I'll wear your coffin with pride 
Tattoo my lips with your touch 
Burn for the jealousy in your eyes
I'll handle you with this knife
To cut these wrists 
I shed my skin peeled away from the bone
Days like this I pull my nerves apart 
Grasping for your heart
To feel the beating of misanthropy
We lick the wounds from sapphire cuts

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say
To me
It's like teething on denial

I've turned away from the light
You lit the room to bury this tomb
It's fulfilling to crash
We taste the burn on our ribs
Cutting our teeth on the nape of our necks
I can hear your breath on my ear
Suture these lies with rabid tongue
I feel you turn away
This hunger for you growls
Growing sick for your flesh

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say 
To me
It's like teething on denial

I smile thru your taste
I hold your hand with my teeth
Bitterness, ravenous, aching
Carving into the full moon and
Late night dances at the graveyard
I crave to be near
The edge of your space
To push you away

I know what you say
To me
It's like ashes from the sky
I know what you say
To me
It's like teething on denial

I've felt a change
In me
Its like ashes from the sky
I've felt a change
In you
Its like teething on denial

[A] is for
An
Archer with
An
Arrow through his
Adams
Apple, very
Applicable, to the
Ample
Amounts of
Amiable
Attitude,
Adorning his heart, in
After
Action
Attributes, that impart, the
Admiration, of
*******, in this
Acting out of
Arrogance bit. he is,
Astute, in his
Allure, and
Aloof, in the
Air, of
Aspiration, in which, he was
Alienated in the
Agony, of
Asking
Assassins, the
Aforementioned. lights, camera,
Action. recipe of the
Ancient
Admirals of
Avian
Aliens, that
Attacked, with the
Arms and fists, of
Arachnids, now
Aching to be
Activated in sudden
Allegiance to the
Answers, of the truth.
Accumulating wealth for
Anarchy's of
Abating
Angels in
Atrophied,
Alchemical
Academies of the ever
After life .. . of silence.
****** strengthens in these
Accolades of violence, in
Alliance to
Appliances
Appearing in the
Arson of
Apathy, happily, to
Anguish in the
Amputation of my
Abdomen, if it meant i'm a real
American, even, when, only
Ash, remains.
Acclimating in its remains
Attained, the
Articles of my pain, in
Affluent shame, next time ..
Aim... oak
[A]?

[B] is for the
Bah of
Black sheep, and
Big
Bit¢hes, fat cats,
Bombarded in the
Blasted,
Bastion of
Blackened
Benevolent
Blokes,
Berating the
Blasphemous,
Be-seech, of
Brains, to feel
Bad, about the
Blotching of
Binary codes, erroding, the
Blanked out
Books, of
Belittled
Bureaucrats,
Bowling
Back the
Bank rolls of
Betterment, from the
Back of the
Blackened
Bus, as i'm
Busting guts, in the
Bubbling
Butts, of *****
Benched, but
Beautiful, in the
Battle, in the
Bane, of existence.
Baffled, in the strain of
Belligerence, in
Beating the
Beaming
Butchery into
Billy's
Broken
Brains, in
Bouts, of
Battering
Bobby's for
Bags of
*******
Before, affording to
Build
Bombs, is just
Beyond
Breaking
Beer
Bottles on the
*******
Benefactors of
Boulder
Bashing with the
Beaks, of
Birds, with no
Bees. just a
Being, trying to
[B]


[C] is for the
*****
Courting the
Choreography, in
Computerized
Curtains,
Circumventing the
Cultured,
Contrivance of
Chromatic
Cellars,
Calibrating, to the
Contours of
Calamities,
Celebrating the
Cyclical,
Cylinders of
Cyphered
Calenders,
Correcting the
Calculations, of
Crooks
Coughing, in
Courageous
Coffins of
Canadians,
Collecting
Cobble stones, from
Catacombs, in the lands of the
Conquered,
Capturing the
Claps of thieves, sneaky
Cats, of greed. its
Comedy. oh
Comely, to my
Cling of
Cleanliness, and for your self
[C]

[D] is for the
Dip *****, as they
Delve
Deeper in the
Deliverance, of
Deviant
Deities,
Dying to
Demand
Dinner
Delivered in the throws of
Death,
Deceiving
Defiance of
Darkened
Dreams,
Demeaning that which
Deems the
Dormant of the
Dominant, to be
Demons of
Deviled
Devilry,
Dooming us for
Destruction.
Deploy the,
Damsels in
Duress.
Defiled and
Distressed,
Detestable and
Dead. in the thump of
Drums,
Dumbing down the
Debts of,
Dire regrets.
Dissect the
Daisies of,
Disillusion, in the current
Days,
Diluting night into
Dawn,
Disconnecting the
Dots of the
Dichotomy, and arming me, in the
Diabolatry, of,
Demonology, as i watch me
Dwindle away, the
[D]

