if God is anything like my own father
then I pray for mercy
and if God is nothing like him
then I weep with joy.

Before my first drink I always think the beer, the ***, the tequila, or the wine will help me relax- dull my mind and soothe the fire raging in my chest

But it only fuels it until it's simmering and white hot
The only thing it dulls is my inhibition

I am angry
And have every right to be.

If you're not furious,
You're not paying attention

And unarmed teenagers will be shot dead
And drones will rain bombs on women and children
If they aren't killed they'll be enslaved

And who's to say which is worse?

We love our chains
And we kneel to our captors
Begging for scraps while they sit on mountains of gold

I have one thing to say

Let it burn.

Sailor.
Come back
Its your boy's birthday today
They brought you boxed in a coffin day before
Was that the present he should've expected?
Laced with garlands
With a spread of the National Flag on top
Sailor
I know its been your dream
To conquer unexplored lands
Its been your fantasy
To achieve heights beyond your reach
But what about your boy
He sleeps with the fighter plane clung to his heart
You need to finish that for him
I run my fingers over his carved name
As if your hands were still at work
Sailor
Come back
Not for me, not for your parents
For him
Him, who talks to your photograph every night and morn
How do I explain to him
What exactly do I say
Sailor
Its okay
He saw your body
He's been in shock
He cannot shake the image off
Of your cold hands and face
And why you wouldn't come out
He's died somewhere in his heart
Its not okay but its okay
I hope you understand
I'll try my best to meet you
Maybe in some other lifetime.

hello, executioner
hello starlight, hello pillager
make me a village
give me pitchforks give me haybales i will give you a show
brand new, glitter stuck shiny on the sign out front crying havoc
crying
"hello executioner lead me to the
slaughter"
you menace
isnt this a sight?
twenty-five love letters to a guillotine and a girl you killed
seven hundred years ago
advertising strategy number thirty-four: **** your neighbor
**** everyone you know and then **** yourself
are you jealous? are your eyes open?
i can hear your nose bleeding from here
(twenty-five love letters addressed to a dead person
oh god oh god,
can your hear the water rush)
the disposal is running in the sink
"what are you a robot"
stop talking about anarchy this isnt a drug bust
two white balloons and blood on the ceiling
haven't you ever seen a dead body before?

at your first swimming lesson, they teach you to breathe through your nose and let air out through your mouth to avoid swallowing water and although i listened closely, i may have missed a step because i am sick to death of wishing myself six feet underground but my love, it's not an easy feat to breathe with litres of salt water flooding your lungs