Immortality
is such an idiotic
idea. **** that ****.

Thoughts of prolonging
life through vegetables &
tea are greedy. sighs

I do those things cause
they taste delicious, & I
work out to feel good.

But I drink, often.
I smoke occasionally.
My body's been through hell.

I'd rather die tomorrow
than live to be like
100 years old.

My mind shutters
to think what this world will be
like at that point. sighs

I don't want to live too long,
I'll know when my time
is up, hopefully.

My mom says "frick"
or "fiddlesticks"
even when kids aren't around.
She's holding in
some of that pure, unfiltered rage
each time a plate is dropped
or toe is stubbed.
If only she'd just shout "OH ****!"
she wouldn't lash out
at grandma or sob uncontrollably later.

Someone once said to me, "*******!"
and I was happy.
It means they won't ****** me in my sleep
because they expressed verbal and not physical rage.
I was happier when someone told me "go **** yourself"
because I went home and did just that.

Speaking of pleasure,
the act of *******
burns between 85-250 calories,
improves sleep & your immune system.
Google it.

I've been ******;
a realization &/or learning experience
having gone broke without a way to pay rent
resulting in the lesson of moving back in with the parents.

We can get ****** up.
A couple too many tokes &/or shots of gin &/or punches to the face.
We learn the perils of excess.
In third grade, I was ****** up by a group of 6-7 kids.
I learned I never want to experience THAT
uncomfortable feeling again.

Why is **** such a bad word again?

As this world wretches behind the piles of our institutional bones, I turn to look the other way.
When the beggars graze my pant leg, I don't stop mid stride and feign over their disparity,
For gaining the holy marksmen’s approval. When Judas kissed sanctity’s cheek beside the frames of broken-hearted men, I shook the feeling from my sleeve.  
And I no longer feel guilt, shame,
Out of mere cerebral obligation.
So, have me for a worthless sinner. I will fall to the dust before I bring myself to stand beside the husks of humanity that so many have become; spewing their filth on unfortunate blindfolded men, expecting me to follow suit.
       Well, *******, kindly.      
I’m living for the god that answers to no titles, and parsonages none of these black suited scumbags. I’m living for the god that inspires harmony, and lifts my fingers to dance for liberation, and pleasure, and hopeless longing. I’m living for the god of progress who shakes pieces of enlightenment from his gray beard, and swallows up the offerings of his every wounded child.

I’m living for the god of no religion,
Never saying
“God,”
For this name is tainted by old customs.
Cheapened by the misguided nature of man.

I
A playing raging guitar
Of a kid with taboo thoughts
The first cigar
Who fired shots of dots...
Don’t care and
The revolt of caring
Be scared and
Be the scare!
The acquaint of survival
The wrath of revival
Is everywhere
Anywhere, not visible too
The wrath is the root of trouble
But the root of solution is not wrath

II
A desire so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of wealth
A pursuit so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of status
A need so
Excessive,
Rapacious and
Overweening
Of power
A greed so greedy

III
Slaves of virtual reality
To whom dictatorship is not real
To whom liberality, brutality and unreality
Is not real
But the ticking clock is not sloth
Tick-tock, Tick-tock
Men who walk toward sloth
Tick-tock, Tick-tock
'till old growth
Tick-tock
Loath
Tock

IV
Sit idly-by low self-esteem
Caused by lack of ******
Translated to scheme
And unfortunate dream
For achieving an alleged excellency
Or a lengthy and empty possession
What frenzy
And all for envy

V
Advertising
On bus stops
On train stops
On metro stops
On everything that stops
To make you stop
And start
Over-consumption
Over-indulgence
Over everything
Obesity!
Wealthy
Withholding from the needy
From what they really need
Advertising gluttony

VI
A feature of abstinence
Leads to a lack of extravagance
But there are no angels
Only fallen angels
Or angels about to fall
A feature of desire
Leads to an higher feature
Noisy or hushed
It can't be crushed
It's just fuel swallowed
A tool for lust

VII
Pride is divergent
A dreadfully enemy
Or an inside allied
Pride is divergent

self-righteous souls
saved from the
everyday run
of the world
skulking throughout
the shadows
cast by the
most holy
fallacy
grasping at
the lost the
unknowing and
the ******
who don't accept
their beliefs as
irrefutable excuses
to be pretentious  
oh how far you will fall when brought                                               low from your exalted pedestal
down on your knees, covered                                                   in the wretched filth of the masses
that you had gazed down upon                                                       in all you hypocritical glory
everyone looks the same when                                                      your eyes have been gouged out
you bleed the same as everyone                                                  when your too-godly heart is removed
you liar, you snake,
you backstabbing ****,
hidden behind
accepting smiles
go forth and
be righteous!
go forth and
beat down the weak!
go forth and fill
the world with
your treacherous,
blasphemous rage!
pray for the
strength to fell
the wicked
non-believers
pray to keep
a closed mind
and to be
unwavering
in your silent
hate, mistrust, and
suspicion of all those
different from you
pray to keep your teeth sharp
to devour those deemed less holy than thou
and go to a fitful, dreamless sleep at night
confident in the knowledge that you are *saved

First,
Thank you for this poetry, precious intellect.
For employing each muse, under no objection--
Working hard so that the words in my head can sing their celebrations
As if without effort,
And take their leave in abstract
Unity.

Second,
Thank you for my pain, you lying *******.
Every time I fall under the spell of night silence,
Unencumbered by those solemn realities,
Somehow, still, I long to be bound in the ribbons of mental garrulousness.
Because ****,
It'd sure be hard to write without any words--
Without the consequences of this troubled mind.
So, it looks like you’ve found a convincing way to pitch the worth of suffering.
And Darlin’, I suppose that
I'll be the buyer of your generic brand of heartache--
Never cared for that top-shelf quick n’ done despair anyway.
I must just have a pallet for lingering bitterness.

Third,
Thank you for this herb, mother nature.
For the improvisational song that it sings in my veins,
Tuning out prosaicism’s drone.
For the rocking motion of my psyche
That starts when the rapid and the slow converge,
And the configuration of the fourth dimension warbles me to sleep
In a chorus of veins—
Conveying each of life’s cadences,
All in vain
Of what I myself
Ordain.