[E] is for
Everything in nothing,
Eating the
Euphoric
Enigmas of
Enlightened
Elitists,
Exceeding in the
Extravagant
Essence of
Esoteric
Euphemisms,
Escaping the
Elegance of the
Elements in the
Eccentricity of
Eclectic
Ecstasy,
Exhaling, the
Exostential blessings, of inner
Entities, and renouncing the
Enemies of my
Ease,
Easily to appease
Extraterestrial
Empires,
Extracting the lost
Embers of
Enlightenment, in
Excited delight, but to later
Entice, the fight, and
Escape, like a thief into the night of
Everywhere,
Entering the
Exits of
Elevators leading no where, to
Elevate, this useless place,
Encased in malware in the
Errant
Errors of
Every man,
Enslaved, of flesh and
Entrails,
Enveloping the core of
Everything, that matters,
Enduring, the chatter, of
Evermore,
Ever present in
Everybody
Ever made to take
[E]

Funk the
Ferocity of
Foolish
Fandangos, with
Fanged
Fanatics,
Fooled in the
Fiasco of
Fumbled
Fantasies,
Falling through the
Farms of
Freely
Found
Fans,
Flying in the
Fame of
Fortune.
Fornicating on the
Fallen
Fears of
Fat
Fish getting their
Fillet of
Fills.
Feel me in the
Frills

Granted with
Generosity.
Giblets of
Gratitude and
Greed,
Greeting the
Goop and
Gobbled
Gore,
Gleaned from the
Glamour of
Ghouls in
Gillie suits,
Getting what they
Got
Going, in the
Gratuitous
Gallows of a
Game
Gaffed by
Giants.

Hello to the
Horizon of
Hellish
Hilarity, in
Hope of
Happy, to
Heave from
Heifers, to
Help the
Hemp
Harshened
Hobos in
Heightened
Horror, to
Honor the
Habitats of
Hapless
Habituals,
Herbalising the work
Horse, named
Have Not, in the
Haughtily
Hardened
Houses of
Happenstance.

Ignore the
Ignorant
Idiots, too
Illiterate to
Indicate the
Indicative
Instances of
Idiom in the
Irrelevant
Inaccuracy of
I,
In the
Intellect of
Idle
Individuals,
Irritated with the
Irate
Illusion of
Idols
Illustrated upon the
Iris,
In the
Illumination of
I.

******* the
Jobless
Jokers, and
Jimmy the
Jerkins from their
Jammie's, in
Justified,
Jousting off the
Jumps, in
Jokes, and
Jukes of
Just
Jailers,
Jesting for
Jammed
Jury's to
****
Judgment from the
Jitter
Juiced
Jeans of
Jesus.

**** the
Keep of
Khaki-ed
Kool aid men,
Kept in the
Kilometers of
Kits,
Kin-less
Kinetics,
Knifing the
Knights of
Kneeling
Kinsmanship,
Keeling over the
Keys of
Kaine, with the
Karmic
Karate
Kick of a
Kangaroo.

Love the
Levity, in the
Luxurious
Laments of
Loveliness,
Lovingly
Levitating in
Level,
Lucidly.
Living in
Laps, of
Lapses,
Looping, but
Lacking the
Loom of the
Latches
Locked with
Leeches of the
Lonely
Lit
Leering of
Lightly
Limbs, that
Lash at the
Lessers in
Loot of
Lost letters,
Lest we
Learned in the
Lessons of
Liars.

Marooned in
Maniacal
Masterpieces,
Masqueraded as
Malignant
Memorization's of
Motionless
Mantras, but
Merrily
Masking
Mikha'el the
Mundane, who is
Musically
Mused of
Monsters,
Mangling the
Monitor, but
Maybe just a
Moniker of
Marauders.

Never to
Navigate the
Nautical
Nether of
Never
Nears.
Not to
Nit pic the
Naivety of
Nicety.
Notions
Neither take
Note
Nor
Name the
Noise of
Nats in the
Nights of
Neanderthals
Napping in the
Nets of
Ninjas

Ominous in the
Obvious
Omnipotence of
Oblivious
Obligatory
Opulence,
Of
Other
Oddly
Orchards
Of
Offices,
Ordaining
Orifices in
Offers of
Ordinary
Ordinances in
Option-less
Optics,
Optionally an
On-call Oracle, in
Optimal,
Overture.

Perusing the
Pestilent
Pedestals of
Personal,
Parameters,
Pursuing the
Petty
Plumes of
Piety with the
Patience of a
Pharaoh,
******* on the
People with the
Penal
Pianos of
Port-less
Portals, in the
Paperless
Points in the
Palpal
Pats of
Pettiness.
Poor, but
Prideful.

Quick to
Qualify the
Quitter for a
Quick
Quill in
Queer
Quivering of
Quickened
Questioning,
Queried in the
Quakiest of
Quandaries.
Quarantined to a
Quadrant, of
Quagmires.
Questing the
Quizzing of
Quotable
Quartets.

Relax in the
Relapse of
Realizations, and
React with
Racks of
Rolling
Rock to
Rate the
Rep of the
Rain-less.
Roar in
Rapturous
Rendering of the
Random
Readiness in the
Ravenous,
Rallying, of the
Retinal
Refracting of
Reality.
Realigning, the
Righteous
Rearing of the
Realm, and
Retrying.

Steer the
Serenity in
Sustainability, and
Slither through the
Seams of
Slumbered
Scenes.
Secrete the
Solo
Sobriety of
Sapped
Sassys,
Salivating upon a
Slew of
Stupidity,
Steadily
Supplied in
Stream,
Suitably
Slain in the
Steam of
Sanity.
Sadly, i
Still
Seem,
Salvagable.

