the floor turned into something strange and i fell through the floor.
in the basement looking up at clouds and lightning; kinda frightening.
tried to climb the stairs to reach the surface; there was nothing there.
by nothing i mean clouds and air; not my sofa nor my chair.
an angel flew to me from somewhere; kicked me in the face.
"you can't be up here, stupid boy." it morphed into an octopus.
octopus and angels? what? did someone drug me in my sleep?
i sat atop my dryer contemplating what to do.
the floor beneath the dryer also transformed into something strange.
my dryer and i fell through the sky for twenty-seven minutes.
we landed in a cemetery; our parts were tossed amongst the graves.
the acid rain then melted every living thing on earth away.

Some time ago in the furnace below
Grew restless the ruler of sin;
He dug through His closet
Composed a composite
Consisting of a violin.

The underworld rang with
Delectable twang
As Lucifer plucked on His strings;
E'en angels flew down
Allured by the sound
Til Cerberus plucked off their wings.

Eventually Satan grew bored of this, too;
That thrill-seeking ******* must capture the new;
So up to the land of the living He flew;
Disguised as a figure whom everyone knew.

First on the agenda of any pretender:
Extinguish the genuine soul;
He arrived in Genoa
Disguised as a boa
And silently swallowed him whole.  

With Europe His playground
The Devil, He made sound
That no one alive had yet heard;
He fiddled and plucked,
Gambled and ******,
Until inside Him syphilis stirred.  

His physical shell He now had to retire;
Back to the depths of the black and the fire;
Forever above will the humans admire;
The legend of strings; the king; the sire.

I was in a public restroom at the mall takin' a leak in one of those urinals.
There happened to be a TDH (tall dark and handsome) man standing next to me.
And as we were peeing in unison, I leaned over, leaned back,
Looked him in the eyes and said, "Nice ****, ******."

Why is he looking at my ****?
Is he gay?
Did he just call ME a ******?
Is he confused about his sexuality?
Why do I feel insecure about my **** all of a sudden?
What just happened?

I finished peeing before he did,
So I took my ***** self over to the sink and proceeded to wash my hands.
It wasn't long before TDH was by my side.
We were now washing our hands in unison and he looks over at me and says,
"Nice hands, ******."

Is he hitting on me?
Is he really gay?
Do I really have nice hands?
Does he want to touch them?
Is he just ******* with me?
I don't know what's happening but I like it =)

Turns out he wasn't gay... nor was I.  
We both just happened to be in the business of belittling strangers
With contradictory insults for no apparent reason.
It was a good day.

Some people perceive the act of
******* on a grave
To be a gesture of crude rudeness.
I couldn't disagree more.
How else is one to interact with the dead?
Digging them up is rather time consuming-
Not to mention illegal-
Whereas your ***** provides a direct stream-
A stream of warmth; life-
Straight down to your loved one.
Their physical situation is already on its way
To becoming one with nature.
I know if I were down there
I'd welcome any and all to
Stand or squat.
Help me rot.

It cannot be seen
Because
Nothing's there.
It cannot be felt
Because
Nothing's there.
It can be heard though...
It sounds like the mouth of a cave
Or miles of catacombs.
There's nothing to touch.
Nothing to smell...
But it can be felt.
Inside.
It creeps up on you
With the sound
And pulls the ground out
From under your feet.
Where it comes from
I haven't a clue...
Do you?

Hurricane Sandy you sure are a dandy,
What with your winds and your rain.
Your pandemic endeavor is truly a pleasure
To watch, but for many a pain.

Oh Hurricane Sandy, sweeter than candy,
Wash it all down, down the drain.
We'll clean up the mess and invest in the best
Infrastructure and buildings and brains.

Hurricane Sandy won't you come in handy,
My country's gone ******* insane.
This phony election's in need of correction-
Just wash it all down, down the drain.

I listen to this music when I have ******* with prostitutes.
At first they're like "*** is this?"
Then later they tell me "it's beautiful," and I say to them,
"I know.  I bet you wish you were that beautiful."
We both then laugh and she charges me full price.

If I should die before I wake
I'd like for you to bake a cake

Jesus Sweet Jesus
Wherefore art thou Jesus?
I'm starting to think you're a
Story to please us.
Your morals designed
By a horrible mind
Whose only desire's to
Keep us in line.

Jesus Sweet Jesus
Wherefore art thou Jesus?
Can you see where your book
And your prophets will lead us?
Since Father has blessed us
With rational minds
We've no longer the use
For irrational binds.

