So, you've been to Venice,
 kissed at sunset on the gondolas,
  sipped Merlot at
   Ristorante Albergaccio.
    You're very well-read,
     you know Tennyson and Tolstoy,
    Fitzgerald and Faulkner
   ("Always dream..."
  tattooed on your rib).
 You lived in museums for a year,
  you spoke with Van Gogh,
   his ear turned toward you as
    you crawled among the Irises.
     My dear, it is impossible
    that you are a realist.
   It is impossible that you
  speak not of love.
 It is impossible
that you have forgotten.

Parade of bones, ride high
Filling up the whole sky,
Past where my hands can't reach.

Bleached by sun and twisting,
Hanging like chimes singing.
Dance on, something like free.

You'll be gone tomorrow,
Split and cracked for marrow,
Pouring out your lifeblood.

Down below, the living
Never got forgiving,
And it sure ain't easy.

There once was a plain old greedy degenerate
Who fancied himself some sort of profit
Most of the town's folk even bought it
Some say he lost it

We must laugh together at the irony we see
Someone degenerate as he
Redesigning our humanity
First conceptual sold as a divine product
******* ecstasy…

I won't support the scandal to fund the living Dead council
The Swine
Thought to unwind and rewind in the way they felt fine
Thus genetically designed a millennia of succession of clergy kings
And unleash them to father all mankind to be

Hear me when I say
I do not feel okay
When malice men metal with God's work

Got a hell of a good pitch though
I mean you really make that **** looked ****, no?

A well-designed slaughterhouse may have its livestock walking into spirals right to the mouth of the grinder
Scientifically each breed more perfect than the next
As I deflect
Do my very best
To warn just in case you could respect
Liberty and freedom
Or obey to choose to sleep comfortably
Happy sheep healthy cut of meat
Splash, shear and then repeat

I love you So much
Almost as much as I love myself
Hope you can learn how to be alone with just yourself all by yourself
and be present with yourself Love

The Billowing
Risk
Is my second language
It's my
Native tongue

"Billowing Risk" -JP

I had a **** childhood
But at least the music was good

Born in a place that I don't call home
Raised in a country foreign to Mom
Stained with the colors of different flags
My soul and my heart: in different lands

"Where are you from?" So simple a question
Yet always I answer with such hesitation
For how do I choose from different parts
Of the whole that is me and my colorful heart?

The answer is simple, not complex at all
It's simply a matter of wearing them all
So I'll show them all proudly: my beautiful hues
For I've finally realized I don't have to choose

The same questions
The same curious stares
The same judging tones
Just different continents
And me
A road between them

In my old home
A sleeveless shirt?
Your legs are exposed?
An American accent,
Guess you’re not one of us anymore.

Must be a lot of school shootings, huh?
We’re working on it
I promise

In my new home
Why are you wearing that?
What’s on your forehead?
Why are you eating with your hands?
That’s gross.
Speak English, you’re in America.

There’s a lot of open defecation, right?
We’re working on it
I promise

If only you listened
To each other
And yourselves
If only you realized
How different
But similar you sound
If only