Topple
The
Titans in
Tightened
Terror.
Torn
Territories
Turn
Turbulent in
The
Teething of
Totality.
The
Telemetry of
Time,
Tortured of
Torrent
Theories,
Told in
Turrets of
Transpiring
Terribleness, from
Tumultuous
Tikes unto
Teens,
Trading
Toys for
Tea.
Thrice
Thrusted upon by the
Tyranny of
Tanks.

Unanimous is the
Ugliness in the
Undertones of
Undreamed
Ulteriors
Undergoing the
Unclean in the
***** of
Utterly
Upset
Users,
Uplifting the
Unfitting
Ushers in
Underwear-less,
Ulcers,
Undergoing the
Ultra of
Uberness.

Venial in
Vindictive
Viciousness of
Vindicated
Venom,
Venomously
Vilifying the
Vials of
Villainy in the
Veins of
Vampires,
Validity of
Valuable
Violence, is
Valiant in the
Vaporous
Vacationing of
Vagrant
Vices.

Why
Whelp in the
Weather
When you can
Wave to the
Whirling
Wisps,
Whipping Where the
Whimsical Were
Way back in the
Wellness of
Whip its,
Wrangling my
World,
With
Waterless
Worms, as
War shouts are
Wasted in the
Wackiest
Walks of
Waking
Wonder.

Xenophobic
Xenogogue, of
Xenomorphic
Xeons, turn
Xyphoid, in the
Xenomenia of my
X, my
Xenolalia of
X, to
***. im lost in the
Xenobiotic zen of
Xerces, on a
Xebec to the
X on the map.
Xenogenesis, in the
Xesturgy of my
Xyston
Xd

Yelling
Yearned from
Yelping.
Yard
Yachts
Yielding, to the
Yodel of
Yeah
Yeahs, to the
Yapping of
******
Yuppie
Yoga
Yanks, over
Yonder.
Yucking it up with the
Yawn of a
Yocal.

Zapped from a
Zone i
Zoomed with
Zeal in the
Zig and
Zag of my
Zapping
Zimming
Zest, upon a
Zombie-less
Zeplin.
Zealot,
Zionist, or
Zoologists,
Zeros or ones, just
Zip your
Zip locked. and
Zzzzz
Zzzz
Zzz
Zz
Z
Zero

TEETHING TROUBLE

Armed to the teeth
with

teeth
(all newly acquired)

you delight
in biting me

leaving little
indented marks

like moons
that glow on my arms.

“Don’t let her bite you like that! ”

Her mother scolds
both her & me.

I laugh.

“Let her practice! ”

My flesh willing to be
bitten

to ease her
teething troubles.

she looks up
at me

(all chortles and drool)

takes another
nip of me

“Naw...naw...naw! ”
gnawing at my flesh

smiling up at me
with all her little teeth.

I kiss her
on the top of her

adorable
head

adorned with
a classic kiss curl.

“Da...da...da! ”
she thanks me.

I

Wonderlandia, torn off the submerged lung
of a daydream diary.                   Reoccurs
as she does with silver eyes, weary Alice
during tea time--bullets burning past her
                                     like flowing nations.
Everyday similar tsunamis fund
                                     the lack of 20/20.
Nose to tail--the surge of angry engines
splits the ends of her blonde strands.
    Each one the last witness to maddening hospitality
--utopia never sweats as it talks and withers.
Amnesia blots,
new aspirin machines
vaporize apples and ***
on the other end of spectrum,
                                                     trans-positional labels--

Guillotine gargling teapots
       have no patience
         to the bushes of Olympus opiates
                                      bound in yellow barrier tape,
                     five o' clock traffic
               welcomes her back to what we are facing.


II


Dreary weather of late fall                       and her beautiful,
              powdered face

great mouth of atomic hell,
         when she speaks--80,000 deficiencies boil alive
                                                   --Trinity's teething test
                                                           on the tired bones
                                                   of a story-teller's raspy cards--

"None the wiser," she speaks,
                                "during the transition of ships
                   vermin turn into krakens culturing
                               on the surface of a raindrop.
    Heroes, villains, animals frozen together
                 after now eating for four days.
     The transition of one genocide
                                                        ­  to the other,
                the delineation of cat-and-mouse,
   mingle too long
   with the dead
   and its necrophilia."

                 Blind Alice wanders off the highway,
leaves her brewed cup of steamy static
on top of the unimportant saucer, sticks pins in her *******,
             and enjoys the sound of Cleopatra
             rolling over in reincarnation.


III

      Dear Alice smells
sunbathing, studded tangerines
                      assimilating liquor within the vast,
       empty, glowing nausea that is--
                        the warm germ

Oil                                    and                 ­          water
               rippled glass too silly for skulls
              made humid by distant salt water,

blood, acid, enzymes,
cheating probability
that runners with drunk kids
have blood between their toes.
                                                      Death­ to the distillation within
                                                    --the chronic diamond too polished
                                                       in *** to see the roses in her *****
    She curses these wood songs,
             heritage patriots with the pelts of wild lions
             with antlers over their heads,
                                                  faces advertising war paint
                                                applied by gargoyle hands
                    --sad memoirs always drink people
                                                  that use God as a cookie jar.


