Ten Months since this thing seemed to come to a head.

As the content of and events of my bed,

Or is it piped directly to your head,

This thing of my sad spread.


Ten Months have transpired,

As stated by someone probably via better satire,

They have seen far worse Devils in the month of January comets fire,

Though the Devil of me was found not for hire,

Far from the Mountains of the Moon in dead head attire.


So ten months have gone to waste,

As I fumbled about is desperate haste,

All to turn down a crowned fate,

Or was it far more true that I was just too **** late.


So, they say life is what you make it and make it so frail,

Yet I found power of positive thought seemed one more suited for hell,

Did I simply not notice the posted directions in my cell,

Or was it more to the facts and the mind of mine simply set sail.


Was it that silly of me to care and doubt,

That I would or could be the last boy scout,

As the last star fighter shouted out,

Look out, oh **** look out, this thing can wipe us all out.


Sad really that I find time and dates to be so cumbersome,

As if I could keep track of such complexity while on the run,

Or was it more to the fact that I never stood a chance against all your fun.


Ten months gone and none to quote,

That my life stand in stark contract with a slit on my throat,

Or was it simply and cruelly just a sick joke,

One that I wish I could escape with a long deep ****.


So I lay to rest this Devils tongue of mine raging insanity,

To maybe trade it in on a life or fit for manifestation instantaneously,

Or maybe so you can stop bashing my heart upon this pain constantly,

Hoping to escape this prison of defamation and self deprecation finally,

Maybe my language choices will reveal something better of me,

Not that you didn't already know what the out come is to be.


But hey,

Who cares anyway,

I do in and every single **** day,

I am betting you do,

Other wise you would have paid such attention to this of me a fool,

So take no offense,

Please don't choose to be on the fence,

Love me or hate me pick one of the two,

Before all other thing you too are a fool.


I do care and some of you do too, so by all means never forget that I chose
all I chose hoping you could do better than this of me being the ******* fool.

Not a poem to call worth your while,

No, it is simply a moment for you to smile,

And remember that you to can aspire,

To do more than you thought and care all the while.

Or to realize what not to do cause this here **** did me and mine some serious damage and well, it will be okay, maybe, in a great long *** while.

Side note of a thought last night:

and of these moments upon moments what has the people to say?

ah, to describe their lusts of my decay, though some support my frail smiles,
as the light residing in me begins to burn the ****** of the media to their cores vial.
the good shall dance upon the graves buried alive the media's naive.
bane is the name and your end is my game, oh sorry dear media prostitutes,
what again was your name? your head stone the good smiling victims beg to know
as they sing the praise of long sweet days of you ****** dethroned.