I sat on a rock
And starred at a duck
If feathers ruffling in the breeze
It's webbed feet keeping it still
As it paddled in my view

That duck starred right back at me
It's beautiful gaze meeting mine
A pleading look covering its face
Yet it didn't fly away

It stared at me, another creature
In its world, a harmless organism
We love them and paint them
Capture them in a pretty picture

And little do they know
Those toxic ponds and broke homes
Are all our mans doing

It stared at me unknowingly
Incapable of understanding
Or if it did it didn't show it
In its tiny duckling face

We tear their home
To make room for us
The most brutal race
And yet this duck
Came waddling up
Not knowing us for what we are

We are human
We are predators
We are destruction
In its finest hour.

WRITE YOUR NAME
ON THIS BULLET

SO YOU ARE
THE LAST THING

THAT GOES THROUGH
MY HARD HEAD

Barely money to pay the rent
grocery money's spent
no car, holes in my shoes
***** socks, single cigarette blues
and my only request
my only desire
is for a ******* stereo to set my ears on fire
An admitted "noise-aholic"
an open "quiet-aphobic"
I want to tear my neighbors peace to shreads
and clear the chaos in my head
let me be beaten black and blue
by those brutally angelic tunes
Please,
let me blot out all existence
let me shout out my penance
under that blanket of deafening lyrics
Please,
let me blot out the world with music

To the one who hosts competitions…  
Which ******* gave you the right?  
I wouldn’t listen to your rules even if you paid me.  
Nor would I let you tell me how I would write my poem.  
I could write something totally not related to your competition and submit it.  
Maybe I’ll **** your girlfriend and let you read about how it went.  
She didn’t take your name when she came(just so you know)  

Who said you could take such liberties?  
I’m gonna bash your head in with an exhaust pipe  
And when it dents and gains a sharp edge I’ll scrape your eye with it  
Just one, because I want you to see…  
You wanna host competitions, do ya? Meet my little match  
Ever wondered how a lit match feels in your nostril?  
If I sparked it and let the gunpowder catch flame in your nose, how wonderful would that feel?  
Listen here Mr. you asked for this by hosting it… there’s no backing out now…  
I still have a few things to run you over with.  
**** umbrella? no splash guard? ugh… too messy…  
Ah my favorite! the serpent’s tongue.  
For that I’ll first have to break your jaw, then hold your tongue out  
Then I’ll stretch your tongue out with clamps and slice it right down the middle  
Such a fitting exercise. For you.  
You have become what you really are.  
I’ll leave your manny parts intact… I know how we are when It comes to those.  
I will tell you though, you won’t be able to use em ever again… sorry about the irony.  

Lets get down to business, shall we?  
I hate you. You know why.  
I’m gonna inject you with a pain enhancing serum.  
Then I will administer XXXX ***  
It’s an ancient technique of entertaining someone.  
Dating all the way back to almost 900 AD  
It was banned, sadly, in the last century.  
Anyway, you’re lucky I have knowledge of this  
It won’t spoil our fun… lets start with the obvious places  
Eye lids, lips, ears, finger tips, toes, arm pits, the *******, the wrists….etc….  
You shouldn’t bother keeping count, that’s my job  
But I highly doubt you’ll even live past number 233.