IV


  Gorgeous names
  on graffiti institutions give her a home
                                                         a market
                                                         a nickname
           still                  Alice only accepts Alice.

Grace periods where she misses tyranny
                  rise and fall like endorsed breathing.
    Now Alice feels her dress fall off,
                                  extinct years message future occupancy
                                  about what to wear.
New era, this era, past eras plead guilty
in a      clinic museum
             of forcing demons
              down the medical
              throats
of first graders. Court adjourns at 9:01 PM, Saturday

             The populus can sleep now,
                          but not her.
                 No one gave her clothes
                 to cover up the drained monochrome.


V

Instead she celebrates her flesh,
                                        the broken glass,
   and quakes and leads off to expose
           others to its potential vital prosperity.

         Instead
                     headlines like bumper cars read
                     about the beheading of weeks,
                     failing rescue missions,
                     and debates on teenage tolerance.

Nicotine intoxication points Alice
to over-extended memories--wards of music
sequenced to point out the extinction of marble tigers.
                        Only 550 expected to understand
                         tethered to millions able to survive.

  Flood waters look at moral standards, a mean hurricane
                                   that collapses the death toll
     all patented 50 states
     have a dating service
     and huff paint as a way
                              to pray to art.
                                                      Double­-canvas faces
                                                      dyed in pixel     hope
                                                       that the media levees hold,
             but volunteer to herd sheep into poppy seed fields.
                                            She refuses to stay,
                    to watch the long night
                    of castration on men with mud-covered ankles.
                                      Television says eunuchs want
                                       to be prodigal's children,
                                       everyone wants to come back home
                                       to mom and dad, safe zones, away
                                       from themselves.
                                                     ­                 It says our ancestors want
                                                            ­          this for all of us. They worked
                                                          ­            so hard to tie up the hair
                                                            ­          out of Aphrodite's face.

                                     They treasure the silver eyes of Alice,
                                          but call them blue,
                                                  they issue her high cholesterol
                                          but pump sweet ****** into he stomach,
                                                  they tell her to put down the drill,
                                            so she can finish their orchestra--

her lightning
    is
     a
  string
     of
  souls



VI


     She decides to depart Sunday,
to discover the ordinary beginning,
                        painting WHY? on its delirium.
re-arrangeable viewers become
                      inserted sounds under percussion and piano.

       Caging various important charts
                                          undetermined
   ­                           as finished attention.
                                                      ­              Three movements in flux
open end the people                     vacuuming
                            craftsmanship blocks
                   from                                dogs and zen.

                                                 The
                                 suspended letter               is happening in 1951
   drenched in existential white                                            spacing
        ­                                                   the viewer
                        from integrated architecture.

Down
the
bell is a structure called
"the quarantined wheelchair."
                               Dead ignorance changes pattern
                               after six movements of the second hand.
Alice speaks, "To you all, know
                                       that this is an un-dramatic situation.
          Everyday windows with the same
           participants have girls drinking
                                                     orange juice, activate fluid,
                    both exist as objects
                    and caught propaganda."

                                                   ­                      Six tunnel
                                                          ­      audiences are watching
                                                        ­        drown in the plastic silk
   her                                                       built by the motorized collage
                                                         ­                                        spider.

          Alice, a kinetic mannequin pop star
                        is limp in the glass point.
             Rhythmic flux is objectified war torture
                         censored in fitness magazines
by simple toilet literature.

                                        Six tunnels worth of eyes
                                 latch to the *******
                                           as a way to bury **** protesting.
                                  A coat of pepper spray
                                   works in front of the exhibition.
This stage is shaded by moans.


VII


      Alice the female, has a door-to-door friend
                                                          ­    over the sea
of the cathedral's ceiling               who died of disemboweled
pulchritude             at the mutilated nuclear other-place.
                     Her friend was a synthesized example
                     of staged catastrophes. Her friend is her, silver-eyed
                                                     ­                                             Alice.

            ­                     She performs herself and herself
                                 but they are played by polished, scored poets.

Everyone of them incorporates the events
                                 of a dancing gunshot. Everything rests
                                                           ­ at an intermission

               but after fifty minutes of pondering,
          the lost audience remembers
         her name is Alice.
                   So it comes back on with a shower of sweat
                  and this clear
                                  substance
               ­                                 called
                         ­                              patience.
       This composing, peering vulnerability
                        psychologically destroys the flux tension
              like analog genocidal dictators.
                                   Ultimately this is dream liquor

     commentating war to the war tree
      using trauma and chairs as humor.



VIII


               Patience on the water level lives translucent
                                            on networks that brand flesh
                                            with displaced identity.
Alice convinces us all that pickled ***
                                                             ­               takes eight years
                     to ****** and we accuse it
                                         of being fake. Afterwards, her character dies
in confident silence.


IX


     Not majestic, but she does cough
                  to mock the earth.
        The seeds of Alice are ripe,
                        harvested early, and now her children come out and dine
        like speaking tongues on gibberish.
                          The room is fat with hair

and kindness. Feeble, mundane hands chew on each other,
                                                         feet stand proud.
We even call her Alice or "the beautiful *******,
                                             a black cloud feasting
                                             in orange."
                       Everyone feasts on the nectar
                                                         she has, but never the rye
which makes her round. Juice is squeaking and her children laugh
                         as in competition.

