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I’m turning from Blanche DuBois into Chris Benoit
taking a streetcar named Desire to Monday Night Raw
after the oppression of the law got stuck in my craw
because the discretion of the flawed became the voice of God.

I’d always relied on the kindness of strangers
only to find the Million Dollar Man’s danger
directing the Army Rangers to Jesus’ manger
letting the Undertaker deal with the remainder.

I relinquished my rightful place
to the bank’s Crippler Crossface
taking everything until I lost grace
going into a holocaust craze.

I’m upset about the places I can’t go
because I’ll be ***** by Marlon Brando
when I ask the referee for a hand though
he just responds with a ****** no.

I have retired my display of Vivian Leigh
now Whatever by Our Lady Peace plays
as the Rabid Wolverine walks to the stage
to fight the Big Boss Man in a cage.

I gave up teaching class to my sister
to fight an *** who’s a mister
whose slaps can blister
so he blasts this spinster.

The law is a tougher opponent than Eddie Guerrero
so I apply my aptitude into becoming a pistolero
after getting jabbed by my French Quarter pharaohs
I can feel resistance down in my Marc Mero.

I start to take steroids
because there are boys
whose terror noise
impairs my poise.

I go all out performing flying headbutts
fighting until I see the dead’s guts
exterminating enemies like bed bugs
but then I start to dread hugs.

Now I assume a stranger’s spite
so I can immediately fight
I’m swallowed by night
wearing these tights.

In my rage I **** my wife and son
now my anger is no longer fun
even if it came from their gun
it’s me who’s the loneliest one.

I changed from a lady to a wrestler losing my ****** mind
fighting Mankind while stepping on landmines
until I can’t find any grand signs
and I’m anger defined.
Andrew Rueter Nov 2017
We live in the unlighted state of America
Where what happens when we turn the lights off
Is dealt with darkness
And matters of delicate touch
Are treated with sharpness
When our only language
Is to inflict anguish
We cut connections in the bedroom
To clear our cynical head room
For contempt and judgement

People looking for a feeling to fall into
Or a reason to live
Must face frigid climates
When the public invades privacy
And ill fated ****** exploits
Pervade salacious tabloids
Our ****** regrets
Cut the deepest
Society reaps them
Sowing us together with resentment
We provide each other with relief
But not the relief we're looking for
We give each other hours of relief
Until those useless hours become days
And those fruitless days become years
That engender endless tears
As it remains warm in our car
But the winter outside freezes anything that breaks the plane
And our air conditioning only helps so much
When the spinning wheels are in our faces

There is a national coverage in the media
That presents a bleak picture of the ****** health of America
I feel I sit somewhere in between
*** offenders and a disgusted public
When I observe the observers
Who are too scared shitless to ever face their own emotions
Judge those for overindulging in their emotions
They lived their life in fear and safety
So they could be the righteous ones
To admonish the risk takers and mistake makers
Yet they are of the least value to humanity
They're the people who grade all your answers as incorrect
Without providing their perfect alternatives
While trying to erase the context
Because of what the context has to say about society
People feeling that they can never be emotionally vulnerable
Until they experience sheer desperation
And no dollar contract
Can replace human contact
Yet we give men so much money and power
And ask them to feel fine in our cold shower
Until we are soiled by their intention
A nation committed to selling Stella Artois
A nation full of Blanche DuBois

Humanity folds in on itself
When we attack with ***
Humanity does itself a disservice
By not trying to understand these attacks honestly
We forsake forgiveness
And embrace desperation
Until we become unbearably desperate
For attention
For approval
For ****** contact
For money
For validation
And sometimes our desperate desires become tangled
I'd like to think of that as love
And not a meeting between two practical rapists
That conjoin in the middle
Yet somehow come out distorted on the other side

— The End —