Maniacal thugs
Swap juices with sweet angels
On a moonless night.

Jesus Christ, 15 AD

Today was a good day. I sneaked away to the cave and lit a bush on fire so I could communicate with my father. I’m not sure why I even bother telling Him things because He already knows them… I guess I just like hearing his voice. Today I asked Him if it would be alright for me to start practicing my miracles… AND HE SAID YES!!! XD He says I need a lot of practice before I go taking it public because nobody would believe I’m the son of God if I ******* one up. Also, I’m pretty sure he wants to preserve his reputation… so I started practicing on sheep. It’s a good thing shepherds are already so far away from towns because if people witnessed what I was doing to these sheep PETA would be at my doorstep in a matter of days. For those of you who don’t know, PETA is an organization created by Satan for animals because he thinks it hilarious that they should have a place in heaven, too. HA HA SATAN, very funny…

So my first miracles were simple. I was to heal all of the injured sheep in my flock. This went over fairly well, until I came to the blind sheep. I tried healing her and her eyeballs melted right out her skull! REVERSE MIRACLE! REVERSE MIRACLE! I shouted as I waved my staff in a panic. Then in the background a bush lit ablaze, “Son, you know waving that staff around won’t cause anything to happen. Magic wands and staffs are pagan nonsense. Since your birth I’ve disabled all of their so-called magical instruments, so now they’re nothing but a bunch of ritualistic heathens.” Anyway, Father fixed the poor sheep’s eyes and I was scolded for harming the animal. He sometimes makes me flog myself…

Lunch: Stale bread and glass of water.

After lunch is training time. My father had me build a crucifix inside a cave hidden deep in the desert hills so that I can practice for the big day! I spend 2 hours a day roped to that cross, and another hour or so doing self-mutilation. More flogging. I keep asking Father if he’ll send me down a practice angel so that I don’t have to keep beating myself, but he said all the angels who were into that sort of thing migrated south… So here I am… alone… in a cave… fists full of blood and rope burned wrists. Heading home to watch my parents argue and maybe I’ll turn their water into laudanum so that I may have a decent night’s sleep.

Sometimes a comet collides with the moon
Creating a crater; a lunar lagoon.
A history of time, not unlike tattoos-
Up there all alone, I bet it sings the blues.

As I slide
In and out of
This world,
The bed burns cold
And I feel like I'm
About to hurl.
Screaming softly,
Ragged boat
Glides over
Jagged hope.

Lusting feelings, tormented soul.
Close your eyes,
(Or don't) I swallow you whole.
I feel you kick and scream,
As you fall down-
Down deep inside me.

Ripping apart
As our souls collide,
We are becoming one-
You're all of my pain.
My body will soothe me
And start over again.
One.

It would appear that
most
Of these poems
Reflect broken hearts
and
Weighted bones.
Sitting, thinking,
All alone.
Surrounded by a happy home?
Or are you truly all alone?
Your misery a lonesome dome.
No family to scratch your back?
No bitter rival to attack?
No **** buddy to fill your cup?
So you stay empty,
Shriveled up.
I know that feeling,
Isolation.
Talk to someone,
Change the station.
There's more to life than
Hugs and kisses.
Do some drugs and
Find what bliss is.
Meditate atop a mountain.
Transform yourself into a fountain.
Let the water trickle down
Onto dead leaves that was your frown.
Or maybe torture **** a clown?
Whatever gets ya off, mate.

I stare in the mirror and what stares back?
An apoplectic apparition wishin' he could concentrate,
But wishin's only fishin' with a shoe string and a roll of tape.
Paranoia resonates, the social pressures shower down,
Gleaming rays of expectation force a smile upon my frown.
The neverending battle wages on between myself and I,
Then there's me and him and her and them and us~
So what's the fuss?  You paid a hefty fee to ride with us
Upon the crazy bus.  
Buy the ticket, take the ride.
What's the matter, too much pride?
Untie your demons, let us fly.
****.
The knot has come undone.
Next time I'll have to use the gun.
But without us you'll be no fun!
That might be true...
Here's what I'll do.
I'll take these drugs to silence you
When I'm within the public view.
Then at night I'll let you out,
This rhyme scheme is getting kind of boring.
Yeah....

