The summer of self destruction:
Mars bars serving pints of red death
On the rocks...
Craters filled with miscreants and misfits
Lined with ***** donors and sounds
Reminiscent of the wise and powerless Buddha
Drowning in a pool of *****;
Doorknobs turn counter-clockwise
When the sun hits them from the west;
I crave the raven's guileless depth
As it rips the flesh from off my chest.

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?

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.

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

Had a hunch for lunch,
And as I heard the crunch
Of the hunch
It hit me like a punch-
With the hunch came a bunch
Of realizations-
Filling my mind
With epic sensations-

Will it behoove me to follow it's path?
Or should I remain stagnant, like water in the bath...

**** that-
Stagnation will render you hollow-
Don't have to be that one
But pick one to follow.

Alright then-
I'm ditching my compass-
I'm off on this hunch,
But before I go-
I think I'll have lunch.

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.

Let down like a (metaphor)

On this mild night.

Surely not a wild night-

Physically speaking-

Internally tweaking-

Shrieking, speaking in one tongue,

For that's all I have-

And I feel as though it should be removed for what it said today...

Clumsily written this poem probably is-

Clumsily smitten I very well might be-

But that's okay-

Because I don't think I give a ****

Anyway.

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...

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.

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.

Klonopin Clonazepam Sintonal Diazepam
Refill my Rivotril Don't spill my Risolid
Alprazolam Bretazenil Bromazepam Lexotanil
Dadumir Olcadil Nobrium Stilny
Halcion Hypnovel Tavor! Tavor! Tavor!
Gimme gamma-aminos but only if they're butyric
With Xanax as my hand ax; Anxiety, *This is War!

The nights often grow cold where I live,
So I try and do what seems logical--
Build a fire.
I hastily take to the darkness in search of kindling--
Success!
The storm from last night seems to have littered the ground with
Dead branches large and small.
I'm unfamiliar with this type of tree, however...
But it seems quite promising.
I do hope it burns well.
Back in my cabin, I find the smaller sticks break with ease,
And the larger pieces split at my command without hesitation;
I then proceed to load the stove and fire it up.
All has gone according to plan--
Save for one minor detail...
Despite my efforts to further stoke the blazing inferno,
It produces no heat.
The warmth of my excitement from finding the wood
And subsequently constructing the fire has now subsided and I'm left with a
Beautiful orange flame which - no matter how hard I try -
Can never fully satisfy.

Do what you can in life to not squeeze babies.
Squeeze them when they get older...
They might appreciate it then;
But while they're young and brittle,
Lay off with the bear hugs.

On second thought...
Squeeze babies.
Even if they cry and show utter displeasure,
Babies need to toughen up and learn that
No matter how hard life squeezes...

Okay, alright...
Don't squeeze babies.

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

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.

A solid gold oak tree will shimmer and shine
And many a man will declare it as "mine;"
It'll stand firm and tall,
Keep its leaves in the fall,
And around it some humans will build a great wall.

A solid gold oak tree will draw the religious;
The meager, impoverished and the superstitious.
They'll come just to gaze
At the golden sun rays
Which reflect off its branches as if its ablaze.

A solid gold oak tree will cause a great war;
On one side the rich; on the other the poor.
They'll fight until civilization's no more,
And the gold will then melt back into the Earth's core.

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?

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...

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

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

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

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...

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.

The words from your mouth act as the most fertile soil
I can possibly find
To fill
This hole that's present in me.

The vital nutrients that can be found within
When observed closely
Under
A microscope...

Kindness; Compassion; Intelligence; Humor;
All working in unison to create a
Concert which helps me
Compose my (p)rose

And nobody knows.

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.

the silent screams of children who died while
mining the minerals to make your mobiles
echo in every photograph you take;
every call you make;
every selfie with your smile so fake;
their shrieks go unheard...
but every so often
if you listen closely to the dial tone,
you can hear a faint giggle here and there...
a chortle of a child in heaven gleaning the meaning of
poetic justice
when eyes on the phone quickly become
eyes in the phone... among other places.

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
=)

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.

I pray for nightmares to take me away
From this place I dwell.
I pray for a greater pain to act-
To distract-
In fact-
I don't pray at all-
I just fall...

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?

If you live on a dung hill you livin on dung. Despite you might fight for the very top rung, the whole ****** ladder is lathered in dung. But from the top rung rotten corpses are hung. Strung out and rung out, some of em even hum, 'Dng-d-dung Dng-d-dnnnn dmmm-dmmm dun-d-dun dung.' They hummin n bummin n slummin til dawn n when the sun rise they'll hum a new song. How can anyone hung from a rung be so humble? Like flies on some dung or the bees who just bumble along to their song n keep on bumblin on to forget that live on a mountain of ****... O ****, is this it? This is it.. I'ma quit... Life's just a pile of dung and some rungs that go row after row to the end of the show where some corpes who hungrily hum.... huh? Oh no!

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.

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?

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.

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.

As the month of February draws to a close,
I look back on how dismal a month it's been for me.
Now, February is typically my least favorite month of the year,
Meteorologically speaking,
But personal problems almost always find a way
To add insult to injury during this
Stunted funked up month.

The perpetual cloud cover matches
My mind,
As the pleasant and unpleasant coil,
Intertwined.
The inquisitive, favorable nature I bear
Seems to pack up and vanish as if into thin air.

Let's recap.
Let's not.


Well then.

And then a little voice inside me said,
"Maybe you should get out of bed,
Do more drugs
And play Skyrim."

So I did.

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.

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...

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 *******.

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?

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.

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
~

I have a cat.
I lied; I don't have a cat...

I pack heat so the ****** on the block don't **** with me.
I lied; I don't pack heat and those ****** **** with me every day...

I have oranges growing from orange trees in my greenhouse because I believe in growing my own food and living a healthy lifestyle.
I lied; I eat at McDonald's every day...

I don't do drugs.
I lied; I'm addicted to ****** and I'll abuse just about any substance you put in front of me...

I've got a lovely girlfriend who loves me just as much as I love her.
I lied; I'm single and lonely and I ******* like clockwork...

I write decent poetry.
I lied; This isn't a poem... it's a depressing heap of words I thought might pass for poetry...

I -
lied...

I'm actually extremely happy and optimistic and nothing in the world can stop me from achieving my--
*Yeah...right.

December 31st of twenty-eleven;
Wound up in a place not so much like heaven.
No celebration - just cards and some chess,
Reflecting on how I got into this mess.
I must confess, I thought it'd be worse;
Violence and **** followed up with a hearse.
But my inmates were kind, despite their transgressions;
Most of them hauled in on counts of possession.
Fiends all around me, missing their dope;
Counting the days with a glimmer of hope.
It made me depressed, though I could relate;
Recounting the highs and how now they abate.
As I lay in my cell on that cold wintry eve,
I found it a bit easier to believe
That I ****** myself dearly, right in the ***;
But I mustn't forget that this too shall pass.

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.

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.

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.

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.

******* mother ******* *******'s father ******* niece.
******* **** slashing triple dog **** **** **** the ****** Mary in her ****** ***.
Pass the blood around in a goblet and sip so that you might not give a ****.
Hit your mother; hit your wife; hurt your family; but don't touch the animals...
They don't deserve it.