i don't believe in the hypocritical moralistic dogma of this so-called civilized society
everyone is finicky, demanding, and ignorant, like society runs on their selfish need
humanity is unhealthy, diseased, deceived by the smoke and mirrors of propriety
starving poets living off their art, starving celebrities living off their titanic sized greed
and people wonder why we have criminals who will do anything to get away with crime
if everyone saw the real side of people, trust would be another delusional superstition
guilt is like spiders crawling onto your naked skin and onto your famished spine
some people believe they are the bricks to rebuild a home with ammunition
we are force fed trust in these strangers in a extremely vulnerable habitat
like a bird's feathers clipped off, we are unable to fly, unable to breathe
like an army without weapons, we are unprepared for the sudden combat
like a witches cauldron, the brain's contents bubble and seethe

-kra

Average-joe protagonist wipes beer glasses
at the helm of his sports bar, blissfully ignorant
of the imminent laughable tragedy. Clouds circle,
and there's that obligatory radio broadcast,
the one that warns of inclement weather-
rainy, with a chance of Selachimorpha.
You hum the Jaws theme, tracing pickup lines
on the skin of my back, while sharks pour from the sky,
the improbable tornado dropping great whites
on the California shoreline. One arm curled
around my waist, you tickle erratically
until I squirm away, only to creep back again,
and put my head in the mouth of the sand tiger,
wandering too close to the edge of the water, foolish,
but this is a b-movie, we swam out too far
knowing how it would end. The extras
scream and scatter, arms flailing,
going through the motions of surprise,
stumbling in their scripted attempts
to flee the inevitable. Predictably,
they fall. We all fall, and the girl trapped
in the hammerhead's belly
has this peaceful expression,
as if she can't quite remember why
she ran away in the first place.

Disillusioned by the open market,
he polishes his glasses and stretches,
running a hand through hair made artistic
by the blunt scissors of the philosophy major
who lives downstairs. It was a trade,
he tells me. Short back and sides for a batch
of macadamia nut cookies. Barter economy.
He mutters about measured value,
divides a piece of paper, and breaks a pencil
while forcing the verses of quarter sheet poems,
recounting the night he stole four sponges
from a craft supply store in town,
a drunken ****-you to the establishment-
but also, he admits, it was late and
he had to do the dishes.
If you want to see how big the world is,
he says, take off your belt. Now
tighten it to the usual hole, put it down,
and look. You are a speck of dust on
the wineglass of human existence.
Don't let it get to you. You are smaller and better
than you think. Another quarter sheet finished,
he slumps back on the defeated sofa
and reads me Desiderata, putting on airs,
grappling with devotions to poke holes in certainty
just as I do now to the worn leather strap,
shrinking my claim to the wineglass with each punch
of the silver awl, and after years, still waiting
for the clink of his belt buckle,
the moment when, humbled,
he remembers he is only
a child of the universe.

“We live in a shallow world,” she said.  
Our time’s limited and our sins are ample.
Our crimes are many, our loves are few.
People treat each other poorly and often miss their cue.

Society puts life on camera- we all must act the part.
No longer does character rely on a pure heart.
The best actors and actresses prevail,
The others subside to boredom and daydreaming.  

Liars know me quickly.
It takes one to know one, as they say.
Together we haunt the world and hunt for our prey.
We’ll ******* over,
Time and again.  

I’m an actress.
I do it well.  
I know what to say.  
I know what to omit.
My timing is impeccable.

The honest people love me
Can’t get enough.
They idolize me, look up to me, seek me out.
Those poor, weak, pure human beings.
Loving me is like loving Ecstasy.

I’ll make you see things.
I’ll give you highs you’ve never experienced before.
My lips are sweet and my words are intoxicating.
You don’t stand a chance.
You’ll fall under my spell,
You always do.

And then I’ll continue to eradicate my subconscious emotional terror,
Laying it all out on your shoulders.
You can take it,
You men are always so strong, after all.

You’ll bend until you break.
I’ll watch in silence with terror of what I have done.
There’s nothing left of you.
There’s nothing left of me.
We’re through and so is this game.
On to the next walk of shame.
My hands are shaking.
No love here- or there.
Maybe somewhere in between.

My hands are tied.
There’s no way out.
This is where I live
This stage of mine,
to dance and sing on,
In my mind.

me on the blaze
books piled high by your father
what does he have against self help
of the devine kind
he knows only you can save yourself

your mother cackling in the background
smashing vinyl on her knees
i knew she hated sinatra
but so does she hate baragin bins?
or does she know music is the portal to the soul

your little sister
beating the usual villagers
diminishing them to gold and ***
if i had a shell for everytime i wanted to shoot her
my idea of toddlers would change and my pockets
would pull my pants down
there standing pantless
embarresed in front of my lovers family
my love knew just what to so

she screamed "swarm"
before they drained my blood while still  warm

now i live whenever
sleep wherever
eat whoever
**** however

no limits except the last night i fed
weighing on me like an empty gas tank
light for all the sake of irony in that word

i love you , soul
why did i ever leave you.

serenity stares back wipping the blood from her mouth
and she said the most intelligant thing she ever said
"dont regret your evils, unless you want to let them define you"
the skin still healing from the new chestpeice ink
says
"i will defile you"
the guardians on my back said

For twenty-two years I claimed atheism.
Until, I spent six years consumed by addiction.
Homeless on dope I found desperation.
I kicked the sickness, but not my addiction.

I found a place conceived for rehabilitation.
But, their main goal was to impose their religion.
I bought into the beliefs of a christian.
Do not judge and all are forgiven.

Then I found a place called church.
That would teach me different then the lessons I learned.
If all are not judged and all are forgiven.
Then why is it that only Christians go to heaven.

I questioned the preacher about gods decision.
Because, my family and best friends were not into religion.
If heaven is a place where my loved ones cannot dwell.
Then **** religion, I'm going to hell.