Jesus Sweet Jesus
Wherefore art thou Jesus?
Was it a mistake
For your Father to breed us?
He made us unstable
Yet able and brave
To disable the fable
Creating His grave.

Yeah,
I could smile,
But you don't look at
A person's mouth
When they smile -
You look them in
The eyes -
And mine would tell you
That I just don't feel like
******* smiling.

I remove my shoes beside my bed;
Morning comes,
I trip and fall
And bust my head.
What a terrible place for shoes!

Evening comes and I sit down in my room
After working like a ******* idiot slave.
I remove my shoes,
But I feel the pain...
So I throw my shoes across the room.
Morning comes again;
I make my way to the bathroom
And before I know anything
I'm on the ground.
What a terrible place for shoes!

The day drags on as
Headaches and embarrassment
Follow me around throughout my daily adventures.
They laugh at me and grind my cells
So I take a few vicodin.
The day comes to an end and
In my opiated stupor
I remove my shoes and
Leave them by my bedside
Once again.
Morning comes
And I'm on the ground
For the third time.

This is it.
I've had enough.
No more ******* shoes
In the house.
I train myself to leave
All shoes in the front hall.
This should do the trick.
I wake up the next morning
And all the shoes are gone!
Christ... I must have forgotten to
Lock the front door.
**** kids...

Waiting for the next one to softly soothe my mind.
Waiting for the next one, they're awfully hard to find.
Waiting for the next one, they show up in my dreams.
Waiting for the next one, it's sadly how it seems.

Waiting for the next one to crush up into powder.
Waiting for the next one to hush up voices louder.
Waiting for the next one to shove aside my goals.
Waiting for the next one to toss me on the coals.

Once not long ago
In the vile state of Utah,
An evil wizard
Impregnated a feral cat with
Mormon seed.
In no time at all,
A litter was born
And all of them died
But one–
Mittens the Kitten.

Mittens grew up with a sense of entitlement
Because the evil wizard filled his head
With the Mormon scriptures.
When Mittens would catch and **** a mouse,
The evil wizard would pet Mittens
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

In the evenings,
Mittens would enjoy a bowl of warm blood.
Sometimes it would coagulate,
But Mittens loved his blood.
He lapped it up
With a a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

The evil wizard was a Harvard Business Grad,
And since feline-humanoids were not accepted
At Harvard Business School,
The evil wizard taught Mittens
All that he knew.
Mittens soaked up the knowledge
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Some years went by and Mittens
Became a successful business owner.
He would lap up bowls of
Other people's business
With a vigor that was borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Fast forward to the present tense
(My personal favorite tense)
And Mittens is running for president.
He uses his magical smirk to cloak his lies
So that naive voters might believe that
They should vote for this cat.
He smirks and he lies
With a vigor that is borderline
Inappropriate.
Mittens was bred to ****.

Grandpa melted two squirrels together using the fat from their bodies after skinning the skin from their bellies.  They were dead before he began this project, of course.  He's a taxidermist.  
Grandpa is surely to blame for many a nightmare–
The jars of eyes and teeth collected from years of scraping corpses off the highway.
But as the Buddhists preach, I've found some blessings in his macabre pastime.  
Most of my friends shy away from the undesirable aspects of life;
Death bringing up the forefront.  
I feel that grandpa's melancholy menagerie has helped me
Cozy up to the idea that despite life's bountiful beauty,
A dark side coexists intertwined-
But darkness is not always
A bad thing...
Is it?

War:  Future corpses scattered across the field of broken dreams.

Almond oil applied to fingers
Yet they continue to gum;
Sticky green forever lingers
On my fingers; on my thumb.

Cut em down,
Chop em up,
Trim em down,
String em up.

Johnny Cash blasts though the speakers,
Some will try to sing along;
Some will idly tap their sneakers
Even as they hit the ****.

Cut em down,
Chop em up,
Trim em down,
String em up.

Screaming oxen overdosed on toxins leading the wagon-train to hell.

And I think I'm doin' alright
Despite the heightening
Conservative right - wing,
I think there might be a fight,
Yeah it's ******' frightening.

I got to where I am today
Without the aide of
Book-smarts
And being a nerd.
I beat up nerds,
Steal their girlfriends
And drive them to
My parent's summer house
In the Hamptons!
No, I don't need
Book-smarts
To graduate from
Harvard.
My tuition was prepaid
And business comes as natural to me
As does stealing your girlfriend!