     It's a distinguishable game as the mixed
                                                           ­      couple up front
              begin to play whistles as
                                         everyone eats
                   the pride of the silver-eyed Alice's children.


X

                                                ­ The children's souls
                                                       bow and say
                                           "Thank you for barely growing."
                                                   and dissipate after five minutes.

          "Curiouser                                   ­                                      and
           Curiouser"                                                       ­                   they
           say                                                              ­                        as
           they                                                             ­                       leave
           this                                                             ­                         homage.
                  The decimal backbone
                     of each of sweet Alice's
                                   blonde strands
                   divorced by the gust/ of a green light's/ allowance.


XI Epilogue*


  The day crawls away
                   a vigilant pest
     of the nocturnal project
                   --suns beam down still, like
                  stomachs of grinning felines
                           at Valentine's day.

toxic-dyed fingers
                        soldered
to bodies pittering across rainy streets

--legionnaires with hearts on stones
                         we are waiting for her orders,

     thistled-teeth clench,
                                         but did she
                                          actually
          ­                                ever come?

settled in a glass grown vineyard,
the sleep-addled living room
door with gutteral hinges, making friends
with pall mall smoke rings
and let ghost blood spill all over
on couches and our moncler's
wake up to the sound of you crying
on the staircase feeling the scratchy carpet
through blankets on the bed
like my heart is teething, hurting again
he picked me up and lay me there
like you once did except you've been dead
for five years

TEETHING TROUBLE

Armed to the teeth
with

teeth
(all newly acquired)

you delight
in biting me

leaving little
indented marks

like moons
that glow on my arms.

“Don’t let her bite you like that! ”

Her mother scolds
both her & me.

I laugh.

“Let her practice! ”

My flesh willing to be
bitten

to ease her
teething troubles.

she looks up
at me

(all chortles and drool)

takes another
nip of me

“Naw...naw...naw! ”
gnawing at my flesh

smiling up at me
with all her little teeth.

I kiss her
on the top of her

adorable
head

adorned with
a classic kiss curl.

“Da...da...da! ”
she thanks me.

Nothing’s simple
Nothing’s easy
Everything’s difficult
Makes me queasy

About my life
That has no meaning,
It’s often melting
And sometimes freezing

I’m growing up
Constantly teething
Emotions and logic
The toys I’m eating

Hard to swallow
I’m always leaving
Running in circles
Returning easily

From me to me,
A verbal beating
The poems, identical,
Worth deleting

Thoughts cross my mind
As long as I’m breathing
They cross each other often,
Always seething

With rage, waiting
For me to engage
Other people, hoping
That a glimpse at this face

Will brighten another one,
Start a cycle of brightness
But drawing other people in
Takes more than politeness

Who knows what it takes?
What do you need?
If I knew what it was
I’d offer it, with speed

I disagreed.
I never knew how to act first
Is it loving, caring, like I am
Or should I go with the worst

And trust this instinct I have
That everyone wants a stoic me
Everyone wants me to march in line,
Never writing poetry

Knowing I’m supposed to be
Just another staring face
Offering words selectively
And only in the right case.

That’s what some people want
Is it theirs to take?
Am I a popular vote persuasion
Meant to act how they say?

No way. I’d rather just be myself
Teething, breathing, poetry-ing
Worse for wear, but oh well.
This human is not for sale

"Striking the match across my thumbnail, it's too slow of an action to me. The sparks stay in the air for too long and I haven't taken a breath in what feels like hours. Snow White couldn't have done it better, she paved the way. You sleep with the enemy, you sleep with the rich, you tear your way in with a calming, sweet smile and they let you in, they always do. The match falls on the heap of limbs. 'Here comes the sun.' ~ Jade Day


DR. NIGHTMARE: Hello? Mr. Nino?

[Dr. Nightmare whistles and snaps his fingers twice]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ready for the procedure?

DO: It’s not like I have a choice now do I?

DR. NIGHTMARE: You always have a choice Mr. Nino. Your very future lies within the consciousness of every decision you may or may not make. With that being said which choice do you think will effectively see that you are better off?

DO: Well neither you or I can predict the future so we might as well continue playing and see what happens.

[Dr. Nightmare chuckles]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Not bad for a young man such as yourself, Mr Nino.

DO: I try. Let us carry on with the procedure now shall we sir?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, yes right. Please fill out these papers to ensure that we have your full consent to conduct any and/or all events of this procedure.

DO: How can I possibly fill out these papers if I am still restrained by this straight jacket?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, how foolish of me to have forgotten.

[Dr. Nightmare then begins unbuckling Do’s straight jacket. He then removes the jacket and passes Do a check pad and a pen with multiple documents. Do then begins to sign them. Dr. Nightmare closely reviews the papers as Do is signing them]

DO: Okay, I’m done.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Great now if you’ll just initial here, here and here we will be ready to go.

[Do finishes initialing his papers and passes them back to Dr. Nightmare.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you Mr. Nino. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to relax while I run and grab my list of questions. You may talk to AnaÏs while she performs a brief blood test on you.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Dr. Nightmare.

[AnaÏs blushes with a slight smile as she twists both of her knees inward. She then walks over to sit in the chair directly across from Do. She pulls out her first aid kit and opens it. She takes out a lancet, some sanitary wipes and some gauze.]

