Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Rambo Dec 2016
I’m goin’ to Hell
Ain’t no one gonna stop me
Oh, I’m sure goin’ to Hell
As quick, as swift as death can halt me

You know what?
I’m A-okay with my fate
‘cause I’m goin’ down swingin’
Like the champion of the world

I’ll be dressed-up in my favorite suit,
Relaxed in my favorite chair
Sipping down my favorite *****
Without but a single care

That’s when ol’ rattle-bones
Will show his teeth
And point his finger at me
Wave me on, and down we’ll go

I’m off to Hell
And I haven’t a regret
I’ve lived a happy life
And happy is as ready as set

All that there is left
Is to just
And ain't no one better stop me.
Rambo Dec 2016
Never he was an honest man
Who prides himself
On wanton expeditions

In a field of truth
He lies, entangled in conceit
To win that which he desires –
It is only but a game.

Mind not his mental means, nor manner –
Be he sane or psychopath –
But the strategy by which he plays:
Cheat, deceive, manipulate,
Overcome, and conquer your carnal estate.

Twisted tales, spun with golden thread
Crafted by careful practice and confidence
The master of charisma in his own head
Is no Eros, in any sense – Erosive, yes –
He is only what you want but for a brief moment
Be suspicious and expect this ever-real Narcissus.

A lecher he is
A Greek God in wish –
Nay, he only lives in the fantastic,
Though he roams about us
In a surreal bubble,
Where love comes to pass,
He is ever-so subtle

He markets himself as a Rembrandt,
Although more a moke* than baroque,
Something which he could never see
Staring into his reflection so blindly.
At a cost, worth more than his fee,
This cheap knockoff of Sal Dali,
Would sell you his love
For a buck forty-three.

Beware the lecher.
*Moke is a British/Australian slang term for donkey or *******; a fool, representing the folly of man.
Rambo Dec 2016
I contend
That I have
Hated the guts
Of another human being

For the guts
Are not
Responsible for
The actions
Taken by their host

Nor are they at fault
For the decisions
Made by the mind
Of a madman

The humble guts
Are only but
Organs with purpose:
And continuation
Of life.

I have
Never exclaimed
“The nerve
of some people!”

For the nerves
are merely devices
through which
a person
may harness
the sense of

But some people
Go on
Through life
Without feeling
Things like
Emotion of any kind

I pity them
And I ponder
I envy them
At times
I am fascinated
By them

Pity crosses with
And I ponder again
Intrigued –
All three.

I wish to know
How to be
A wretch
A *****
A *******
A criminal
An *******
A licentious *****
A nuisance
A mean *******
But feel nothing at all

I want to know what it’s like to be cold and callous and without regret or remorse
Without a single ******* care in the whole entire world

But all I can do is speculate
That it is
Unlike anything;
Just like nothing at all:

Emptiness without knowing what fulfillment is
The coldness of not knowing the definition of temperature
The hardness of living life as compressed carbon atoms also known as diamond but without knowing I am or feeling like a jewel

I may not quite myself be a gem
But I can feel
I can hear loud and clear
I love to be whole
I love to be warm
I love to love
Because I am not a wretch
I am not a *****
I am not a *******
I am not a criminal
Or an *******
Or a licentious *****
Or a nuisance
Or a mean, cold ******* –
At least for the most part

I am
a human-*******-being
And I will never try
To be anything but.

It was
Never guts
It was always,
And forever will be
Folks with their heads up their butts
And brains in the drains
Who waste
Our precious air
And time.

One can certainly say
They feel it there
But alas
That is not
The choice is made
Nor is that feeling
What upon
the action is taken.

One should not hate
Another one’s guts and nerves –
It should be
The mind within the brain
Who takes all the blame;
Everyone else is just doing their jobs.
Rambo Nov 2016
Last night I could hardly sleep a wink my kitchen sink went “tink tink tink” with water drops on metal, “Stop!” I cried and tried to settle back into bed and off to sleep, and then, just then, I felt a wind cold at my feet—it was the fan, I left it spinning, I pulled the chain to end its sinning, it was Too. ******. Cold!

I snuggled back in and shut my eyes, not two more minutes ticked on by when I heard the buzz of a little fly, I thought: “why, oh, why does this remind me of warplanes up in the sky?” I fought not in war, but more in slumber, I need to upgrade to a sweet Sleep Number! Or some kind of bed that doesn’t creak when I lay me down to get some sleep! I pray the Lord my soul to keep, but if I cannot get this rest, He’ll have to take it when I’m dead, like this fly who just Won’t. Stop. Buzzing!

I smack the fly out of the air, scratch my head, run through my hair, now all is silent throughout the lair—until my cat, out of nowhere, pounces my belly and shoots a glare as if to say “I do not care,” he meows and growls just like a bear—at least to me it sounds as such, but then again, I’m losing touch! The clock tick-tocks, I’m still awake, I lie back down for my own sake, my eyes shut slow, it’s going great—and then, just then: It’s an earthquake! No—it’s just my cat running around on the bed chasing his shadow on the wall, because somehow, light still finds a way into my room at night to entertain this creature. Cat. Please. Stop!

With curtains closed and all gone pitch, I scratch the light right off my list, same goes for that one last itch down on my back—and it got violent, but I got it—now the room is silent! So one last time, I curl on up and drift away, I’ve got to say, it feels great! I thought my soul was about to break, I fall asleep and claim my stake, my dream is—wait, I’m awake!?

It was all. A *******. Dream.
Rambo Oct 2016
Off to Hell I go,
With hat in hand,

I ring Dark Lord's doorbell,
"Brother, can you spare a dime?"

"Go back to Earth!"
He yells.

But I look around this burning realm,
and see no necessity to need,

I turn my eye back to him,
"But sir," say I,

"This place is better than that
from whence I come."

With flame from mouth, he retorts
"This is the land of eternal suffering,

of physical torment for all of time!
Are not you convinced to remain on Earth?"

But I am not.
Rambo Oct 2016
Honey, I
Both envy and
Your exes,
Though they may only be but
A letter to
You now.

I hate, hate, hate
Everyone who
Found you and had the
To explore you
Before I could have ever

Though you would not
Be who you are now,
and I know I am being
but I never wanted to be
Christopher Columbus
“Discovering” your land.

Maybe, though,
For once in my life,
My lateness to the game
Is not actually a bout of
But actually the
Perfect point
To have entered,
For it seems I am
Whereat which I would
Strike out.

Oh, honey, I
Am still jealous and
Of all those boys;
They were pirates
For your
Innocence and
Your willingness to lend
A helping heart
Of your love
Of your breath
Your kiss,
The vulnerability
Of your body which I
Now embrace,
They were waste bins
For your time
For your energy
For your senses

And even though you showed
Most of them
False emotion
Handed many
A replica of
A genuine smile,
Some still got through
Your breastplate
Dealt you plenty a blow
and painted your
organs black
with scars and tar
but yes, you do
Have a heart,
and yes
it is red
and steadily pumping
somewhere in the pitch dark

Honey, I
Do not pity those fools
For I know what we are is
A delicate rarity for you

As well for myself, I can safely say
I will be
your alphabet
Starting with
Any number you can imagine
Stretching any direction from zero
In any combination,
All expressions and equations,
Your mathematic hero

Although I’m
Tardy to the party (if you’ll pardon the cliché)
It seems
It’s prime time
For us to trip and fall—
And that’s…that’s just A-Okay
(If you’ll pardon the cliché)!
Rambo Sep 2016
Semitemos efil t'nia straight-
forward, os uoy yam deen ot
egnahc ruoy evitcepsrep.
It's all about perspective-- read carefully.
Next page