We stopped checking for monsters
Under our beds
When we realized that they lived inside us

I shall never get out of this!  There are two of me now:
This new absolutely white person and the old yellow one,
And the white person is certainly the superior one.
She doesn't need food, she is one of the real saints.
At the beginning I hated her, she had no personality --
She lay in bed with me like a dead body
And I was scared, because she was shaped just the way I was

Only much whiter and unbreakable and with no complaints.
I couldn't sleep for a week, she was so cold.
I blamed her for everything, but she didn't answer.
I couldn't understand her stupid behavior!
When I hit her she held still, like a true pacifist.
Then I realized what she wanted was for me to love her:
She began to warm up, and I saw her advantages.

Without me, she wouldn't exist, so of course she was grateful.
I gave her a soul, I bloomed out of her as a rose
Blooms out of a vase of not very valuable porcelain,
And it was I who attracted everybody's attention,
Not her whiteness and beauty, as I had at first supposed.
I patronized her a little, and she lapped it up --
You could tell almost at once she had a slave mentality.

I didn't mind her waiting on me, and she adored it.
In the morning she woke me early, reflecting the sun
From her amazingly white torso, and I couldn't help but notice
Her tidiness and her calmness and her patience:
She humored my weakness like the best of nurses,
Holding my bones in place so they would mend properly.
In time our relationship grew more intense.

She stopped fitting me so closely and seemed offish.
I felt her criticizing me in spite of herself,
As if my habits offended her in some way.
She let in the drafts and became more and more absent-minded.
And my skin itched and flaked away in soft pieces
Simply because she looked after me so badly.
Then I saw what the trouble was:  she thought she was immortal.

She wanted to leave me, she thought she was superior,
And I'd been keeping her in the dark, and she was resentful --
Wasting her days waiting on a half-corpse!
And secretly she began to hope I'd die.
Then she could cover my mouth and eyes, cover me entirely,
And wear my painted face the way a mummy-case
Wears the face of a pharaoh, though it's made of mud and water.

I wasn't in any position to get rid of her.
She'd supported me for so long I was quite limp --
I had forgotten how to walk or sit,
So I was careful not to upset her in any way
Or brag ahead of time how I'd avenge myself.
Living with her was like living with my own coffin:
Yet I still depended on her, though I did it regretfully.

I used to think we might make a go of it together --
After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.
Now I see it must be one or the other of us.
She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,
But she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.
I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,
And she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me.

WELCOME
To planet earth;
Abode of the free willed
Of men whom ****, land of the cursed.

GREETING'S
From planet technology;
Wherein mankind's forgotten themselves
They loveth ******, horror, dreary scene's, noone else.

BONJOUR
A message to anyone who seeith;
A concoction of disaster, nuclear bomb's;
Gang's, mob's, political master's.

CHAÍRETE
Cometh on in, greedy men
Get greedier;
Ninety-nine percent, just one left to plot and grin.

KUMUSTA
Don't forget to view ourn land;
Stolen, controlled, ruined, hellion in Armani suit's;
Turneth river's into poison, mountain's into sand.

HOLA
No need to rescue us
No time left, were doomed with demonic consent
This purgatory long ago, left God in the dust.

HELLO
Art thou ready for the end soon;
As angel's of wrath art to release the bowl's
Of prediction's long ago, oh head filled up to much? No room.

WELCOME TO PLANET EARTH
A PLACE OF SIN;
STITCHED IN AT BIRTH...........


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

You say that i don't do what you say,
you say that i don't care,
but what you don't see,
me crying in a suffocating pile of regret,
the fact that i am constantly at war,
in a war that most times takes my focus,
so sorry that i forgot one thing in a list of five,
the sound of a bottle pouring alchohol sounds like bliss to you,
but to me it sounds more like the night that she told me to **** myself,
maybe,
maybe i am a melodramatic fool,
but you cannot say,
my cousin getting beaten infront of me while i was to scared to say anything,
does not involve me,
and you saying that i don't care,
does not make me perfect,
it's more likely to be more amunition,
him,
coming at me with a taser,
you told me you weren't okay with it,
but you didn't try to stop him,
why,
why do you never stand up for me,
even after all the **** she did to me,
you react so much to me not doing my chores,
and everyone always tells me to relax,
sorry,
i'm sorry that you would rater drink wine,
And I'm sorry you'd rather smoke ***,
But for this Destiny I am not,
I am nothing but a suit of armor waiting for the next person,
Waiting for the next person to use me,
But as little children painted with the perfect life,
Stop to tap or bang or just admire,
I turn my head away,
Because I cannot feel guilt for something I'm not involved in,
But this armor is painted silver,
But underneath is a paper wrapped heart,
That has so many dents,
And so many craters,
That it looks like the moon,
Cascading over the water,
The water that I am drowning in,
Am I really the guilty one?

Some things just
****!
To put it nicely.