& 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.

March 3rd: When the sun has left us and all is dark. Keep smiling. The night may be a long battle and you may lose this battle. But the war will be won when the sun returns to liberate you in the morning.

March 4th: Even though our conversations have died., we always talk in my dreams.

March 5th: I’ll accept you for who you are. I hope you can do the same for me.
I can't hide behind this mask forever. & You can't keep pretending to play everyone's fool.

March 6th: Little One, I’m sorry your “Father” never cared. I'll make it up to you <3

December 24th: Slow down,
breathe, and relax.
Save your problems
for tomorrow
and calm your racing heart
Today.
December 25th: We pave the walkways
into the hearts of others
with ipods and gaming systems.
It's sad.
December 26th: The anxiety is over.
December 27th: Everything and everyone is beautiful.

Shun the sinner.
Love the sinner
hate the sin.
**** THAT.
God in essence
would essentially
be nothing more than love.
Which is
a
feeling that in the end,
everything is going to be okay
because
we're in
something much larger than
our
deepest fears,
our
biggest dreams
and
most importantly
ourselves.

* So when they preach hate,
that is apparently
sent from god.
How are you,
100%
sure that, whoever they're
talking to is
just pretending to
be something
they're not.

I'm tired of
being
******* over.
No, I don't
wanna *****
uhh
screwdriver.

Get out of
the shed.
Ya ******'
tool.

I'm kind of like neon darkness.

Black is the new
everything
&
everyone,
shares the same

lucid,
translucent,
illuminate

dead-day-dreams.

Sorry, for
spiking the punch.
But it isn't a party
until someone passes out.

Find the weakest link.
**** em' up
&
leave them behind
to die.

Dried up
on the side of the
road.

A hit & run
on the highway home.

Sometimes, you have to
strip

down,
down,
down.

to the
lowest
of
places
just to break yourself even.
</3

**** gets better.
<3

Quicksand
and those sketchy  
day dreams.
Are
dragging me
down river.

To Go.

Drunk dancing
at the
Devil's beat.

</3
As I lay,
here.

Drowning,
in all your liquid lies.
With my right hand
above water.

Of course.

Every fallen angel,
sides down the slippery
stripped-strip,
strippers pole.

Onto,
darker day dreams
of swimming,
singing
&
swing-dancing
with Lucy.

Tap-tap-tap
dancing
with the
Fairy Master
Lucipher,
himself.

Sometimes people are just misunderstood.

Until then,
I'm going to keep driving
in the
darkness
until the sun rises
and brings me light.
So
I can see
through all this
bull-****
traffic.
So I can find
my way home.
Either way,
one day.
Someday,
that's a nice thought.
It's going to happen.

A. terrible
T.oday.
M.akes for a
    tolerable.
    Tomorrow.

So fill,
your
hollow-heart;
up with anything
you can find.

Wake up,
take the pills.

Dumb-ing myself
down.
Because apparently
I "need" to chill
& numb the **** out.

I'm raising my
punch glass
and
screaming cheers
for
survival.

I'm just so-******'
numbing myself
over.

</3
Until
it's my
time
to shine.
in the
sun.
<3

It'll rise, soon enough.

Imma keep
screamin' at these
brick walls.

All day.
Every day.

While my clock is still
    tick
    tick
    tick-ing
.
I will be
all black
&
nothing more.

Until they
bury me underneath
the fresh black
****.
Soiled,
wet dreams
&
nightmare realities.

Of a life
that starts
later.

For now,
I am
only
One wing out the cocoon.

Home has
never ever been the same.
Since,
your soul went away
to
some place better.

Hey Mama,
it's
been
a hot-hot
couple of years
spent
burning in hell.
Here,
without you.

Do you
Remember,
the days of yesterday
&
all of the seconds
we
blocked out,
blacked out,
&
burned out
on every
dream we had.

I Still got
that grocery list
you wrote me
&
when I have the $.
I'll buy myself out of this

I'm coming home,
the second
my
clock stops.

Promise.

I'm just trying not to feel the need
to ***** myself.