Millions of tiny could-bes
Swim upstream in hope
That they might someday
Grow up to release
Their brothers and sisters
All over your face
In a gooey, sticky mess
That makes it on the internet
So that millions of other
Tiny could-bes
Can be freed from their
Bulging testicular prisons.

Toxic ads live-streamed through your wires and the airwaves
As though it's perfectly legal to pump out poisonous gasses
Straight into the public domain.
With democracy comes hypocrisy;
Biological warfare declared on
Innocent civilians whose vote matters,
And that's all that matters.
They reassure you with charming grins
While their eyes tell tales of all their sins.
The noise does not stop as they pay fortunes for
Propaganda time.
Hate spewing, gut-wrenching, fist clenching games
Held for the purpose of heading a nation in the right direction.
It's a shame that the game takes a toll on the soul,
No one stays the same when faced with the poll.
Enter the maze innocent, eyes a-glaze
Then when it spits you out
All that remains is a name.

Color me yellow,
Oh dear, not yellow!  
Oh how I hate that hue...
So bright and fantastic,
Stretched nerves like elastic,
Oh how I hate that hue...

Color me pink,
Oh dear, yes! pink!
And laugh at me through the day!
Bent over the sink,
Submerged in pink,
And laugh at me through the day!

Color me green,
Oh dear, oh my,
The color will get you high.
The birds sing a chorus
As I dance in the forest,
The color will get you high!

Color me red,
Oh dear, NOT RED!
There's a bull with his horns over there!
I hope and I pray
That he don't come my way,
There's a bull with his ******* horns right the **** over there!!!!

Color me clear,
Oh dear, yes!  clear!
Translucent as if not there!
I'll remove all my clothes,
Because nobody knows
I'm translucent  as if not there!

Color me queer
Oh dear, oh dear.
What have I been doing here?
I've wasted my time
Creating this rhyme,
What the **** am I doing here?

Purchased at a drug store,
The cheap doll takes her first breath
As you remove her shiny afterbirth.
Her eyes are closed -
And they stay closed -
So that she doesn't have to
Endure your
Stupid grin.

I had *** with your mother last night.  
She was a hairy, sweaty mess.
I took her down to the corner bar
And bought her a couple pints.
That's all she needed.
After a couple hours
I was down her throat.
Your mother is a real freak.
I wanted to create a romantic atmosphere
But she insisted that we just **** in the dirt
Like animals.
We behaved like primitive heathens
Lusting in a prehistoric heat.
Teeth gnashing, hair pulling, sweat beading;
It was like all the civilities had been shed
And we were acting without the aide of a
Cerebral cortex.
In the morning, you strayed silently
From your room and sat down at the
Kitchen table.
Silence.

smiling briefly as the strangers come and go
through my field of vision.
why do i smile?
i don't think i give a ****-
...do i?
part of me must...
must care about my image;
must care about how others view me.
perhaps i just wish that for once
someone would
smile back...

Fat and disgusting,
the manatee eats and *****
with endangered grace.

Choreographed fits
awaken society
to its slow decline.

Politicians race
to win the seat but forget
how to act like men.

Why isn't there a
sociopath filter built
into the system?

The fool talks and the wise man listens.  
Is it wise to warn one who will not listen?  
A waste of breath, caught by death?  
The menacing figure inhales our woes
And breathes out weapons
With which we use to
Mutilate ourselves.
Television.
Television.
Now the wise men talk
While the fools all listen.

I had a talk with a fetus today.  
A mind talk.  
I wasn’t aware of such an ability
Until I encountered this incubating sapient sapien.  
We talked in a language consisting of feelings and emotions –
No trace of an actual language;
No words.  
He conveyed warmth.  
Mind numbing warmth and happiness.  
Mind enhancing.
Mind glowing.  
Life glowing.  
Radiant joy ran down my legs
And down through my feet,
Straight into the ground.  
Into the Earth.  
The planet then sighed a mighty sigh of great relief,
Somehow knowing that this child had been born.

