Love Cult
cuts through all the
cynicism,
condescending
*******.
So I don't have to
cut it out on myself.
Drawn up and ******
on top
of being sick
of feeling so strung
out on negativity
and speed.
I think I just
****** my <3
up to a point
to where it permanently
pounds, but now
it's for more than one person.

Your
shoe landed on
my heart-space
and crushed all
of my
mental properties.

It was like
playing
real-life monopoly,
with all the
crooked banks.
& There is no light,
at the end of this tunnel.
No bail outs for me,
this time.


However,
next game we play,
I'll make sure it's not
twister.

I never
wanted to get
twisted up in your lies.

So this time,
I won’t
**** up
&
miss
YOUR
red-heart spot.

I'm not
going to fall
on my ***
in the middle of your
lust-pit board game.

Ever again.

I kept getting lost in your mind games.
So I took a risk and started building an empire.

I own The Board Walk & Parks Avenue now
& you’re in jail for three turns.
How’s it feel?
*****.

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.

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

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

***-runnin'
to the cemetery.
Goin' grave-diggin',
Tonight.

It's three to three,
and I'll be back
home.

At the half-way
house, in time for
breakfast.

Till then,
I'm chasin'
the ghost.
I used to call my reflection.

& 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.

Myths and rapid cycling
mood rings.
These are fabled love stories
from the
Book Of Lust.

Memories seen
from rotten eyes.
And all the maggots,
worms, and spiders.

That live inside them.

Truth is always near.
We just gotta dig for it.

For the truth is always
buried beneath lies.

I'm a lil'
annoying canary.

Chirp-chirp-chirping
out
the chatter.

Coming from the cat,
sitting on
your other shoulder.

Flash-flood
tear storms,
weathered my
heart down
until.

My deepest-dream-wall
finally
broke
down.

It done
cracked a leak
&
flooded my heart.

Now,
whenever
I think about you.
I just go blank.


I can't
fake a smile & pretend to care,
when
I'm drowning
in the
heart-ache ocean.

So I'm not even trying anymore.

Being on dirt's level
looks nice
when you're
six feet under.

I just want to break even.
Or break your fingers.

Whatever the Lord,
let's me do.

I'm hoping he's feeling vengeful today,
too.

A night on the town.
Tonight,
you'll dine in hell.

With
Lucy & her court of Demons.

We have our
famous, lethal
arsenic brimstone martini
on special, Tonight.
.
Oh High, I'm Bandit,
I'll be serving you,
to the Beast this evening.

These
boring me
to boredom
real-life
board-games,
have got me all
over the charts.
Up and down
then
Down and up.
Again.


I wish,
I could,
phone a friend.
Or even the president,
someone's gotta
bail me out of
jail.
Bandit's behind bars,

But as soon as
my
third-time
is
a charm,
Luck.
starts to put
magic-moves
on the
love-life
dice.
I'll
***** the railroad
&
advance
to go.

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."

My best friend in the poetry world is The Bloodshed Saint, she's really good. So I am trying to make her get one of these. I wrote this to her like 4 years ago, it's weird how you can know people so well but you've never met before.

As I promised
the sun
will always
shine on you
even in your
darkest hour.
For the sun and
you are now one
deity of purity
and peace.
The truth your
about
to reveal,
will blind the world.
Protecting us from the problems man has created.
Once again people will prosper
under your careful watch.

As I rise from the
grave, you
left me in.

Revenge is the
beat of my heartless
pulse.

Acting without compassion.
In a sick sense.
I think, I'm stronger than before.

Playing the role, perfectly.
I will be the medium
for all the hearts you broke.

& I'll plead insanity when the performance is over.

You can not break,
what
has already been
shattered.

But,
if you insist,
you can keep trying.
;)

I'll just start,
Cutting
out
all
catty chatter.

To sit,
to spit,
&
to sulk.

Inside
the silence,
of
a
half-dead
1/2 way house.

Don't lead me on.
If you are
just going to
Drag me down.

I don't have the
"TIME"
for it.

I could wake-up...
"DEAD",
in the morning.

You never know.

&
When
that
door,
finally
opens up.
In a
loud
thunderous
applause.

From
up,
up- up
and away
from here.

It's going to
rain,
rain,
rain.
Until
all the pain is
washed away.

After all;
raindrops
are just
tears from
all the
people
who have left
everyone behind.
To
become angels.

You know,
the ones
we miss
the most.

I think,
that when it rains,
the angels
are just
sayin'
that they
miss us too.

Sometimes you just feel so
zombie esque it hurts to breathe.
The twitches
of a witch's
evil eye.

Mirages,
of a former ghost.
My personalities paid host.
Posessions, demonic in blood relations.
I'm lost, in my own sea.
Dead like the one before me.

**** talking
garbage cans.
Can't seem to close their lids,
enough.

Where's Mr.*******
when you need him?

Will you please
shut the **** up?
Before your can gets dented.

