I think I will die a hermit
Catching raccoons with traps I built
In the surrounding area of my log cabin
I will skin them and make patchwork clothes
Wear death on my sleeve
And I would write
"The trees are dying today. Winter is coming. I must prepare. I must fight to survive."
And all my life I would never see another soul
And I would be happy
With my dead skin clothes
Living all alone

You can't bake a cake without breaking some eggs
You can't have a police state without breaking some legs
You can't have a rope without two ends
You can't end a relationship with just being friends
You can't drive a car without any gas
You can't walk through the smog without wearing a mask
You can't have a cake and then eat it as well
But you can have a place where living is hell

lack of caring lack of sharing
lack of people to repair mental dings
ego is bruised by an unused muse
whose body was willing but mind was wailing
stale things have more of a crunch
like relationships and chips for lunch
it's just a hunch so don't be scared
pretenses melt when the chest is bared
tickling, touching, gentle, ******
simply subsides into being psychotic
pulling on ropes with no safety word
the thought of a tear is merely absurd
no sadness or pain only pleasure in here
dungeon underground to ease the fear
of normalcy that comes over thee
when life becomes a rut in which the feet are stuck
trench foot caused by stagnant living
mud falls in and it's just not giving

There is a noise coming from the heater at night
a bunch of bangs and clicks
hisses and dings and
it just won't go away
almost sounds like a robot fist fight
in an arena filled with cheering machines
shouting for brutality
almost sounds like a rock
falling from one thousand stories hitting hundreds of flagpoles on it's way down
sounds like a mechanic
that loves his craft
working lovingly on his vintage car
fixing and washing and polishing
kind of sounds like
something that keeps me up at night

Anaphylactic shock hits like bricks
brings me down to my knees as the penicillin breathes
poison into my veins, nothing remains
of skin but a massive rash, bigger than the career of Johnny Cash
throat is closing up but I don't give a ****
my life is ending anyway, I can't go back to yesterday
in my life just one regret, haven't done one thing yet
missed my chance, nothing lasts
as long as you want, life is just a front
for a clock ticking faster than originally thought
life is too short to not ***** around
life is too short to be cubicly drowned
life is too short to remain on the ground
life is too short not to make yourself proud

One night of passion
Behind closed blinds and locked doors
could be anyone
could be a street ***** for cheap
could be a high class escort
could be her
Her with another man shuffling horizontally on the hotel room bed
a cockroach scurries across the floor
and she begs for more
while he grunts and groans
one night of beautiful passion between her and somebody else
with tattoos
a motorcycle
a bad attitude