Take me away to an island of pain
Where I can strip naked and dance in the acid rain.
Clouds of monoxide, trees of barbed wire,
I climb high and inhale then jump into the fire.
When the skin has been burned and/or irritated
I look into the mirror and feel slightly degraded.
I'm just a masochistic misfit feeling ritualistic,
Painting pictures with the knife which I slit my own wrist with.

Screaming Spades Scare Spastic Diamonds,
Clumsy Clubs Carefuly Cut the Deck,
Horrible Hearts Hum Hymns from Hell
With the Jokers and Jacks, where the Demons Dwell.
Twos and Threes Tear Through the Trees
While Fours and Fives Flail Franticly,
Free Falling From Far-Fetched Facilities.
Six and Seven Slowly Sufficate
As Evil Eights Eradicate Everything on Earth.
Nasty Nines Need Narcotics and ****** for
Terrorizing Tens Tendorizing Tremendous Tributaries
Feeding the Fifty Five Forrests of Fargoth

He goes to work at six and drinks his coffee black.  Flavor plays a role in this man’s life as much as trees play a role to fish.  Tributaries of loneliness and depression flow into the river that is his life; and his river flows into a deep sea of sorrow.  Dead to himself, John sips his bitter breakfast as he checks the morning emails.  One stands out among the rest from sender Happy the Clown.  He blankly stares at it until he finally wakes from his surprised stupor and clicks it.  Children yelling--loud whistles--people shouting with joy and happiness about what appears to be nothing.  Finally, Happy the Clown pops on the screen with a Grand Canyon smile, wild yellow hair and a nose that Rudolph would envy.  This was too much.  John never got out of his chair that day.  He died—eyes glued to the screen—forever listening to the joyous cries of children—forever staring at the dancing clown of death.

Hey you,

In your cubicle-

You havin’ fun yet?

When’s the last time you seen a decent sunset?

When’s the last time you noticed something beautiful?

Through those hazy - glazed eyes

Rendered by your cubicle?

Beneath the autumn leaves
I sit and think
Beneath the autumn leaves.

Hollow trees produce no leaves,
Just empty branches
Without leaves.  

Crimson, orange and vibrant yellow,
Synaptic pathways bore and burrow,
I am not a hollow tree;
Empathize and dream with me.

Where does the money go?
I work, I toil, I bleed, I sweat;
But I have not one thing to show.

Maintaining highs but forever low,
I smoke, I fear, I fall, I fret;
Where does the money go?

Whichever way the wind does blow.
To myself I am in debt,
But I have not one thing to show.

An omnipresent malicious glow,
Resounding like a string quartet;
Where does the money go?

Perhaps I know...
Do I regret?
But I have not one thing to show.

Life's everlasting ebb and flow
Just goes to show how I forget-
Where does the money go?
But I have not one thing to show.

Gone are the days
full of
Song and Sun Rays;

Crimes of the Times
outshine
Minds full of Rhymes;

Greed and Decay
make me
Bleed Disarray
while i
Feed from the Tray
where they
Peed - It's Okay,
but take
Heed what I Say...

Stripped are the Proles
while the
Stripped swing on Poles;

The Irresponsible Parent
spells doom
For the rest...

It's apparent,
abhorrent
although,
What a ******* beautiful mess...

A man was abused,
Subsequently accused
Of molesting the battered and bruised.

Then along came a rumor
Which banished all humor;
Away he was sent... but they did find a tumor.

But fortune was not on the side of the man,
For he not a penny, no rich uncle, no land.

So inside his head the tumor did stay,
Thoughts of molesting remain to this day,
He'll go to his grave with a gleam in his eyes;
A gleam that ensures his secluded demise.

sometimes I find myself staring at the ground for long periods of time…
some people think I'm depressed...
perhaps I am...
but there are quite a lot of insects down there.
most people never take notice as they're constantly consumed
with their own lives...
the upward glancers... the straight-forward perceptionists.
I wonder if insects ever get depressed
because we're
always
stepping on them...