it's hard for me to let you go,
you look like an angel
--a deviant against God,
beautiful and forbidden
--against impermanence

ever-lasting;
a taste of ambrosia
a touch of Midas; gold
--yet rarer than the birds
that seem to circle around
--your crown;
not of thorns,
but early morning dew

and the fruits you bear;
not of love,
but grief
--and indelible prints
pressed on your skin...

you make my heart beat,
for once it never moved,
until my shadow was seen.
it's hard for me to let you go.

One fellow once
gave me advice:
«Conduct a fèmale training!».
I chose a day, and sold the seats
And caught the money raining.

I came back home with pretty dame –
She was my clever student.
She often had been tricked by men,
Again she's getting through it.

A gun that can only be shooting with spoons,
A hammer of glass, a shelter for beetles,
A face cream with fragrance attracting raccoons.
A big cotton bag full of needles.

A triangle ball, a candle that stinks.
A timer that's constantly speeding,
A chessboard with figures just missing two kings,
A puzzle with function of heating.

A Queen of the Britain, and her diamond strings.
A spyglass distracting attention.
13 is the number of mentioned things
With no any good application.

Tuesday: **** was black and smelled of sulphur.

oh wait, this is my **** diary.

For those of you interested,
I'm indigested. Well, I suppose we're all indigested.

I'm off the water, on lemon and lime
and wouldn't you know it combined
with my strange state of internal affairs
to create a concoction that's up in flares.

They found undigested
gum and erasers
an unopened packet of quavers
several loose fillings
and an unopened pack of heavy duty nasal razors.

Alright I might be embellishing the truth a little
the situation's been fickle,
but my research mostly finds that
eating is the issue.

I'm a sadist, guilt and remorse evadist
put my dark twist, on the folk
down in their gravies
resurrect em, clambering
shackled remains,
liberate thee,
run free in my domain.
De lib er ately
gliding, I'm death's author
and the last note
in the cacophony slaughter.
I'm the angel of death
and as you draw your last breath
know that I'm trying my best
to compensate for this theft
with more thieving, your grieving's
making my eyes sting
no reprieve in
believing, I'm only deceiving
in the heart of your very own body and mind
an inner evil, its seething
you know you can't hide
so break down and surrender
call on your defenders
and when the heavens aren't parted
the party gets started
there's no angel, descending
smiting at will
just my corpses, feasting
I'll send you the bill.

Isn't it so funny
as soon as you get back with him
the truth bites you in the ***
again
isnt it so funny
as soon as hes gone you crawl right back to us
i wont let you hurt her again.
if my body is made of tiny broken stars
yours is filled with the trash discarded in the void of space.
isnt that funny f?

As

The king ordered silence,
No more song, no more dace,
No more daft scratching of that pen.

So I know just what I'll do,
I'll strike him over the head with my lute,
Then he will be silent too.

I love my parents, but they’re out of it.
For high school graduation, they gave me a gift.
A genie, three wishes, you get the gist.
A big responsibility for an eighteen-year-old kid.
What should I wish for? Well, I don’t know!
Beginning of summer, maybe I’ll wish for snow?
First semester of college, but I don’t wanna go.
Maybe I’ll wish to already know.
Know English, Spanish, math, science, and more,
But I’d rather know what’s on the ocean floor.
Why not cure cancer? Because it seems like a chore.
No, what I really want is the one I adore!
Genie, I wish for my perfect girl.
The most beautiful one in the whole world.
Give me a stunner, one that I can twirl.
Genie said wait, don’t give that a whirl.
I am all powerful, all knowing too.
So I know a secret, one about you.
Now don’t deny it, for you know it’s true.
You don’t like girls, or “doing the do”.
You, kid, are gay. Trust me, I’m the genie.
So don’t ask for a taco when you really want ******.

It started with one. A small hole from a nail.
The first on the surface, paint color “Light Hail.”
The next was an accident. A **** with no stop.
They patched it well and carefully covered it up.
Over the years, nails, screws, and anchors,
With shelves, paintings and furniture.
One time, their son poked through with a pencil,
But it did little compared to his teenage knuckles.