NURSE YUCKI: Hello, Mr. Nino. How are you doing today?

[Anaïs opens a pack of sanitary wipes and begins wiping Do’s right ring finger. She then ****** his finger with the lancet drawing forth small droplets of blood. Do slightly winces in pain. Anaïs then places a small test tube to the test site in which his finger was pricked in order to draw blood.]

DO: Please just call me Do. I’m doing alright I suppose. How about yourself?

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. I am doing okay though I am quite tired. I have been here since five this morning and it is now a quarter to one.

DO: I can understand how that may be ******* you. Not everyone is a morning person.

NURSE YUCKI: Yeah, you’re right. The pay is great here though so I suppose it is worth dealing with.

DO: Yeah but is that ever really enough? Is that truly all that you want?

NURSE YUCKI: No, of course not. I have dreams just like everybody else. This job exists as just an in the moment thing for me. It is a means to get me by or as most people say “a leg up” in the industry.

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

NURSE YUCKI: You can say that again.

[Anaïs eventually finishes drawing blood from Do’s finger and places a couple of pieces of gauze to it and wrapped a band-aid around it. She then pours the blood sample into a slightly bigger and wider test tube and then places a top over it placing it along with the lancet back into her first aid kit.]

DO: Those times are always the most trying.

[Anaïs laughs. Do slightly smiles in return.]

NURSE YUCKI: I didn’t mean literally silly ha ha.

DO: Hey a little humor never hurt anyone ha ha.

NURSE YUCKI: If that were the case this place would cease to be a business.

[Anaïs and Do both laughed.]

NURSE YUCKI: I don’t mean to be a creep but I think you have really pretty eyes.

[Do was an African-American man with short, curly black hair. He also had dark brown eyes with his skin being the shade of chocolate chip cookie brown. He had a goatee as well.]

DO: Thank you, Anaïs. You’re honestly a lot funnier than I thought plus you are very beautiful.

[Anaïs was a white British woman with long, jet black hair and winter blue eyes. She had fairly tan skin along with a nice figure. She also wore black lipstick and had various tattoos.

NURSE YUCKI: Thank you, Do. So do you ha—

[The door to Do’s padded cell abruptly opens.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, I’m back. Thank you for keeping my patient company Anaïs.

NURSE YUCKI: Oh, you’re welcome, Archie.

[Anaïs stomped very loudly as she walked away.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: I told that ***** I don’t like when people call me Archie in public.

DO: Well, that is your birth name is it not? Besides Anaïs is a really nice woman.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That’s like saying a ****** is a teething ring.

DO: So are you saying you have been sexless for six months or are you asexual?

DR. NIGHTMARE: Hey, who is the doctor here?

DO: I’m just saying. You may be inserting your tongue incorrectly.

[Dr. Nightmare ignores Do’s comments blushing out of embarrassment.]

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, if you are done fooling around we can begin.

DO: Let’s do it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Okay, Mr Nino. Your first name is Do, correct?

DO: Yes, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: We already know your last name so on to the next question. What is your date of birth?

DO: August 2, 1990

DR. NIGHTMARE: Ah, so you’re twenty-three years old eh?? I thought you were like sixteen.

DO: Ha ha nope but I get that a lot so it’s nothing I’m not used to.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where are you from?

DO: Springfield, Illinois

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you currently living before you came here?

DO: Cordova, Tennessee

DR. NIGHTMARE: Did you like it there?

DO: No, not really. I actually hate it there and am desperate to get away from there and move to a bigger city.

DR NIGHTMARE: Oh? What for may I ask?

DO: To take advantage of more career opportunities to achieve my dreams.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I really like where your head is at kid. Who were you currently living with before you came here?

DO: My mother along with three of my siblings, niece and nephew.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you get along with them at all?

DO: When I want to but even then it is just a feigned interest.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Where were you working before you came to this institution?

DO: I was working as a dishwasher and prep cook at my local pancake joint and bakery. The name of the restaurant is Love 'N’ Lust.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That title sounds intriguing. What kind of food do they make there? Do they pay you well for your services?

DO: We make all kinds of foods in the shape and/or imagery of sexually provocative thought patterns. Basically we make cakes in the shapes of genitals, *******, ***, etc… We do this for breakfast, lunch and dinner around the clock. They pay me $7.25 an hour.

DR. NIGHTMARE: I got to take my girlfriend some time soon. You get paid more to do that here. I believe the maximum is $15 an hour in translation from Euro dollars to American dollars.

DO: You won’t regret it sir. There are actually some of restaurants located throughout France.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Thank you, Mr. Nino. I’ll keep that in mind.

DO: You’re welcome, sir.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you have any passions, Mr. Nino?

DO: Yes, I do. As a matter of fact I have two passions. They are poetry and disc jockeying.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How long have you been writing poetry and disc jockeying?

DO: I have been writing poetry since November of 2008. I am only just beginning within the disc jockeying field.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What were you like in school, Mr. Nino?

DO: I’ve been to many schools doctor. I require that you be more specific

DR. NIGHTMARE: What was life like for you in high school?

DO: Well, I never actively made the effort to socialize with anyone outside of school simply because I was disinterested. When people would take part in extracurricular activities I would just ignore them and go home. I never even went to my own prom.

DR. NIGHTMARE: And why didn’t you go to your prom?

