Self pleasure is the definition of the Devil.
We must strike a happy medium,
for the soul is Christ yet the body is sin.

Life, a battle of what lies within.
I, myself, struggle yet seek holy kin.

Promise me virtue,
tomorrow you’ll forget.
Mold form, for my design is ****!

Edit the author, punish the script.
Fight the altar, praise the stripped.

Death stared at me from the same recliner she always did.
Her veins wrapped around her legs like spider webs.
She poured pepper on her perogies and commentated for the TV,
“No whammy, no whammy, no whammy, Stop.”
I was too busy making plans on my phone.
“Isn’t this nice?”

Yes grandma

She used to clean her Catholic church on Saturdays.
I’d bring my toys she got me from McDonald's
and ran my race cars through the ramps filled with holy water.
She’d lay arms stretched before the alters and I’d follow suit,
but only in play. Our devotion was not the same.
“You make me so proud, my little Christian.”

Yes grandma

I’d spend nights for what must of been months,
because she lived in town where the parties were.
I was chasing tail, drugs and alcohol.
We’d both pretend she had no idea at all.
Our best conversation following a night of glassy eyes.
What we said I can’t recall.

Soon enough the pattern fell as I finished high school.
I moved away and walked new halls, an undergraduate.
It was in those halls my phone cried out and I soon after.
I drove new roads my eyes a flowing well.
We waited outside her room in vain.
I would not get see her that day.

I made a point to see her once she returned home.
She now sunk where her rear was once plump.
Her skin sagged relieved from the pressure.
Fluid dripped out her lungs the color of Pepto Bismol,
and they missed every second breath.
Yet, she was beaming, “Look how skinny I am.”

Yes grandma

I’d only see her once more, after another trip.
She slept in that same recliner as the TV played.
Wispy white hair, thin pressed lips and tired eyes.
Her head hung against her chest and I hid mine.
My sister asked if I’d like to wake her just to say hi.
I considered it, but thought better.

“No, I'll catch her next time.”

I love you so madly.
Your quirks and grins,
the many colors of your skins.
Harmonic melodies where progress begins.

I miss you so sadly.
Your peace and understanding,
the pinnacle of Humanity.
We've lost our tune, turning a minor chord on one another.

You disgust me, certainly.
Your shouting and screeming.
Like animals we fight, seething.
An unorganized orchestra of adult children.

I loathe you completely.
Your beatings and killings.
The streets run red from a rainbow of dead.
We've laid down our instruments and taken up swords.

Beautiful lives destroyed.
They hang like ornaments in the trees.
Beautiful lives taken.
You rip them from cars and leave them in the streets.
Beautiful lives forgotten.
As soon as we revisit our screens.

I want to love you, preserve you.
I feel I must destroy you from those who would pervert you.

I geuss I am you.

It smells of cigarettes and 12 year old regrets.
Matted shagged rugs with creeping, crawling bugs.
There’s shouting from the back.

Humming coming from a ***** metal box.
A shrill announcement that it's time to get our fill.
We race back while trying not to spill.  

In my bowl is the same hard heat of imitated meat.
I run my finger across the couch. A halo of polyester,
where too long an ember was permitted to fester.

My friend had dawned new clothes,
a flashy new skin, but a month’s gone by.
Holes now show what she’s hidden.

Uncertain, she’ll dawn a new curtain.
Whether a lack of communication or a thoughtful hesitation
to force another her burden.

I am so sick of pretending to care.
I’m so sick of taking this ****.
we seem to wish that someone would care,
but I’ll drop you for changing your hair.

I have grown sick of all politics.
Differing opinions, your all hypocrites.
I'm simply sick of cynical ******.
The way they love to polish their *****.

I hear what you say, “look in the mirror”,
That’s why I tend to chug my beer.
We all live in fear of all of our fears,
Brought on by distrust of all of our peers.

We laugh, we sneer,
We point, we cheer.
Then freak out to find that fingers point near.

I am so sick of living fear.
I am so sick if chugging my beer.
We seem to crave the fear we fear,
but hide in our safe space till everything’s clear.

I have grown sick of pretending to smile
Profit for virtue, is it all worth our while?
I’m simply sick of modern day style.
The way we stand in single file.

I hear what you say, “look in the mirror.”
It’s my reflection that I tend to fear.
I cannot face the way that I sneer.
I cannot face the way that I cheer.

I laugh, I sigh
I point, I cry
Then freak out to find pointing at me.

I remember dirt, a taste of summer.
The smell of burning pig flesh.
The stench of my great uncles breath,
filtering through his beer drenched mustache
and running down his inflated stomach.

I remember laughter.

I remember the hallowed tree.
“Get your *** outta there” shouts a familiar stranger.
The anger I felt as I scratched my blistered skin
in the autumn breeze.

I remember poison oak.

I remember the smell of cinnamon
and spiked cider with Santa there on guard.
The snag of turning wheels on rug.
The chitter chatter of adults
as children pitter pattered around.

I remember Christmas.

I remember my tie was too tight.
“What a grownup you’ve become”
The smell of flowers and formaldehyde
loomed over forced smiles.

I remember leaving my family
in this showcase of the dead