for now my eyes feast, on the great famine at least
how appetizing it is, to feel ***** swell in your throat like fiz
nobody cares that you have something to contribute
they just want *** and attention
to increase the hypertension, so sleep evades
and weakness of the mind body and soul pervades
every corner of your mouth
every cracked bloodied lip and spike
driven into your chest, bled out trailing south
ignorant steps with sketchers on your chest
they want to be ****** on your coffin and the rest
they want you to hear it when your life ends
when time bends and your mind extends, cranial fluid dripping
saddened eyes drooping, maddened lies falling apart
drama takes center stage as the hot lead part

are you dead yet?
my pillow has the plastic to prove it
take a thought, overplay it, remove it
the whole time
staring at the sun, with eyes wide
burned retinas blinded with truth
shaking in the darkness with vermouth
staring at flesh, of flesh
staring at the truth in flesh, of it
one day I smell the sky, the next I can't fly

bipolar without klondike bars
humor doesn't work either, smell ether
smell ether and breathe
working with strings and straps
not g strings and strap ons
working with and against myself
constructing the pyramid with the town
burning a hole in my back
lies are cement to be removed

Are you dead yet?
Why even ask, viruses aren't living
taking a **** and growing up, caring and giving
dividing my time up to distract
providing it won't sneak attack
I must have ate a lot of nuts
Planters **** you, now I pay he ultimate price
******* and screaming while my vice peaks
slips into, porcelain
no more sin, please, no more sin

swallow hard
twist up the face
and feel another moment slip into blackness

Black water steams beneath my salt licked room
trapped, like when the stove burned my lungs
when i was a child afraid
stifling car heat on a snowy day

the picture was presented and dark thoughts were resented
black water was inside, along with batter
but no ingredients now matter

Face crying and heaving, yet no tears leaving
A twisted march against life

dont need relief from cluster headaches, hopefully i never will
i don't need pink blotting paper
i don't want anxiety to the point where I can't breathe
i don't want to rhyme anymore
i just want to understand why the man in the toll booth
annoys me to any extent
i hear something as i walk past him
maybe its his thoughts, or just the physical
presence, of him tapping the metal siding
maybe he's an introvert that's come out of hiding
maybe i just lied about not rhyming, i can't decide
i honestly can't decide anything anymore, it's beyond indecision
its bent derision of vision
it's beyond confusion, because the confused know that they are
im confused about whether im even confused in the first place
i am... urges, i am... impulse, im not...progress, or it seems that way
i could be progressing in relative terms, that's if einstein was right
but who the hell knows if he was
humans have been on earth for 5 million years, a drop
in the geological bucket, **** it
where's motivation when all collected knowledge
could "in itself" be progressing in the wrong direction
at that point we are the id and nothing more
we have nothing to offer microbial nature
on any other planets nomenclature, mars for instance
has a higher knowledge, their +1, we're -100
im just talking this system, god knows what's just 4 lys away
probably nothing, but nasa still wants to take more pictures of uranus
kiss it *****

the sounds are there, they come through walls
right around the corner
they're not visual, they're miserable and in need
they're equal opportunity exhibitionists
lovers of a family get together, taking everything in
parasitic and aware, destitute and stuck
but they're also there at the wrong time
the wrong time for the person who's alone
the wrong time for a person who's disconnected
because they want to be enjoying peace and quiet
alone
by themselves in an old house
with summer outside making its noises, crickets
trees rustling under a jeweled sky, the pinnacle of up high
breathing in the home air of cannibus, lotion and food
being disturbed is far from a thought, but unavoidable
simultaneously
because the house has a strange history
the basement floods, and the machinery kicks in
the mind ponders as the constellations wander
the nights grow and shrink, the body is dry, bone dry
the shower is turned on, soap, shampoo
lost in the mind on autopilot
until the spine stiffens
its without a doubt that I'm not alone now
a minute ago i was the master of this house
a minute ago I was naked in the hallway, smoking a cigar
now I've been usurped and I just want to barricade myself
in this house that I've live in for 15 years, now i beg for permission
to stay just one more night
I beg because how could I possibly fight
It's my conscious or the pontius pilate
I hope it's the former, because if not, blowout the pilot light
There's little hope for re-ignition or stellar recognition