Over & Out
Of the
Poor White Trash Society
class-classy.

I am very much so.
Not my fault.
You think Imma
*****-worth-less
than you.

That's the
Price of being Pretty.

Some "people" are just praying .

That you will play pretend *******
with them,
for the right price.
Of course,
money is alway$ the motive.

So he'll
Flash dat Ca$h
& Dem bling-bling-ring$.

Prayin' he can afford to
Pay, people to pitty play up
on him.

But I don't play or put out.
Anymore.

I am not a *******.
$ can't win me over.

You can find someone else
to drink with
or
experiment with.
Whatever you call it.

I'm just going to coast
it riding as the

6th wheel.

Till hell freezes over.
Then can I,
crash,
burn,
& fall
all the way down
the

6th route

till I hit
the

6th exit.

That will
Bring
me
Back into your arms, again.

I feel like  
a lot of us
are driving around on an
capital "E"
for emphasis,
Emotional
round-a-bout
Difficult.
Tricky.
On the self-sticky note.
I have no idea
what the ****
I'm doing.
Guess I'm gunna
find out
when I
hit the wall in a
CRASH.
Or
I'll just
drive through the
cycle and make it work.
**** GETS BETTER.

My conclusion was
that because people
are animal-like
in our human
nature,
most of us always feel the
need to belong.
Which the possibility
of having
everyone
in the world
believing that
they belong
is brilliant and beautiful.
& If it was
dealt
in a pure form,
not laced,
not bought from a shady dealer.
Suicide probably
wouldn't happen
so much.

Their handshakes
leak a liquid lie.
An inception,
meant to cause
a deception
that they
"really"
care
about you.
The ******* is
infectious
and is
infecting
the world with
false hopes
and promised
paved paths
to future let downs.
Paid for by the people.
Made apparently for the people.
Yet the people can't even participate,
or have a chance to appreicate any
of the fruits they harvested
on a larger scale.
Because society has a caste system
and no matter how
civilized,
we claim to be.

My fellow *****-ups
sick of being ****** over
"****-ups"
Now is the time to sharpen our swords
and strengthen our
mental armor.
A battalion of
dark, black clouds
are walking all over us.
Stealing everything we have
in little tiny shattered glass
broke path ways.
Until they can legally
get their
grime-slime
lime
green colored hands
on
everything we
have.

T.C.F-ucked
me over
to the other
red side of the bed.

But
only for you.
My sweet
broke-back,
***-backwards,
cold-heart-ed
crooks.

Next time,
there will be
no
bail-outs.

Life exists!
On the other side
Of the drive-thru window.

If you can
look both ways,
before
you cross
the border.

You could
just be a
Bandit,
racing along
the highway to hell.

Diving a pick-up
truck
with black
angel wings
painted on
the back.
Windows.

To Trend-Set.
Just Jet.

Set.

Yourself,
up
with the sun
&
incinerate.
/
Re-Create
yourself.
Out of the ashes,
you once called your own.

I'm reading
between the lines.
So I can
have the knowledge
to overcome stupidity.
Negativity.
Biting my tongue.
Biding my time.
Paying lip service
to negative sermons,
served up
on a "free"
all you can eat
*******
buffet.

So while,
I sit here and roll
with this
like a joint.
Care-free & easy.
In the back of my head,
I feel like
the force
that's being represented.
Is all mightily
*******
that his
ungenious
wanna be
vigilantes,
giving
him or her
or whatever
a bad name.
Talk about infectious
*******.
No, I'm talking about religion.

I'm sick and tired of playing
Your
boring,
backwards ,
board games.  
Life and Death.
I'm alive,
You’re just playing dead again.
So since,
you don’t
want to play anymore.
Can you just give me back my
clothes and get the **** out of my life?

Now,
before you go
& leave me again.
To see places
that are six feet under
with people who are
much,
much
meaner
than I ever was.

I’d like to thank you for taking
My heart
All the way
Down,
down,
down
to hell with you.
On the greener side,
my heart will never be on my sleeve
Again.