DO: Because I never had a date nor did I have the courage to ask one of the girls out

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well, I would tell you that I understand but I have no idea what that is like. In my day I was a ****. Everybody knew me. All the girls wanted to talk to me.

DO: Yeah, you’re not helping.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Nino

DO: It’s alright, doctor.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Moving on, what was your life like as you were growing up?

DO: There was lots of domestic violence and unwanted sheriff visits because my mother would always feel the urge to call the police every time I voiced an opinion that she did not agree with. I have even been in physical fights with her, my father, brother, sister and grandmother. I even splashed orange juice in my grandmother's face one time because she was ******* me the *******. There was the occasional use and profiting of the most popular drug at the time by a parent because my father smoked and sold drugs. He hung out with the wrong people a lot of the times mostly people who desired to buy drugs from him. Day in and day out deep down I feel that there are still some grudges floating around. My family won’t let me move past them nor will they let me forget about them. They always like to bring them up every chance that they get. I was also expelled from middle school at the age of fourteen for tossing my gym shorts at the assistant principal when she told me to shut up while I was talking. I felt disrespected and it ****** me off. I didn’t know what else to do. I also took antidepressants at the age of sixteen for crying out loud and when I was twenty I was mugged only just one week shy of my twenty-first birthday. It was a late night and I was walking home.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Sounds like you have had a rather rough life

DO: Yeah, well my life is not as bad compared to others.

DR. NIGHTMARE: That doesn’t matter Mr. Nino. It still counts. What was the name of the antidepressant medication that you were taking for you depression?

DO: I honestly don’t remember. That was so long ago. I’m twenty-three now. I’ll be twenty-four in the summer so that was nearly eight years ago. I do remember my mother making me take medications such as Stratera and Adderall for Attention Deficit Hyper Disorder.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What is your relationship with your family like now?

DO: I only talk to them when I want or need something like most people, but other than that I steer clear of them to avoid confrontation and drama. Drama never falls short in the Nino family.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Why do you think that is, Mr. Nino?

DO: Well, it’s just that when me and my immediate family members are in the same room together I can feel a significant amount of tension, hatred and anger coursing throughout the room. It makes me feel very uncomfortable so I just leave.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What do you fear the most, Mr. Nino?

DO: Abandonment and death

DR. NIGHTMARE: All of which are very powerful and reasonable things to be in fear of. What is your attitude toward the opposite ***? What was it in childhood and later years?

DO: I always took notice of the hot girls and the unbearably **** girls. I just never made the effort to talk to them because most of them ignored me or were stuck up and thought they were higher and mightier than me. In later and considerably more recent years my patience for the opposite *** has lessened greatly with each passing day. It has gotten to the point where I hate romantic relationships leading me to believe that they are a complete waste of time. Marriages are pointless as well. I would operate just fine in a No Strings Attached, Friends With Benefits or a One Night Stand type of deal. At least with those types of relationships an emotional connection is not at all required. I like *****. End of story. I get enough emotional connection through bowel movements.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Are you ambitious, sensitive, inclined to outbursts of temper, domineering, shy, or impatient?

DO: Yes, sir. I am very ambitious. I’m a poet so there is no doubt that I am sensitive. Yes, I do tend to have short, mild outbursts concerning my temper. I get mad when people cut me off or talk over me when I am speaking. I hate when people ignore me and I hate when I try to join a conversation and everyone acts like I am not there. It’s like can’t they see that I am trying to be apart of the conversation. I mean even when I try to socialize and make friends they fail to realize it. It is all alright though. I have learned not to give a **** anymore. Honestly, it is the best way to avoid any drama in life.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What sort of people did you physically allow yourself to be around you prior to arriving at this institution? Were they impatient, bad-tempered, or affectionate?

DO: Affection was far from the equation, doctor. I was around a lot of impatient and bad-tempered people. When I speak of these people I speak mainly about my family, but also some of my co-workers as well. They drove me incredibly insane. I would often go home depressed and dreading the next work day.

DR. NIGHTMARE: How do you sleep?

DO: Most of the time I find it difficult to sleep. I frequently watch Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response or (ASMR) videos to aid in me that and so far it has worked exceedingly well.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What dreams do you have?

DO: I rarely have any happy dreams I’ll tell you that. Most of the dreams I have are of running down dark hallways, chasing shadows, jumping off of cliffs and being unexpectedly attacked by random strangers whether it be physically or verbally. I also tend to have a lot of dreams where I am screaming my head off at the people surrounding me in the dream. I even go so far as to push their heads back a little with the palm of my hand. I was really mad in those dreams. I have a lot of mildly terrifying as well as psychotically depressing dreams. I also tend to have dreams about abandonment.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What illnesses are there in your family background?

DO: Well both of my grandmas are diabetic however one of them has been deceased for six and a half years now. She was English plus she had struggled with breast cancer for years. One of my sisters has been diagnosed as bipolar. I believe I may be bipolar, but just undiagnosed. I am allergic to penicillin. Both of my little brothers have asthma. One of my brothers is allergic to peanut butter.That’s about it. My father has problems with digesting solid foods. I don’t really know all that much about the history of my family’s mental health. There was one time when my mom called the cops on me when I was sixteen. The cop although unlicensed said that he thinks I may be schizophrenic. I didn’t believe a word that he said back then, but eight years later I am now starting to realize the justness of what he said and even starting to believe it.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Have you ever had ***, Mr. Nino?

