Artificial Problems
The PLAN of PROBLEMS, all arranged,
For BEASTLY minds—a mapped-out way.
A brand-new cycle is exchanged
Once the LOWER hits its day.
The feeble crowd, so blind, misled,
Needs old-time tales with fresh decay—
A touch of "new" on what was dead,
And all will cheer and drift away.
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Fake Originality
You chase your "joy," yourself adore,
A twisted PATH—there’s nothing more.
A standard freak, the same old way,
Just lost among the mindless stray.
Try to twist, to play pretend,
Shape yourself, yet in the end,
You can't outsmart what nature gave—
A freak you were, a freak you'll stay.
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The Lie of "Normal Life"
To write of "normal life" is bland,
No duller pastime could be found.
For COMMON LIFE is sleight of hand,
A farce that turns to madness round.
You wear a mask—till mind is split,
Illusions drag you down the road.
One path remains—the soul to lift,
Yet FEW will walk that heavy load.
No pretense there—just truth shines bright,
If fearless, you will see it through.
And "normal" burns in blinding light—
Replaced by something pure and true.
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"Thanksgiving," They Say
A feast on blood—
Gluttony disguised.
So much "love"—
How we're mesmerized.
But first, let's slay
The tribes once more,
Pour some punch,
Then feast galore.
Two hundred years—
What will remain?
Just the bird—
The rest's in vain.
Pour a drink
To drown the past,
While terror here
Still holds us fast.
Brutal hands,
Their greed obscene,
Marching sheep
Through gates unseen.
A tyrant grins,
Brings war anew—
Lies, fear, shame
Drown all in view.
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The Real Hunchback
A hunchback’s not the one who’s bent,
But he who bears the lies—content,
And drags them on from birth to grave,
Still chanting, "Trust the chiefs, behave!"
Yet filth and nonsense pile high,
His path is heavy—crushed thereby.
That weight will lead where fates align:
A CowID ward or a fascist line.
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Global Insanity
The madness grows, runs wild, untamed,
And few escape it unashamed.
The path is hard, the price is steep
For Brave and True—yet not the weak.
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Generations on Their Knees
Generations bow in chains,
Yet some insist they’re free from pain—
So "happy," lost in blind delight,
With rotting minds and hollow sight.
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Pawns
A pawn won’t rise to claim the throne
Unless the Master sets the tone.
The path "upstairs" is smeared and sealed—
A truth the lowly won’t reveal.
They claw their way, they push and shove,
Yet sink in glue instead of move.
But serve the top—then wait and see,
A "rise" may come as your decree.
Yet only those within the pack
Will get a shove to stay on track.
The fools are told, "They've earned their place!"
Or fed some lie to keep the pace.
The Soviets proved it well enough:
The chosen rose—the rest were stuck.
A rotten caste, no shred of grace,
Where honor lost its rightful place.
And now it's worse—the filth runs deep,
They serve the BEAST and watch us weep.
A world in chains, held tight once more
By fear, by lies, by Satan’s war.
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Stacked Deck
A game where cheats don’t rule the spread—
A rare exotic dream instead.
And suckers hear the same old phrase:
"No luck for you—just lost the race."
But this is more than cards they play—
It’s life itself, a rigged charade.
The deck is stacked, the rules are fake—
A hollow "order" built to break.
--- Total 9 poems. ---