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Spare me the Sparrow's Spitfire Spinal Spokes (splicing genes)

"Hey nightmare,
where'd you get them teeth?"

An entire week of this.
Hunted. Fleeing. Avoiding *the Chemical


Something that transformed your friends and family into murderers. It's the zombie apocalypse with serial killer skin. A camouflaged insanity.

Not a madness, but a sharpness in Darwinism - taken up to eleven - blowing the speakers out with your eardrums.

I made it to the House. Where the party had started. Where the Lab was constructed, hidden under mattresses and basement corridors.

My Lovers lie collapsed, composed and contorted on the bed. As though they foresaw fire and brimestone. Methane and knife wounds.

But I failed. It was a recurring theme.
Thin pointed metal slipped into my neck.
I just wanted an explosion.
But I was awake before the chemicals kicked in...

parrot sanctuary: Springing Lakes

for the third night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fourth
The tail
Of chipmunks
Danced me their tale:

she saw them as fish, I as rodents. They played quickfire, quicksilver prank wars. Reality could be peeled back for the sake of a jest, always resulting in, "Would you have thought that?"

They made me think my choices were sin. That no matter how hard I struggled to keep peace amongst the rattling psyche of my comrades, I'd always end with blood on my hands.
                  The blood of authority
                   His hands always ****

Regardless of my inclinations, my friends would end up looking at me in disgust. "Wait, are you serious?" They would bellow through fangs of rage. "Get the **** out of my house".

A cop would die. And a chipmunk would tear the universe asunder after shooting his lady with a shotgun.


"Would you have thought that?"

Canyons of Crows (Cellulite Crayons)

It was an endless battle fought between an old school and a hardware store.
The soldiers were just kids trying to make it onto some broadcast network.
Weapons were simple, tents were easily felled by a simple invasion.
Yet, some prevailing sense of honour prevented such simplicity.

I must have been out of loop.
They fought with duty and broken hockey sticks. I attacked them with thick black metal polearms.

I felt unstoppable, until I was stopped. Throughout the strife, losers fell and just vanished, but I ended up killing a good deal of lost kids. When I realized my mistake, I surrendered my position and allowed the horde to consume my flesh.

They felt like the parasites of someone elses nightmare.

Hymn of the Mad Woodpecker;
Knocking on My Door


The couch was an endless caravan.
Your hair, the walls to train station.
The girl in black had a face like a lizard,
and I turned white as a ghost in his eyes.

The laundry room became your bedroom.
My kitchen morphed into a tool shed.
Employees couldn't find your sandwich.
The mouse was a cookie and a noodle.

That website was just a sitcom rerun.
The pills you took were just our marbles.
We had to hide our knives in the laundry.
And still,
You pointed the blade toward your pupil.

My mother saw us shuffle like zombies.
Dead children with no where to hide.
Our throats were a desert boneyard.
Dropping phantom smoke everywhere.

#mockingbird

In this state of REM induced television, the emotional rollarcoaster was a literal, physical manifestation.

"What do you want for us?" as it ascended.
"Just kidding!" decends ruinous agony.
But you had the wrong face.

Not a bomb site or a pair of triangles, but that of a steampunk poet who we'd capture in snapshots with various condiments to accentuate your ridiculous nature.

You never gave me time to answer before the tilt-a-whirl of your denial spun and crushed my mental skeleton.

Just when you think it's over, the screeching song of a mocking chorus spit out high pitched notes at the sight of an ugly nucleosynthesizing ball of *******.

My stomach burns. And I wake in a pool of deceptive sweat and woe.
When I try to sleep, my eyes flutter rapidly, begging me to gouge them out.
A preferable feeling.
Uncomfortable, uncontrollable darting pupils is the worst attack on my sanity I've ever endured.

The flaming swords of my mind, the monsters and demons consuming my psyche, the pit of desperate suffering clawing it's way through my gut, the bubbling scars and fresh wounds in my flesh...

That's superfluous pain. A child's fear.
This is the death of hope and comfort.
Itchy, itchy irises.
This is where the creatures entered.
I can see that now, through my rolling, shaking corneas.
This is the Parasite (Parasite).

Thee Phoenix: interim sidewalk sleeper

It happened over and over again. I sat in my hovel of a puke stained matress and succumbed to the same series of peculiar visions.

I was late for a job I never had. Distracted by a movie, a game shop artfully fit with a convenience store, and a series of diners. At each I plundered.

Dine and dashing on a well cooked meal.
Stealing cards and candy from a non-existent card came, and hopping between movie screens.

When I recalled my place of employment, I ran for the hills. I found myself on the grimy streets of some recurring metropolis.

The cab drivers always brought me back to my places of theft though. Or never left at all, rather. I couldn't understand why I was being overcharged though.

It occurs to me now that this was some strange karmic retribution for my callous robbery of small businesses. Being paid in dividends by liars and theives.

They matched my intentions. The visions sat on repeat all day/night.