Channeling demons against my will.
My body, used.
Seen nothing more than a flesh ouija board.
In your game of self reassurance.
I'm not the conduit, you wanted me to be.
My eye's just as open as yours.
Stop telling me otherwise.

If they don't
have anything nice
to say.
Then tell them
to shut
the ****
UP.

**** em' with kindness
and if all else fails
flash your pistol
and **** it.

Lick your lips
&
tell them
to **** it.

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.

For every step I take,
I can feel my feet slipping
back three.

I'm at the end of my rope.
But my noose isn't even tied yet.

Living in a snow globe.
Watching life around me blossoming,
beautifully.
But when I try and reach out.
My hands hit the glass and stop me dead in my tracks.

You’re
Here because your mind kidnapped you from your brain.
Now
Watch my soul walk right out of my shell.
The real-life
flesh prison.
It’s
Something to love and Something to hate.
Use it and abuse it.
And one Morning, you can "realize" that you really cared.
Time is nothing.
You're always the same.

Dead and Gone?
No, never gone,
Just kicking it on the bright side of life.
If i could remember.
I would find a way
to build a makeshift hallucination of your voice.

A fires burning out
& leaving nothing more than a handful of
Ashes.
You've lost everything.
Ashes to sand,
You've made something out of Nothing.
One day.
Some day, is always a nice thought.

You can't cry forever.
Eventualy.
You'll run out of tears and
it won't hurt as bad as it did at first.

I thought I wanted revenge.
I guess,
I wanted closure.
Turning the page and starting a new chapter.

I may be from the sticks
but I'm hood
at heart.
Gagayngster style.
Trend setting, tight jeans and hair dye.
Diluted goth style.
D-d-drink punch and die,
for y'alls lovers
or die a used ******
on da side of da road.

Soul Spit.

It's Unfortunate
that
greed and all the other
deadly sins
have stolen
the meaning
of the message.
I think this is why
people can feel empty.
Untouchable,
Worthless,
Disgusting
& Ugly.
Even though
that's the
polar
bipolar
opposite
side of us.

Just because they're
in a dark, depressing
ditch of despair.
It
DOES
not mean,
you have to
join in
on the
pity into hate
Debbie Downer
party.
Garbage dumps
smell bad and no one
wants to be
in
or
near
them.
Stay outta da dumps.
Debbie Downer
can go down on herself.
Mean
people
can just
*******
till their parts bleed out.

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.

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.

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.

We sing the songs
we write
in our own choirs.

Faces of gods.
Bodies of goddesses.
&
Voices of angels.

We're all missing property
of Heaven.

Until we die.
&
Rise above this.

Brand it,
Bandit.
Livin' the dream,
curse.

Sulking
in the silence
of your sorrows.

Neck deep
in worry waves.
&
I'm drowning, in the
shallow waters of my own.

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.

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.

Whoops,
I done
bit
the apple too.
Guess,
I'll go
swing-dancing
on the blame scale
with Ever & The Serpent now.

I just want to go
dancing.
*****-stamp style.
All I need
is a steady pole
to dance on.
Hello, Wednesday nights.
Pass me the fifth
please.
I wanna get belligerent & cocky.

I know I am alive when,
I think of you.
I know I am alive when,
You touch me.
I know I am alive when you hate me.
I know I am dead
When I see you with another man.

January 16th: I am running in circles.
January 17th: Reality is just a figment of one's vivid imagination.
January 18th: The exit of the co2 from my lungs, to my mouth, and then the atmosphere. Expand and contract my brain. Expanding is new found knowledge and contracting is the loss of knowledge. Thus, my intelegence is relative to the amount of gasses in my brain.
January 19th: Secretly, you control me.
January 20th: Over the next two hours, you slowly drift back to reality. The once sea bound boat is approaching land and, with each passing wave, you are coming closer to sobriety.
January 21st: What is this love you speak of?  
January 22nd: A numbing sensation has paralyzed my arms. I can feel a million little creatures with in me. While they crawl beneath my skin, they leave their path of serenity. The ecstasy, that races to my heart. To touch my blood with a soft kiss and slowly warm my frozen body.
January 23rd: We will be forever hoping, forever wishing, and forever praying to find love. A feeling our primitive minds will never understand. In this age love will never be found because the passion that created us, has left this world.  
January 24th: Sometimes I feel like:
I am exiled by my own people, searching for another lost soul in this desecrated world. The only remnants I have of people are the skeletons of wanderers from long ago. Each lonely corpse I see I become more and more afraid. In fear, I run through this land of broken dreams. I am running in circles. I am lost. Back to where I began my quest I realize this land is hell and I am alone. In time I will soon become another lost soul. My desire to leave this place motivates me to keep walking. This keeps me sane. In the distance I see a figure shinning through my haze of hopelessness. Is this a hallucination? Or am I not alone in this world?
January 25th: Sights are sounds and sounds are sights.
January 26th: I am falling to apart trying to fix your broken heart.
January 27th: **** and be ******.
January 27th: The warmth of a fire can warm the coldest of hearts.
January 28th: In the rain, I carry no disguises.
January 29th - January 31st: I am relapsing

When our <3's
spread their
butterfly-free-flying wings.