I use the word sin
In metaphor;
For I don't believe
Anymore
That there's a
Heaven or a Hell
Or a creator.

I say, "Thank God"
Facetiously;
For an open mind
Unleashes me
From placing my
Gratitude
With a magic dude.

I say, "*******"
Because people get offended,
Even though blasphemy
Is not what I intended.
The aesthetic appeal
Is just so splendid;
Two words juxtaposed,
So tenderly blended.

Lethargic mornings are healthy for no one,
Except maybe a sloth.
My alarm clock sounds off a generic melody
I could have composed in my sleep,
But I'm sure some corporate tiger got paid
At least five hookers and an eight ball
To lay down that track.
*******....  That's what I need right now.
Coffee is nice, and it's even nicer
With *******.

Does he provide the rope when you feel like hanging around?
Does he provide the gun when you possess the urge to bring things to the ground?
Does he provide the overwhelming sense of greed when you're feeling particularly opportunistic?
When arguments get heated does he make you feel sadistic?

I don't think he does,
But I think he would if he could.
Furthermore, I think that if he were me
And I were him,
We'd make the lights go dim
And hum hymns in rooms
A-dangle with severed limbs.
We'd open the window
And turn on a fan
So that they'd all dance
Happenstance.

I think to myself,
What Would Satan Do?
When I'm asked ever so kindly
To hold open a door or
Fetch a pale of water for
Grandma.
Would he slam the door shut on her face
Or would he hold it open only to close it behind us
So that no one in the other room can watch
What we're about to do to her.  
A curious creature, this Satan fellow.
I wonder if he's available for
Birthday parties...

Eliminate the grass roots-
Organize a hoard of guys
Abhorrent lies and black boots
Coordinate the insubordinate
Get on the floor and sit until
I ******' tell you to move

We're just walkin' on the borders of our own chalk outlines
Fear adhered to talkin' televisions are your confines

It doesn't even matter if we lie or if we tell the truth,
Remember Harvey Oswald and that cat John Wilkes Booth?
We maintain the power over every single hour of your life,
So smell the flowers while you can and try to find yourself a pretty wife.

We're just walkin' on the borders of our own chalk outlines
Fear adhered to talkin' televisions are your confines

Don't forget your Bible boy
Don't you print that libel boy
We'll sue your ****** *** until
You're livin' like a tribal boy

Presently living in a
Past that never was;
Dwelling on the
Wouldas Couldas and
Probably shouldn'ta beens;
Reliving old sins and
Reinventing new ones while
Repeating the same old formula
Over and over again.
The cellar dweller feeds on
Fantasies and nostalgia;
Only accepting food that tastes
Relatively similar to something he
Enjoyed when he was happy
Once upon a time.
A slave to the good old days...
And so long as he eats,
Any resemblance of future happiness
Remains locked away
Deep in the cellar-
Guarded fervently-
By the dweller.

I defecate in forms of riches
In the pockets of you *******;
Strangle egos with my hold,
Suffocate the young and old;
Thanks to man I'll never perish,
As long as something's there to cherish;
I have everything you need--
I'll swallow you, for I am greed.

I once bought a homeless man a big juicy steak and he said to me,
"But I haven't the means to cook this."  
And I replied, "Not my problem."

Hours on end
I stare at the ceiling;
Final conclusion-
There is no meaning.
Perhaps it will fall;
Fall without meaning.
The walls will then laugh
As they all begin leaning
Then fall, fall;
Fall without meaning.

Little Miss Muffle
Got into a scuffle
Which ended a terrible mess.

She was beaten and *****
While videotaped
And left in the forest undressed.

Then along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And started to ****** her breast.

But it really went south
When it crawled in her mouth
And its babies burst out of her chest.

I feel the blood of slaves as I cut my wrists with diamond blades.
I bleed for them as they bleed for your earrings.  
Your wedding rings.  Your pointless things.
That platinum chain that hangs down to your waist encrusted with ice;
I hope it gets caught in your oversized rims while you're hanging your head out the window
Trying to spit some game at a pair of graceful underage prostitutes.  
I hope it cuts your ******* head off right then and there.
And in that moment when the diamonds scatter across the pavement
In a mixture of your blood and their *****,
I hope a meteor shower shines over Africa-
Bringing smiles to slaves in and out of graves-
As if they've just been told what had happened.

