Gimme a wink, gimme a view...

And I will like all of your poems!

n' that means YOU!

Some people love to show you how to kick (go in for the attack!)
I'm the one who taught my shadow on the wall...






...how to KICK BACK!

When two Santas
Enter a room
Things can get
Ruthless

He asked my advice.
Eighteen years old, and 
no fire in his eyes.
No fight, no spark.
Just fluff, and
nonsensical darkness.

When I was your age,
it was all
sunshine
vaginas, and
*******.
I drank daily
and painted with
blood.
I drank so
much, I ******
myself once a week.
I lived in the
river and ******
beautiful mermaids.
What seems to be
your problem George?

He said he was a ******,
and that he was lazy, and had
no self-esteem.

I said,
why do you always wear
yellow?
maybe, you should do
something with your
life; join a club, or
protest something.
You look like a
giant daffodil.

I'm lazy though,
I don't want to do
anything.

Well, I said,
that could be why
your self-esteem is low.

Try reading, writing,
or taking a walk
in the woods.
It worked for
Frost and Thoreau.
And hey George,
if you don't motivate
yourself, you will
never get laid.
Women take work.

I don't like work,
he said.

How are you going to
support yourself?
Do you want to
live in homeless shelters
or under bridges?
It's no life for
a kid like you George.

You should do something
about that mop of  red
hair you got.
You are white, and you
have an afro.
You look like a chunky
Ronald Mc Donald.
Maybe, try fast food or
a carnival.

I need *****, he says.

George, ***** is great,
but it isn't going to just
show up one magical
night while you live
in your mom's
basement
and play video games.

Forget about women for
now and read some
Bukowski
Hunter
Hamsun,
even Tolstoy.
Listen to some
******* music.
Try the greats,
Mozart
Beethoven
Sublime, and
The Grateful Dead.

I don't like music,
and reading
is boring.

Well, then my advice
is to 
watch more
TV.
I can tell you like
television.

Alright, George,
I have some writing
to do, I will see you
around.

I went back to my
room,
sat down, and
thought,
now, what the hell
did I do with that
hard
boiled egg?

So I got robbed
by my shadow last night;

           That's pretty dark.

I threw a steak at a girl;
that's a tender way to meet.
But I got beat with a
hole in my head;

       That's an empty thought.


And she broke my nose
so I couldn't smell;

             Her intentions.

I told her she
was pretty sweet;
and was offered a piece.

                  I bit off her lip.

And I was told;
I belong to the streets;
that's really funny because
I won't allow anyone to;

               Walk all over me.

I don't think she got
what I really meant,
So to seem concrete,
I went on to buy her a bag;

                         Of cement.

Yesterday,
I lost my cool;
writing a surprise exam
yet the test was;

              Such a breeze.

It gave me food for thought,
but I kept on complaining,
because I'm still hungry;

                  And want to eat.

And I laugh so big
at my own jokes,
because I took humour,
and added enormous;

             To make it humorous.

You smell like a carnival
in some forlorn town or county
I open the door
and smell the fried dough,
the petting zoo, the bumpkin hoods
with too much cologne
looking at you like you was eyeing their girl
wearing his lanky white arm

You smell like cotton candy,
maybe they could only afford a reptile guy,
the lions club and their burgers and hots
you can only purchase with coupons
The backseat of the worst corvette
owned by the greasiest ugly old man
who has a couple more benjamins than his
old lady's last daddy

Written spells and locked doors.
Mental dispels and cursed flaws.
Aching tensions and delusional illusions.
Illusive dreams and paths to explore.
Wide awake, like a bat...
My mind is on high alert, it never goes to sleep.
Constant mental chatter, an over-active mental state.
It is eternal and I live in the misery and learn to control it.
Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't.
My mind is it's own person, it's own monster.
It opposes different ideologies, beliefs, and conflicts, into one.
I question my mind and talk to myself like a mad clown.
Conversating in my own form.

Boundless amount of wit and seedless unpleasant jokes.
Dark and uncensored, explicit and provocative.
A ***** tongue with **** lips to make you want to play with me more.

But am I really what you desire?
Or have you created your own storm.
Do I reflect you?
Or do you just reflect yourself through me.

Smile through the misery, you can't die with a serious face.
Stitch up the corners and pull it up high so you never have to cry again.
Maybe I am you, or maybe I am just suffering through my own madness.
Maybe my madness has become someone else.
My actions of contradictory displays.
But you love me though...

Lets play