Would make things so much easier.
I could know what to wish for,
without me being broken in the end.
I could know who to follow,
So I wouldn't go anywhere I didn't want to.
I could know what to do,
In times like this when confusion sets in,
and I don't know if what i'm thinking,
Is correct.
I hate to make myself hopeful,
for things that won't come true.
But I can't shake it off.
I don't know,
I will never know,
*the truth

X's and O's.*

I feel like its all a show.

Even from the start, as you depart, kissing the essence of the globe.

For all we know.

X's and O's.

Bring pleasure to your genitals.

Be gentle hoes.

I am making a mental picture of the old.

Days when.

X's and O's.

Publicly got you hanged.

Referring to the X as kissing and the O as hugging on the -*****.

and why the mind insane?

Because there's more to that strange then what meets the brain.

Don't get corrupted look away.

It is some strange day now can you say that,
we will all meet this lustful fate.

Contemplate to the date that I see my son or girl grow in ways,
then hit the world publicly they make the appearance of grace and being.

But then Xs and Os take wing.

Their battles will rattle as I see myself on a mantle of crust.

Made from earth.
Lord Almighty made me from dirt.

Did it hurt?

Did it spew blood like at birth-

And then the rebirth of the unberthed berthed reunion to the dirt .

I am dead.

I’m not quite right today.
I’ve a thoroughly gasted flabber.
The milk of human kindness
Seems to have begun to clabber.
I got plussed but now it’s minus,
I’m so chalant I am nearly flat.
I am almost as spaced out
As a modern day Schrodinger’s cat.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

I was once a pillar of immunity
But lately I am wagging a scally.
But somewhere along the line
I became a cat in some alley.
I‘m at five sixes and sevens
I lost the war and the battle.
My creek is totally full of ****.
Here I am without a paddle.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

My last leg hurts a lot, and
My pooch is rather *******.
I’d say I am a bit ******,
But then, that would be lewd.
I’m a scant one barrel short
Of being a real son of a gun.
My **** has started whiffing
And is no longer much fun.

Catch my phrase, please
If you think you can.
I am what became of
The Muffin Man.
The son of no mother
Who never had a dad.
I’m the reason that
The March Hare went mad.

you are every midnight shot I should not have threw down my throat,
every syllable I should not have stammered out beneath
shy gazes and lowered eyelashes and chewed bottom lips.
you are every (in)coherent verse I could not keep
my shaky grip from messily scrawling across any blank page;
you are in every frustrated sigh,
every agitated run of fingers through messy hair,
every tear at 2am.

If a fish
Could make a wish
for what would
this fish wish ?
a wishing fish
you say, tosh tish
but if you were
a wishing fish
would you wish for
a new dish ?
or a knish ?
what would a fish
do with a dish ?
and how would he
eat a knish ?
but if you knew
a wishing fish
exactly what
would this fish wish?

If you saw
a little bunny
on a tree stump
counting money
would you think
that it was funny
if he used it
to buy honey
to eat outside
while it was sunny
Just where would
that little bunny
get a bag full
of such money
To me that just seems
rather funny

If you saw
a blue canoe
being paddled by
a kangaroo
wearing shoes
size sixty two
Tell me just
what would you do
if there beside
that kangaroo
sat a rather large
and old gnu
I think I would
call the zoo
but, tell me
what it is you'd do

A bunny, fish
and kangaroo
were all out walking
two by two
they were followed
by a large gnu
I think this rather strange
don't you?
I don't know just
what I would do
If I saw walking
two by two
A bunny, fish
and kangaroo
in fact i do not
have a clue
but I know the fish's wish
don't you?

i'll never stop believing in the past.
look at me and wonder
one last time.
voice to me your heart
eye to eye.
you feel too, you've told me so
over and over again. still,
understanding came too slowly

for me.

I didn't know I'd end up here again, especially so quickly after crashing.

But yet again, my heart is an unexpected, fickle thing.

My hair is *****, just like my hands, for I have as much pain and blood on my fingertips as has been inflected upon my heart. Funny how a small little girl from Wonderland can cause so much pain. Innocence was once on my lips, but then the world killed my brother, and then the Jabberwocky came to play.

But where are my manners? Let me invite you to tea, buy you your last meal before I ravage your body with my teeth and claws and words and terrify you when my green eyes before blood-red with the splattering of you. I hate to make people forgettable, so trust me, it'll be a night to remember.

The demons inside come out to play at night, when my defenses are weak, talking of death so easily, when I know I don't have a heart for killing. I only have a heart for destruction and dismemberment of hearts and minds, not lives.

Grace was once so little and pure and kind, but the second blood red graced her sibling's lips, it was over. The monster had come to reside in her.

Red, green, the colors of my heart. Funnily enough, also the colors of Christmas. Didn't know generosity would share the same colors as my envious, greedy, ****** heart.

I am not a fan of myself in the darkness. Perhaps because I see in the nothing a reflection of my own shadows.

Go to bed, dear Grace, before the monster inside eats you. **** you, Jabberwocky, and all your tricks. No one comes back from Wonderland without a tad bit of baggage.

Don't beware the darkness, beware thyself.

Goodnight.

Stricken by the absence of color,
and the absence of rainbows that once sung to me.

Nullified and numbed by the irrationality of my ego,
and my hatred for sanity.

These are punctured wounds by the hands of the stained glass,
as this shattered hourglass speaks gibberish to me.

I'll take all the blame,
it was all my fault anyways.

As if my world wasn't trippy enough,
the only thing standing in my way is you.

So let violence sing one last time...
Scream for me poetry.