Crap.
It's all crap*
She said as she
Clicked on various links
Leading to various poems.  
Her ego gets the best of her at times--
But she has a point.
She also realizes that all writing isn't meant
To be great.
It's an outlet for people,
And if someone's out-pouring isn't
Necessarily aesthetically pleasing  
That's your problem, not theirs.
A lot of people do try - in vain -
To make their words as pleasing as possible...
But who can blame them?  
Poetry is beautiful.
Don't stop writing because you ****.
Please--
I beg you.
I need a few ugly friends in my entourage
To make me look even better
Than I know I am.

In my Omicronicopia lies little rows of little o's ~
My chronic omniphobia ties little bows in my little hose ~
This ******* like a rose it knows to waft it's way into my nose ~
It shivers and my innards froze from blizzards blowing up my nose ~

I toy around with words and feelings ~
Dissecting verbs - insert new meanings ~
Pit a noun against your frown ~
And rediscover means of healing ~

It's Like, I don't care about nothin man...

sigh

I was gonna clean my room, but I'm too depressed...
I was gonna get up and find the broom but I'm such a mess...
my room is still messed up and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to class but I'm so depressed...
I coulda cheated and I coulda passed but I'm such a mess.
I am taking it next semester and I know why,
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to work but I'm too depressed
I just got a new promotion but I'm such a mess
now I've got a rope and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna go to court but I'm so depressed
I was gonna pay my child support but I'm such a mess
they took my whole paycheck and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I was gonna make love to you but I'm too depressed
I was gonna eat yo ***** too but I'm such a mess
now I'm jacking off and I know why,
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I messed up my entire life because I'm depressed
I lost my kids and wife because I'm depressed
now I'm sleeping on the sidewalk and I know why
why man?
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed
  because I'm depressed...

sigh

I'm gonna stop singing this song because I'm depressed
I'm singing this whole thing wrong because I'm depressed
and if I dont sell one copy I know why
why man?
  cause after this verse
  I'll be in a hearse
  cause I'm so depressed...

*sigh

I carefully slice the scalp
Along the top from
Ear to ear
And slowly peel it down
Over my eyes.
I continue peeling and
Ripping and tearing
Until my face is dangling
From my chin.
Never before seen
Lifeless expressions take shape
As I sing the lyrics to
Eyes Without a Face.
I've got no human grace.

Smothered in leftover sausage ham gravy
A liver-spotted sewer-swimin' baby
Crawls up to the dumpster as Ma and Pa
Dig din din out of the can can
Before the man man comes out with the pan pan
And smacks em' all up real good like.  
Homeless in the gutters rely on the
Percentage of Americans that aren't
Obese pieces of **** that finish not only
Their meals but their plates and silverware...
Some even eat the waitress.  
How fat must you be, America?

The place was dangerous as hell; we had no business being there. It was a complex, composed of four immense structures, looming on the bluffs between Lake Michigan and a ghost town. I'm not sure which side of the fence brought forth more eeriness - the sight of four massive industrial skeletons was indeed an eerie one, but within the village that must endure it's haunting presence persists a dwindling heartbeat... and together they produced a heightened effect of slow decay - and that was what drew me in.

The place was magnificent day or night.

By day, we'd explore the groundworks while the light allowed us to admire the massive machinery, which by then had accumulated copious amounts of corrosion. All those dead giants, never to function again. In the spring time, beams of light would penetrate the ceiling above, caving in from years of stress sans stress tests. Even when the light was not shining through, one could make out where the beams have been because in their wake they left a trail of life. Up to that point in my life I thought that was the most beautiful scene I had ever seen - a thousand tons of old machinery, and a stubborn sunbeam poking through, incubating it's au natural industrialized chia pet.

By night, we would ascend to the rooftops of these four story horror stories and gaze up at the stars. Sometimes, when our ***** were feeling particularly swelled, we'd venture across the rooftops as if in some post-apocalyptic videogame. And sometimes when we were feeling a bit rebellious and artistic, we'd bring along some cans of spray paint and redecorate to our desire. Oh, and another reason the place reeked of death was surely due to it being a glue factory... wherein horses were killed in order to gain access to their foot-stuff. I was told by an unfortunate local that they'd bury the unwanted horse parts in big pits back behind the place... this man had told me that he fell into one while wandering around back there - nearly died trying to get out.

We knew the place was soon to be leveled, but we did not know when. Eventually I ended up moving out of state for a while, and alas, upon my return my childhood fascination was no more. shrugs... So it goes.

