In all of your
nostalgic air.

It's a scary/cut/throat
feeling on a cool,
November morning.

But I swear to you,
have never seemed so clear
to me.

Maybe, I'm just
day-dream-dream-dreaming
again.

But I swear,
the frost clouds of cigarette
smoke you blew in my face,
Yesterday.
Looked just like a flock of
upside down <3's.

Just some
secret-smoke-signals
from across the state.

If you were here
&
they were gone.

Someday,
that's a wonderful
thought.

In every bad-day-dream,
you have ever had.

There was always
a giant
Silver Serpent.

Staring at you.
&
Just a slithery second
away from your ******.  

That little ghost-tail.
Apparition-creature-thing.
That everyone seems to talk about?

While he is.

Slithering in through
the cracks of your mind.
&
Out of your hollowed out
graveyard heart.

I say, Astro.
Don't chu know?
Ya can't trick him.
Cause he is many years dead,
before you.

You can visit, him.

You just need a
different air-plane
to travel in.

Think about it.....

You little astral-star,
you.

Need to listen, closely.
Serpent talk
is
simply shady-speech
for
slutty-scummy-snakes.

& The guy with the
:) eyes
took his pistol,
to his head
& Bam.

It's a brain-blow-out!  

Or a
beautiful- bouquet
of blood-black & red roses.

It is for sure,
An Ode To.......
  
Blowing up Billionaires
By the Billion.


& SO the guy with the :) eyes
Blew out the first
half of his head.

While the last half.
Well, it just bled black.

So tell me,
cause I'm sick of
wondering.

Are
you
ready
to wake-up
alive?

Or am I going to
eating your cake
alone.

For the fifth year
running.
Anyways.

Happy Birthday.
Queenie Belle,
you'd be 46 this year.

&
So the Kindest Killer
locked/loaded
&
cocked
his perfect lil'
purple pistol.

They needed to be put in place.

For the Bandit.
was starting to go cray-cray,
from all the raunchy-rowdy-ruckus.

Action.
Reaction.

As the loud mouth's
looked at what sat right
between
their eyes.

The killer
screamed.

"Bang. Bang"

&
From then on it has been nothing but darkness.

My blood
runs ***
&
my body breaks up
like ****.

Eat me.
Drink me.
Smoke me.
**** me.

I'm way too high to write good poetry.
But I'll keep trying.

Lost somewhere
in the cluster **** of space.
I called, home.

Nothing
but body-bags'
3 seconds away from death.

Letting go of everything
to find something
in everything
I see.
Nothing.

I took in the smoke
until it rotted right
out my mind.
Then he took me over.

You say
you have a royal flush.
&
I'm ice-screaming
bluff.
Uhh bull-****.

You may
be the Drag/Queen
of Spades.

But I'm carrying the
ace of clubs.
In my pants pocket.

rofllololol

You're just a joker.

Joke's on you.
I'm the king of <3's.

<3 <3 <3 <3
Guess who owns yours?

Stripping myself
down to nothing.

So I can look
pretty,
like all them other
***** do.

Pixilated to perfection.

Welcome,  
my never-ending nightmare.
Bringing myself down,
so I can go down onto them?

lololollolol

Uhhhh I mean,
right before they
lay down
on their
backs.

Up
on a giant silver platter.
They're the main course, after all.
  
Funny, cause this pack of wolves.
Don’t even like *****.
But they're munching on something.

*****.
*****.
&
More of them.

You're not the only one.
The rest of us are still clownin' in the closet.  

SO
Play the chess-chest game.
Cause you have to.
&
Cut off the Queens head.
Purple looks better on you
anyways.

Another line off
a ****** broken
toilet-seat.

&
The guy with
smiley face eyes
is done-gone
getting himself,
into another
fist-fight.

With all the other
crack-cats.
For the biggest bag-o-rocks,
from the litter box.

Living the White-Trash dream.
Is just a day-dream
throw-away...

"bang.bang".

The World will end....

When the freedom fire
of creativity&innovation.;
Burns-out.

Or
even worse,
if we sell it
4 $$$$$$.

Hello, to being
bailed-out-bought by
Big businessmen with even bigger wallets.

If anything is going on.
In the meeting room.
No one, can even hear a sound of it.

For the Serpent talk,
is hard to hear behind
closed doors.

Just go
have some fun
with a gun.
Already.

You really,
need to either,
shoot some sense
in-to yourself.

Or just shut your
big-broke, skanky-twanky
clap-trap up.

I can't decipher
your motives.

Your self written sermons
are stained with **** & cynicism.

SO
take care of the problem.

BEFORE I
take care of it for you.

Black ravens,
running around
with
their heads
clear-cut
right off their
little
busy-bird-bodies.

You can
hang me
upside down
on a twisted,
wire-hanger cross.
Now.

Tis a cloudy day.
So do a lil'
rain dance,
lap dance
for me.

Won't you wait,
a second?
Please,
so the thunder
Can come
in through your ears.
&
Shoot
lightening
out your eyes.

& There he was,
everybody's fool
in mid April.

Half-way to May.
Caught in a Day-dream.
Dreaming of the porch
his baby basket
should have been dumped on.

Now,
livin' a life of
love-lost lustful lies.

The dark prince,
is just another servant.
Until the day
his father dies
and the horned/thorn-ed crown
is handed down.

To the next heir
standing in
the 69 blood line.

It's a classic!
An All-American.
Trust fund-****-story.

Staring, a little black cloud.
That spent more time,

sulking
over
sitting

up on the family's thrown.

So he sulked up
until he grew up.

For
he was too foolish,
& tiny
to sit-in or fit-it.

At first, of course.

I'd rather have a hand count of friends.
Than a pocket-full of enemies.

Strength in numbers?
Oh my
fine, sweet ***
no.

They can  
keep hatin'.
I have strength in myself.
No, need to count.
I got this.

Imma pack full flavored infamy.

So Put this
Crystal,
in your
pain-stained crack pipe
& shmoke it.

Until your wee, little brain
rots right out of
your hallowed out head.

From Discoveries; my high school journal.
Entries from February of 2009.

February 12th: Even in good company I still feel alone.

February 13th:
I can't paint & I can't  draw either.
But with my words,
I can paint a paper-back
that will give
even
Andy Warhol, a run for his $.

Three Months ago:
I took a look
in the honesty window's
reflection
and I began to loathe what I saw.
& I began to mend my mold
to make this work.
WIthout resorting to stripping or suicide,

That's when Bandit came out to play.

"Everything I say is said in blue ink and heard on lined paper. Chemical and herbal experimentation have changed me. Oh high, I'm Bandit. & It is nice to meet you."

On the 69
blood-line.

A
free-flowing,
free-way
heading somewhere
West.

Cause every
selfless-soul
is just
sulking in the shadows.

Of a
Western
sun-set.

"Record this."

For this is
the end of a
day, today.

The end of an
era-o-errors.  

Shattered.
it sounds sweeter.
&
I'm not broken, anyways.

I'm just recreating
my
self-star
from
the ashes that the
fire-man gave me.

Colour electricity.
Folded & fermenting
inside an aluminum-cocoon.

In time.
I'll see them,

Passionate purples
&
Beautiful blues.

It will
look like
someone done
painted a mosaic.

All up
in my hair
but it's really
just
my
Ultra-Violent-Weave.