Just fly-high,
up & away to  
an atmosphere
of good thoughts.

Good things never last.

If you get caught in the web
of a monster;
that is much
larger
than the hungry, ***** spider
you were running away from.
In the first place.

Just remember **** gets better.
&
Sometimes we all feel like this.

When your life lies within the hands of crooked doctors and blood thirsty nurses. Who've made you too weak to speak out against the horrific experiments, they have conducted on you. "Professionals" That claim to be searching for a cure, to an already cured disease.



When friends and family can give you no comfort because, you're too doped up to understand any words of sympathy. Modern medicine can never help, the entire industry is infested with corporate criminals looking to make fast money so they have something to fornicate with later on this evening.



When the machines break down and you get trapped inside the mechanical afterlife. We will seek revenge against the mad men who did this. You will be found, no matter how far we have to travel through the circuit board. Your soul will be found before it is sent through the assembly line and manufactured into a techno logic ghost. You will escape the factory. I promise, you will never become one of them.



.

Stay true,
even when
the sky's
not blue.

I'm talking
to a thousand
brick-wall minds too.
Some day,
a change will ***
and
**** the ****
outta dere brainz.
;)
owww-owww.

The full moon.
& a
full on
hard-on.

This is some
new rave-wave
break-break-break
beat down

*poetry.

It's ******* back.
Let's shake
it up
&
knock em' out.
Soul spit it.
Or swallow.
But whatever you do,
just fight back.

The world
is still the
same old
factory,
ruled by
the
same old
idiots.

Who only care
about making it big
and taking
baths with all your money
hairy-***
gross-***
****-***
Naked.

  
They only want
to continue
bringing us all
down under the weather,
under their oppression.
Suppression.
Cause the only reason
why their ******* our **** up.
Is
cause they're ****** up &lemon-juice;
bitter
toward everyone
that has
a
sugar-sweet smile.  
A few years ago,
I asked myself
the question,
why
are people
so miserable, hateful
spiteful and everything else
that's not delightful?

A day in the life
trapped in
an hour glass.

Waiting
and
fading,
away with a
sand storm's
breathe.

Time doesn't exist,
I'll always be here.

Waiting.
Howling,
at the half-moon for you,
Babe.

Until, I'm starry-eyed & home again.

I really only think of you.
When I'm drunk.
Getting
choked out by strangers.

A working boys story:
missing home.

Is like missing
razor blade kisses.

Drawing lines.
Parallel to my opaque veins.
A translucent transient.
Im serious about my crazy.
Don't play with demons ;
if you can't handle the Devil

Welcome,
to the
Fabulous Lifestyle
of the
Wonderful,
Magical,
Spit-Catching
Idiot-Magnets.

The World
is just a bed
full of.
Roaches,
Leaches
and everything else parasitic.

That only want
to drag you down
&
****-****-****.
What little
life is left,
with-in,
you're half-way
dead.

Still-breathing corpse.

Good luck!
To you,
Kind Soul.

I hope the World ends,
before it can take-break- away
your sugar-sweetness.

Lemon-drops
Always taste bitter
even if their rims are coated with sugga.

Sugar is better
off alone
sometimes.

End of Poem.

& 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.

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.

Meet My best friend,
His name is Billy Blue.
He gave the gift of inspiration
to the black and blue haired.
Uninspired Bandit.
Happy Birthday calendar,
I'm twenty now.
I've got about a year or so to make this work
or else
I'm going to have to strip my way through
beauty school.
I don't want to have
to be a part time ******* either,
I'd rather keep my shirt on.
Help a ***** out
and take me far away
from here.
Anywhere,
take me anywhere but here.
From the edge of the thought galaxy
all the way back into your arms again.
Some day,
one day,
It'll happen on the worst day,
like the ******* Tuesday
ever.
Only cause something
greater than ourselves
wants us to know
**** gets better.

The closest
is not just a home
for
******* & coats.
The earth isn't a straight line.
Its curved.
Your body is
just
a
skin-body-bag
for
your
soul.

Crayola-aura-colours
shading
the dry-sky
atmosphere.  

Everyone's under the rainbow,
if
Mother Nature says so.

I deep throated
a rosary once,
so
I could feel
closer to
God.

After that,
I went
to his
"friends" house
for
Sunday Morning Mass
&
I went up in-flames.
Uhhhh
I
Guess
I'm just
the
anti-christ
super-star?

No.
I'm just
a
Black haired
Bandit.

The incredible guilt,
I have for telling you
Deathscsweet seal
Is the hardest cross,
I've ever had to bear.
Incineratorin,
slowly in silence.
Burning like the Matches
only speak.
This course is speeding up my hour glass.
A little too fast for comfort.

& 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.