Stork Wrapped *****-Traps (****** baby shower)

I
i-i-i
Burn
the taste of expulsion
is exceptionally tasteless
Fire
falling, diving endlessly aimlessly
no trajectory. a transitionary state of
free fall. release the autumn. the leaves
are cooking in the misted frost. traitorous.
Heat
one day she will wash the carbon from
her face with the blood of my enemies.
Sparks
i appreciate your continued fandom
hiss
hiss
Propane
this
deep
inhale
will
ignite
this
tr­ee

Roadrunner: a Ballad of Squirming Skin

I was an evangelical lunatic this time.
And everything I saw was burning.

Was this hell?
I had to warn the common folk.

I begged them to heed my word.
The scripture of a tome I held dear.
I couldn't feel them in my body when I...
But, there it was again...

A monster. A poisonous beast with fangs,
claws, a confusing and confused mask.

Always watching me. A spectre of the underworld. A beast beyond salvation, seeking to drag me into it's crypt. Any time I sought redemption, I felt the cold blooded eyes stalking my figure.

Impossible to escape such a gaze, I ran..

But the next day would be the same. This street was my home. The corner of a row of businesses. A bell tower, and the houses of worship.

Who am I, I...

If lightning struck, I'd never hear it over the creatures malevolent look of comfort. It sought to alleviate it's own suffering by sharing it with me. But I had the- *NO!


Did I lose his book?

Nononononononononooooo
This can't be!!!
No no no!

I felt them in his body again.
Grant me the power to expunge these-
The burning itch, the taste of relief at each ****** scratch. Peeling back the skin, finding a new messiah beneath the flesh - one of self mutilation - I was home.

wanna know what's cool about flamingos?

A glob of nicotine tainted spit cascades toward the sidewalk. Divorced from his glands, married to the baking pavement.

A one armed, bow legged horrowshow with black irises and white pupils. A racist theme, where's the diversity in his teachings?

A double entendre with racewar implications and liver bound complications. The application of an accusation to his dogma based assertions.

Expelled.
A letter on my phone.
E, X and P.
The D fell off the edge of the world.
Here there be monsters.

The pills could never make me sleep.
Tossing *and

Turning and
Roiling and burning.

Lying in the limbo of consciousness.
Not truly awake but never to fade.
Aware of my surrondings.
These stares are so confounding.
Compounding
                   with the
                   stairway I'm
                              stumbling
                     ­                        down
                                                  down
     ­                                                   down
as I fall face first & tumble to the ground

parrot sanctuary: Hummingbird Armageddon

for the fourth night in a row
                        i rose in a hospital bed
                        overdosing chemicals
                        over blowing nervesbeds
On the fifth 
The tail
Of foxes & felines
Danced me their tale:

fashionistas, cartoon cats, Spanish foxes and pyramid dances. There was a small lifeform forever caught in the endless gears of their windmill. A reserved acceptance overtook it's being.

A state of perpetual fortitude. Back and forth and back and forth. These five companions beckoned tears. Reality was pulled apart. He cut my throat with ****** fangs.

A ****** knife, a ****** car. I choked upon the windmills blades. They offered me a place to sit, I gave them my esophagus. Sarcophagus of scarab skulls.


"Oh what are you doing?
"I'm just hanging out".
"I loooove your little bag".
"Yeah I use it to carry around my..."
"It's just..."
"Do you have..."

They booted the globe into armageddon, and I awoke with needles in my arm.

thousandeyedpeacock

Welcome to stasis
                   the bases of grief
             orange waves
         upon an endless sea of neon
pulsating relentlessly, exercising futility

a skeletal canopy bleeding our feathers
dot dot dot
         this slave in golden silk
             and powdered threads
   stainless loops ******* in my skull
shelling out body parts into their home

what do we order? pizza or sushi?
                too
              many
            option­s

all out of money, hunny
                                honey & LSD

it's the trickle down effect, regarding
                                               this tolerance
six is enough? I feel like
I'm dying - stay in the shower
that's been on the stove for a week
                                                          r­etch

Pepper the Canvas in Eagle Sinew

***** clogs the shower drain. It's combining with your fallen hair. Or mine, like platinum strands of muscle tissue, the ******, beating chest cassettes.

I heard your stupid song. The sound of a handless applause. Applaud for me, I'm throwing up. This dishwater has so many scars. Just bars of soap with oatmeal stains.

What's that mean? Analogy? A simile? A metaphor? There's no one knocking at the door. The king's a *****, adore a door. So what's this dream mean anyway?

Too many rhymes to care. Too many slimy coins too count. Garlic fears with (bury me) apropos for broken toes. I propose a toxic toast.

Victory Lap for the Headless Parakeet

"It's impossible to die in your dreams. If you die in your dreams you die in real life. That's what I believe".

Good for you, I'm murdered every night.
A hunting knife with jagged teeth.
I feel the blood drain from my throat.
I've fallen down so many feet.
And felt my bones collapse under gravity.

My nights are hopeless death, and
I'm attacked by my skeleton every day.
What a pointless life, I mean
Seriously, just give me another cigarette.