Have fun, with all the other liars & cheaters down there.
I'll see you there,
when I decide to play dead.
Give me another 60 years,
unlike you.
I'm not a quitter.
</3

Now,
the entire world can see
just how shallow our mental shores
really are.

Yeah.

Keep telling
the audience, the cameras,
and the rest of the
******* world.
That I ******* this
up.
For us.

Truth is:
I was the ***** & you were the screwdriver.
So, who *******, what up?

You really,
just need to
shut the **** up.
Cause you know you're never
going
to
Nut Up.
& The saying is nut up or shut up.

right, fight, light, bright.
I'm shining on with out you.

The sand, within
our hour glass
marriage
Has run out.
Our life together is over.

What's up?
Divorce court!
A.K.A
just sitting here fighting with my
X,
like two wolves
over a dead deer’s heart.

Waiting in line,
getting high
off
of the
anticipation
or um
precipitation.
To participate
in washing
away,
all of
the impurities
created by
yesterday's
mistakes.
Deep, dark,
the darkest shade of
black.
Change is *******,
very
soon.
the humidity
is Mother's way
of hinting at it.

I need to
forget
about
Frictions' force
and
Gravity's grip.
So,
I can
eliminate
all limitations.
To
One day,
will up,
a
will power
strong enough,
tough enough,
to
fly away
from fear.
In a
fast
free-fall.
Hopefully
I'll
fill
the
World's
empty wine glass.
If I fail,
I'll still
raise my glass
to drink the punch
and die
trying.

The world
is a stage.
Patiently waiting
for
You.
To take the mic
and be the star
You
are.
Art is the
nuclear bomb
that can
silence those
**** spreaders
&
shut em' up
for good.

Fairy wing's
are
Karma's
curse,
for the
crooked-twins-on the left.

O'
the
dark-side
of the womb.

I had a twin Sister.
Until
she ate all of our food.
So I ,
I ate her.
Instead.

But she got the last laugh.
I got the curse
&
she got a martyrs
v.i.p
pass up to heaven.

Who's the bigger fish now?

The Bad News Bears
may bring a
flash flood
tear storm ,
to the
beach-rockers
by the bay.

But that won't stop them.
They're
just.
stuck in the mud.
Cause some people
had
to
spill their problems
on your
calm beach.

The world is
a
cynical/circular/cycle.

But time doesn't exist.
You'll always be here.
In the web
or out the cocoon.

So smoke a joint
and
check your weave.

Youz actin' a lil'
cray-cray,
Bay-Bay.

Wait,
wait, waiting
tables.
Waiting on my back,
waiting for you.
To come
and take
me to
Love's Bath House.
So we can get clean
together.

After all
love is
a shared feeling
anyways.

I want to go
and bathe,
in a liquid love pool,
cause
the city water
just doesn't feel
clean
anymore.

The world's got a
pistol,
pin pointed
perfectly,
between
my
hazy/hazel
eyes
gaze.

Pull the trigger
or surrender
yourself
*****.

You can't **** what has
already defeated the "life-time"

So,
**** it.
Or,
**** it.

Load it up
aim
& fire,
only burns  
people in formal attire.

Bang.
Bang.
Boom.
Joke's on you
I'm already
d-e-a-d.

You are what you think.
You're a diamond in the rough.
But what you don't know
is that you're worth
more than all the shiny rocks
are
combined.
Then multiplied by
10.

$$$
can't buy you.
If people could be auctioned off,
just know.
You would be the
one that
was so valuable,
no body could even
afford
ti bid on.

We can never be together but,
I wish we could.

Fatal attraction,
will always
grab the
Grim Reaper & his scythes,
attention.
But this time,
dying doesn't
look like,
an eternity of lonely nights. ,

It's
Almost,
well,
actually
it is
a
tempting thought
for a
split-slit
wrist
second.
Given the right causes.

But.

I'm here
in the
Hearse behind
you.
Playing passenger
on the
69-blood-line.
I called shot-gun.

We're way-out
on the highway home.

Only
7
more counties
2
go through.

Til I can see those,
better-places
&
your
pretty, familiar face.