Use this poem to comb through my razor-sharp wit.
I'm an exorcist so let's skip the **** and satanic quips.
I wish I could cut to the chase and erase those demons.
Within reason, I'll do what it takes to make you a-ok. wink
Anyway, I think I'm better suited for ghost busting.
I'm too trusting to be put face-to-face with evil.

so I'll sit and I'll stare
I'll stop and I'll watch
all of the things that
my eyes cannot touch
my crutch is broken
your hands have spoken
either with or without
you still lose a token
but if joking about it
shakes the fears right out it
would you still want me?
I highly doubt it.

I'm okay with being sad sometimes.

And I'm even more okay with not drinking my coffee black.


I think I'm beginning to grow up.

born again and such a stretch
manifest and etch-a-sketch
my brain is gone, i'm not the best
carry on to ace the test
rhyming words and cracking skulls
parking lots of oily gulls
beating hearts with drumming sticks
mouthing words of stevie nix
getting old and magic wands
dumping bodies into ponds
flash, flash, the smiles of moms
making rent and dropping bombs
gravitate towards running fast
this line's a lemon, and the last

So here I am.
Sitting on my couch
and eating potato chips
and thinking about you
and what might have been.
Wallowing in self-pity
and artificial flavors
and carbohydrates.
The only things comforting me
are my fast metabolism
and the hum of the air conditioning.

"Mind over matter"
only makes you fatter
if you can't see
all the *******
you're feeding yourself.