May the furnace burn us
So that we might rise from crash's ashes
Like the Phoenix as Felix
Pounds out a bravado sonata
Something brash and passionate
Like abstract fashion it
Causes conundrums among tongues
Flapping, rolling, lapping, growing
Synaptic tactics mapping spastic
Canals through the fungal jungles
Of minds melting from psilosybin I been
Growing dendrites as my pen writes
Reaching Zen heights while the men fight.

Decapitation plus
My ***** on your chin
Equals severed head.

Chained to a stop sign–
Your body twitches for a while
But I do not stop.

I wonder how it would feel
To penetrate your eye socket
And plow through your brain.

Perhaps my little soldiers
Will give you something
To think about...

I sing you lies
Like Lullabies.
The guilt slides off me
And you'll never realize
That these wise eyes
Are a prized guise
Fashioned to capitalize
On cries
Off all shapes and size.
Cries for blood
Cries of pain
Cries for God
Cries in vain
Once you catch on
(you won't)
We'll label you insane.
In the meantime...
I'll be planning the next Holocaust
Miles above you on my
Jet plane.

Shoot first -
Ask questions later.
"What are we shooting?"
The answers.
"How come?"
Because they're wrong.
"But how do we know that
Until we ask the questions?"
...
*We're gonna need a medic over here...

Atop my ragged head doth sit
A candle - planted firm - alit.
Wax drips down upon my face;
I've long forgotten how it tastes.
It serves it's purpose in my room;
Eschewing demons spewing doom.

When I'm at home it shines so bright,
But when I exit -  day or night -
A breeze extinguishes the light.

People see me and I shudder,
Try to speak but only stutter.
Why can't my candle just stay lit?
If only for a little bit?
You know I got an app for that?
Oh Yeah?
*No, get a ******* hat

Diarrhea
Dairy Queen
Dainty Danes
Deluded Dean
Dog Eat Dog
Eat Dog Eat
**** and Die
*******
I'm High

On the shores of Vietnam,
She was Ly and
He was Tom.
He saved her from a falling bomb,
How much sweeter does it get?

He brought her home to see the states,
Took her on a couple dates.
He even set and cleaned the plates.
How much sweeter does it get?

They bought a home in east Rhode Island;
Decor to match her home in Thailand.
She acclimated to the dry land.
How much sweeter does it get?

Some years went by and Ly would cry
When Tom would get deployed.
"My country needs me."
"So do I."
They both would get annoyed.

So one day Ly brought up to Tom
That life is like a ticking bomb.
So with his quill
He penned his will
And ended back in Vietnam.

Bullets showered from the sky
And mines exploded from below-
But ****** really stole the show...
The warm night skies all orange aglow.

Ly heard soon of Tom's demise...
Tear drops glistened in her eyes.
But she was quick to realize
The will, the future; oh the prize.

How much sweeter does it get?

If you found a cork in the seafloor
Would you pull it out?
If you found a switch on the sun
Would you flip it off?
If you found a ****** ******* on the moon
And it was only you and her,
Would you **** her?
I bet you would...

The strapping young boys
Will play with their toys
And cause harm to er'one around.

They'll make lots of noise,
Colluded with poise,
Among them not a soul to be found.

It wasn't too long
Before they were turned on
To firm over in Illinois,

Where collusion has proven
A blooming conclusion
For all whom they choose to employ.

"Is this an illusion?"
Said one in confusion.
"I'm successful and happy and paid.

"I'm a millionaire
With brilliant hair,
And a beautiful dame of a maid!"

"Pardon my intrusion,
You've chosen profusion
O'er doing the world some good.

"Prepare for seclusion-
A lonely conclusion
Is knocking beneath your hood."

Hell...
Hell is that moment when you
Open the door and find a
Rabid dog
Feasting
On the entrails of your
Newborn child.
Your mind slips even further
Down the chute as you realize
The dog has not a clue
It's done anything wrong.

Babies in the microwave
Babies in the oven
Babies in a shallow grave
Babies need your lovin'

Babies smoking cigarettes
Babies cursing with tourette's
Babies in the garbage can
Babies on the ceiling fan

Babies reading Dostoevsky
Babies cruising on a jet ski
Babies naked on the beach
Babies fuzzy like a peach

Babies crying cuz you hurt them
Babies take it cuz they must
Babies lying cuz you hurt them
Babies I will never trust

Babies all of us once were
Babies drooling on the fur
Babies in the soup we stir
Babies life is all a blur.