Santa stole my wife
enslaved my kids as elves
and oh dear, for the reindeer
he took my dog as well
But Christmas is still Christmas
ain’t no season to be sad
I’m taking some comfort, knowing
Mr Clause is also bad
So let’s not judge the other
for I’ve been naughty too
and if you too haven't been so nice
Well…a Merry Merry Christmas
to you

This.
Stimuli.
It depletes me.
Turn, turn around.
And complete me.

I, lost all control.
And this sense of lament is visceral.
I bleed, from the outside.
Numb death, turning, becoming inside.

I.
Just need one thing.
A child’s toy, nostalgic and stuffed.
A somnambulant hymn.
To remove me.
Disassociate, please.

Your hand is soft.
Placed places that comfort.
I miss your scent, that congeals.
I wish I didn’t have to feel nothing.
Emptiness is so guttural and potent.

I can’t help but see.
Everything slip by.

I think a lonely night is made by you
Leave my high and dry
No consequence finds you
A whirlwind of questions
Why put my love in one place?
Where’s my green light to go?
Can’t you hold on to what’s enough?
Leave tonight or leave forever
Pick a fight or work together
My lover is not kind
And I refuse to be clever

-J.R

I know a love
she isn't sweet
she's the nectar of a flower
whose thorns cut into my lips
when suckling her saccharine syrup
tainted with the metallic bitter zing
of my dripping blood

this is only normal she whispers in my ear
such tenderness
this is love
this is care

I've taken her for my own so
I must pay the sanguine price
How nice!
my battered lips stretch into a bloodied smile
for red is the color of love
it is only natural to bleed for love

I know a love
she isn't sweet
but she is mine

The time numbs. I want it raw like it was.
Like ******* and ******.
Something powerful and honest.

I let lies continue.
Fantasies I tease myself with.
I never follow these potential trails.
I’m terrified of not having blissful reverie.
Closure haunts me. I’m scared of definition.

I live in a time that never ends.
I breath the exhaust we know but cannot see.
The world spins upon my shoulders, I pass it on without using my hands.
People die, it’s distant.
Life doesn’t mean much.

I live here in a puddle.
I love all the potential I have to waste.
I don’t know what I would slobber on without it.

I want something raw.
Something abrasive, without some sort of superficial veil.
If I brush back another thin facade just to uncover a clearer image of *******.
I’ll slump the world with my bear hands, and whatever blunt object is abreast.
The ensuing postlude or coattail if you will, is gruesome and redefines the word genocide.

Life passes by because it’s not cut with iron anymore. It’s chiseled away with fantastic stone and underlying hopeful chimes of music. A method to which leaves reality unclear, and insipid. Quite literally dull and un-vitriolic.

The time jingoes tore babies from teats, bounced sore bosoms, and buried John Doe’s in mass graves beside schools. Is long gone.

I live in a butterfly massacre.

do not expect for this to be a poem about love.

I owe you, right?
you gave birth to me,
which means I should be grateful that you didn't yell at me today.
thank you then.

I tell you I am hurt by your words,
but I should be sorry for being hurt by you?
I am sorry then.
it will not happen again.

I ask to close my door,
but this is your house.
you ask for me to clean your mess,
now it's my house too, right.

I need to take care of myself,
I'm starting to feel better.
I am wrong, you come first
I owe you every last breath.

I avoid the mirror.
I will look fat no matter what.
I wonder where I got this from.
thank you for my self-hatred.

see I have finally realized something,
parenting was your job,
not mine.
so why the **** was I doing it?

I do not owe you anything.
you chose to have me,
you chose to raise me.
you failed but I have to pay?

I have come up with two words for your parenting style,
mental abuse.

Enlist a draft,

Reinforce the gates,

On your mark,

Get set,

Kick rocks,

Best yet,

Worst ever,

Self absorbed,

Self destruction,

Twinkle twinkle,

Row your boat,

**** is not a dream,

Fire up the presses,

Alert the media,

Step back step back,

Gather round gather round,

Pull the pin,

Blow out the candles,

Drop the mic,

Pick up the pieces,

Ride the wave,

Crash and burn,

Pop the top,

Live and learn,

On and on,

Rest In ****.