DO: No, sir. I have not. I do think about it very often though.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Do you watch any **** at all?

DO: Every night.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What kind of **** do you like to watch? Do you have any fetishes?

DO: I like to watch female bodybuilders workout in the ****, I also like to watch regular girls fool around in the **** as do most men. I also enjoy watching lesbian **** as well. My fetishes are women with muscle. I’m talking large muscle mass from the neck down. It just gets me so hot. Another fetish of mine and don’t tell anyone this, but I like to watch women take dumps in the toilet. I don’t however like actually seeing the feces. I only like to see them sitting on the toilet while doing it and hearing the sounds. I do not like seeing what is going on underneath. Other fetishes of mine include women with tattoos, tall women, and also slightly psychotic women though intelligent women.

DR. NIGHTMARE: What are you hoping to get out of these sessions and procedures?

DO: I just seek to be happy again. That is all I ask. That is all I want.

DR. NIGHTMARE: Well this concludes our interview, Mr. Nino. I will run to the lab and decipher you

What’s up with this fool this a battle my dude
Your in my domain so you play by my rule
You battling a beast that’s more evil than you
Anything you do, I can do better than you
I’m bred from a breed that would eat you for their food
We watch and read about your type on the daily news
They only found your wind pipe no other parts of you
Thats what happened when you come across a beast,
That feeds off the hearts of its lower counter parts
Rap underworld boss, much bigger than you for starts
I make you and your crew look like they ****** Doo
Me controlling the elements that's hell for you
nothing you can do, my metaphors got meaning
You are a hoax just teething,
Imma full blown demon
you barely steaming
you've bean bitten its good ridden
my odds against you for so many reasons
I been hot, who you think changed the seasons
My HANS solo helped the pharaohs off spring
Made Alienware out of theses underground kings
Beating my chest in the middle of the ring
Raising vikings train'em to win
With my pen alone I could **** you with writtin
Imagine what a battle axe would do to your chin
I'll hulk smash, push your shin bone through your chin
Fresh off of my second wind, fresh off of a wind
I been doing this, before you exist,
And will run this when you stop breathing
You are in the path of a psychopath
You do the math then face my wrath
I **** guys blood ties then take a bath and laugh
You should just stop
We are not even
I revive your life
**** you twice
Just so the plot thicken
You was easy pick, from slim Pickens
I swallow whole chickens and baby pigeons
Livin under bridges trying to change my image
Fightin trolls and warriors my daily scrimmage
killing you, then train your brethren and break bread with
Your best friend, I'll be home by seven to have some words with the reverent
My crazy flow I’ll spit you a Rembrandt
My skill running rampant
About to get a little uncanned
I got a ***** in the Hampton
And she thinks I’m top ten
Plus I’m tall dark and I’m handsome
I’ll take you for ransom
But your not worth a grand-son
You couldn’t out rap me
If you were Santa grandson
Your evil family
Will Die ironically
every villain dies gory
In every story featuring me

A little bite
A little bit different every time
In the bedroom
On the mat
All the scratching
            knocking
            kicking
            pulling
And yes biting
Deep down inside
I know what you like
Know all the things you bite
I recall where it all started
I wash and scrub and brush and clean
The more I struggle, the more you bite
I want to make you stop
But you go for the next thing
And more...

Handbag~ 1994
exam timetable
£5 from my Mum
shiny key for the front door
fresh-mint chewing gum

Handbag~ 1998
keys for work
keys for home
£20 and a bit of change
photo of my best mate
and a bloke that's twice my age
lipstick~ lacy knickers
condoms~ ID card
ticket for a bus to town
UV sparkly stars

Handbag~ 1999
keys for work
keys for home
spare key for his flat
condoms~ contraceptive pills
No.7 powder-ivory/matt
VISA/Delta debit card
paper
gel ink pens
number of a bloke
who says our love
will never end

Handbag~ 2000
keys for work
keys for home
key for the gas meter
Teletubbies picture book
list of baby-sitters
new mobile phone
herbal teething gel
lipstick~ Anadin
vanilla impulse body spray
children's Nurofen
photo of my baby boy
really tiny socks
under-eye concealer
secret stash of chocs

Handbag~ 2002
keys for work
keys for home
pull-back-and-go car
baby wipes
mobile phone
estate agents' cards
picture of my little boy
list of things to do
Boots own brand pregnancy test
both windows coloured blue

Handbag~ 2005
keys for home
card from work
tissue full of tears
photo of my boy in school
that shows his gappy teeth
photo of my baby girl
and one of both of them
a ring that used to be my Mum's
Pro-Plus~ Diazepam

Handbag~ 2009
keys for work
keys for home
one SLIM~FAST bar
one Cadbury's wrapper
Haribo~ Calpol~ tissues
assorted Disney plasters
treasured stones~ special shells
sand and bits of twig
money to buy ice creams
photos of my kids

I don't know why my teeth,
Continuously seem to be preying
Upon my very own flesh:
Choking my words,
Devouring what I am saying.
I really can't control
Their spiteful, teasing tenses.
But it's starting to hurt:
My lip's swelling,
Alongside my senses.