The acoustics of a pack of cigarettes...

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 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.

May your day upon awakening be better than the prior;
Even better than that sweater on your flesh fresh out the dryer =)

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.

but whenever I'm presented with an object
capable of causing harm,
I can't help but envision myself
utilizing it in ways most unpleasant.

In the kitchen when I'm preparing a meal--
the knife enters my throat.
In the yard when I'm wielding the chainsaw--
the blade enters my throat.
When I grip the pistol and point it down range--
the bullet enters my throat and exits through the cerebellum.

Yet, I've never once attempted to take my life or even
threatened to do so for attention;
but that's really not my style.
Perhaps these thoughts are perfectly normal...

*yeah, for a guy who hates his ******' life.

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?

A stiff breeze coincides with a passing jet
As I sit on my stoop watching dead leaves
Dance around the manhole in the street.

It's 15 degrees outside,
Yet I persist with this disgustingly pleasurable vice
That's sure to **** me... eventually.
Fingertips numb as carcinogens fill my lungs
To shake hands and broker death deals with my alveoli.

I ponder...

The previous chapter in my life has come to a close.
Awareness of the changes setting in
Allows for a free hand to grasp the wheel,
If only with few fingers...
It's a start.

I was once issued a citation
For ******* on a homeless guy.
On my court date,
The judge asked me why I did it,
And I said,
"Because I thought he was dead."

The way we don't joke.
The way we sometimes never do.
The tendencies of overburdened humans.
Internalizations.
Expanding walls.
******* up what matters most.
Never playing host.
Chicken flavored gummy toast.
Rhyming **** that don't make sense.
Putting up with ignorance.
Thoughts of death and suicide.
Neglect on ******* override.

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.

Regarding some thoughts on a talk
moments prior,
I outline some traits for a date
I require.
If passion trumps fashion
we're off to a start,
And art is another way into my heart.
It doesn't seem fair to care
about age;
Those dastardly digits depicting a cage.
Which ain't to declare I'd pair with
a minor;
Save for maybe an E,
Since I'm such a G.

I digress and confess, if you'd like it
much clearer,
For all you've to do is to look
in the mirror.

Along the crooked fence we walk
Until our silhouettes of chalk
Are stenciled on the concrete floor
Hollow, void, alive no more.

Ham sandwiches remind me of the days gone by
When I'd fly out the door to kiss the lips of glass
That would always kiss back; a kiss to get me high
Quite literally speaking, sneaking out the window
Just to do it again, sometimes I'd forge a pen with a nut
So what, yeah I've had the plastic in my lungs
But I'm climbing up the rungs with a quick two skip,
Slip n hit my chin on the rung labeled "dedication"
Forever changing stations in this ADD society we livin in today, pass it back or go away, ham sandwich.

There's ghosts up in the gears 'n sprockets
hosts of locusts fear the prophets
preachin' reachin' for the sky
on the morrow we may die
~
I pray to trees n bumble bees
on my kneeses **** a jesus
his death was probably in vain
just wash that **** away with rain
~

Her hair sparks jealousy among the autumn leaves as tourists and locals a like avert their gaze from the deciduous blaze. Displays of orange and red dance happenstance on the breeze in a last ditch effort to reclaim the fame, however, Murielle's beauty is so profound that they dance too hard and fall to the ground. One by one, they let go of both life and limb as they float down around her angelic figure creating a spectacle so magnificent the gods and demons all writhe with envy. And as she stood there, bathed in beauty, vibrantly violating all the laws of nature, the god who guarded that particular forest appeared just to say, "My oh my, what a wonderful day."

If humans had wings they would flock to the ground,
They would mine as they sing and dig underground towns,
They'll keep on a-diggin'
down diggy down down,
Till they dig up a well
And drown driggy drown drown.
They'll try with their wings to fly up to the sky,
But those tunnels are deep and all winding, no lie,
So they suffered, the lot of em, subterranean deaths
As they flapped and they screamed as they breathed their last breaths.

Two dreams today bout the end of the world.
Apocalyptic and cryptic, like Hell had unfurled.
The first was more normal, yet veiled in dread.
Emptied out houses; no sign of the dead.
Something wicked most certainly this way did come.
Some plague or disease from which we could not run.

Dream number one allowed me to prepare
For the horror of the second, but what I found there...

Cronenberg ******, agony, bliss,
So juxtaposed like a rose in some ****.
Mutated creatures, ****** red eyes,
Things you've not seen but by nature despise.
You'd freeze in your skin just from hearing their cries,
Then all of the hope that's inside of you dies.
But I found a car... drove to place,
Woke up with sticky **** all on my face
=)

As I stare at the wall,
I can't tell if reality is setting in
Or slipping away...

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

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...

Tried ta nap, nap ain't hap'n'n.
There's a dead seal on the beach
'n I'm feelin' lonely.
Maybe if I drink enough
It can be my mermaid =(