Shrikes frozen by winter shrieks

I sweat so readily it's disgusting. Beads of salt flavoured embarrassment pour from my impacted flesh like a sodium waterfall. In the night it never ends, and I can no longer punch or run from my adversaries. Simply spew the water fountain of fear from my sweat glands.

These are the kind of waking atrocities that cannot be communicated. These are the undesirables and bizarre plays of physics I loathe so. It's not often I'm privy to forget my consuming visions however. For instead of sleep I am basked in endless hallucinations. A state of full conscious insanity I bear on my weary, burning eyes.

Although, no one would care for nor believe my recollecting ramblings, "That just means you don't remember falling asleep". You useless homunculi. You believe me to have been born such as this? I know what sleep is. There are my waking nightmares. This is the torment of madness.

Roosters, Hens & Battery Cages

This room's littered with *** toys and bloodstains.
Empty beer cans and ***** laundry that's nearly half animal hair, half ****** fluids.
He's there, she's there - they all showed up for a night of blackouts and left before the sun rose.

Rose...

There's a wilting flower breathing in soot amongst forgotten memories. The floral antithesis of a forget-me-not.
The kind we give to ourselves with filthy syringes and wash in destitute bliss.
Watered with gasoline and a silicone manhood.

There's spilt milk and crying consumers.
**** drunk horror buffs establishing antfarms in molten lead.
But when I wake up, the only part I can rememeber is the scurrying legs
slowly
solidifying
   encased in an ever cooling tomb.

I don't remember falling asleep though...

pomade peregrine

It's a Japanese jungle
with berries and high scores
(the term high doesn't begin to cover it)
maybe if you replaced all your blood
with a concentrated solution of n,n-DMT

these theistic insinuations are allegorical
don't take me for a fool
there aren't enough pixels
in this 2 dimensional dreamscape
for me to see the face of your messiah

there's another sea of trees on this island
I'm remiss to have missed out on,
"ThInK oF yOuR faMILy"
Dead bodies and ghosts litter the pathway
This is my safe place at night

Please extinguish these dreams of colour
these computer rendered backgrounds
All the bleeding joy
and happy-go-lucky funtimes
it tastes worse than tar and gunpowder

try and see through my conical poison

meaningless titles [scrapping albatross marrow] this is not a poem

It was a solemn coastal deadlock
some bizzare mutation running amuck. Strange men with unsaid abilities
rescuing lost children from the headlight hunters

each part formed part of a cohesive whole
A multi chained parable that some villainous wizard rewrote, becoming the hero of his own manuscript
Waves of confused monsters washed the lighthouse in grief

His caregiver was dead beneath rolling stones by the third act
shattered femurs lie lovingly under the lakes implied rejection
"someone's going home"

they arrived under the cover of night
Found awaiting for his ride in the bar
they skewered him with a broken poolcue
only one week away from his latest birthday
"these edits make for wicked libs".

Glass Swallow(s) Swallow(s) Glass

His fur was black & orange
a running colour in these 'dreams'
Consciousness is monochrome
     lizard screams are monotone

my roots are built of melted sand
drinking [shattered] from my palm
the tree is wilted in the sun
                             ihatethesun ihatethesun

"Please open the door, your love has come
to slice your cheeks
my favourite instrument is dead
       He cracked it over
                                someone's face
                                oh no
                                        no one's here again".

Your final songs are echoing:

Magpies, Pheasants, Griffins &

      [DEATH, LOATHESOME DEATH]

Bluejay Graveyard

You should wear a warning label:
Cigerettes cause bladder cancer

What's in a name, but a graveyard tombstone?
What's in the ground but a maggot's buffet?
Earworms burrow through your eyes.
Your flesh is repurposed as defecated soil.

So what if I was buried alive? There's only enough oxygen for a moments breath. Anything more is a dioxide suicide.
Anything less is an intangible surrender.

In this kind of situation some would offer their sacraments. In this kind of coming rapture perhaps you'd find a new god. I'm not really here to cast judgments though.

Just a decaying skeleton with no bell to toll. Another buried vampire with no proof of life. Anything else is a fanciful misery.

Another blue eyed target for the sake of drowning in Sake.

Beset by Vultures - The End

"Spring mourin
xXXxxXxx.xXXxxXxX.xXXxxxxX.xXXxxXxx
  [01100100 01100101 01100001 01100100]
           an insomnic's dream journal
A glob of nicotine tainted spit cascades toward the sidewalk. Divorced from his glands, married to the baking pavement.

A one armed, bow legged horrowshow with black irises and white pupils. A racist theme, where's the diversity in his teachings?

A double entendre with racewar implications and liver bound complications. The application of an accusation to his dogma based assertions.

Expelled.
A letter on my phone.
E, X and P.
The D fell off the edge of the world.
Here there be monsters.

The pills could never make me sleep.
Tossing and
Turning and
Roiling and burning.

Lying in the limbo of consciousness.
Not truly awake but never to fade.
Aware of my surrondings.
These stares are so confounding.
Compounding
                   with the
                   stairway I'm
                              stumbling
                     ­                        down
                                                  down
     ­                                                   down
*as I fall face first & tumble to the ground
an insomniac's dream journal

— The End —