Where once
we collected continents,
we settle now
for postage stamps and
parking fines.
These are the times.

She may be ******.
And she may check my fingers-
Slam her hard metal pole down on them-
Each time we practice lacrosse.
And she may roll her eyes
At
Me.

But I don't hate her.
I feel sorry for her.
Because I think I'm the only one
Who pays attention
Through the laughter and fun
That
He touches her.

And she makes a joke out of it
So her minions snap out of their dazed state and
Chuckle a little bit.
But his crawling fingers are greedy
And her words are scarce.

All of the brain-dead minions
Laugh when she jokingly screams,
"****!"

Except me.

The unorthodox are the true prophets
for their ways are those of the future,
so in the now, most kings get their head cut off.

But as death is the greatest prophet,
for it never fails to come true,
their martyrdom proves their ways truer than the footsteps of their fathers,
so in the face of adversities;
never be afraid to be a lonely Jesus on the Cross.

there must have been
a gas leak
or some drug in my drink

I think
but nothing comes to me
what shall I do all day?
gawky morbidity; decay
on this sticky hot sofa
an idiot sits like a rock

blocked and sterilized
I just can't seem to figure it
'move one leg,
at a time'

but it's like I'm laying on a big gob
of pink bubblegum
and I've nowhere to run

the cushions, the cushions
comfy & yet
closing in on me
what the hell,
am I crazy?