Dripping
from the neck
to your collarbones
the sweat on your skin
meets your musky perfume
and leaves a scent
which makes my heart
run like a mad man.

Attentive, attentive, I was,
wrapped in your insanity
and hypnotically agreed
to ****** your parents
out of passion and love
for the menacing you.

we escaped chases
like true madmen,
and for a moment you
felt like my forever after.

I wondered why I still love you,
even when I figured that
you sold me out to the cops
and ended up questing for
another partner-in-crime
by yourself.

Gonzo

Is often called a barroom poet slash outlaw .
Who's work has been featured in some mags that clearly do not care about good taste or morals .

When not living as a total recluse drinking his liver silly and watching ****, He often enjoys long drives by himself picking up hookers but enough bout his ex wife.


His short stories usually revolve around some demented ******* much like himself .

He currently resides in hell or as others call it North Carolina .
Where him and his dog share drinks and take turns being the designated drunk driver .


His work will probably give you a contact high or at least the clap.

Enjoy .

And stay crazy .

Gonzo

I almost loved you with all my heart
love enters then it starts
In the daydream of souls
In the pages of a diary
In the thoughts of a madman
A sad man from all his almosts
Love never surrenders
It is our ghost.

Your cruelty as a madman will
Not be unopposed any longer.
Sweltering swagger will be your
Undoing,
Sinking you to the bottom
Of the lake.

Ravens and rats and crows
Will feast on your heinous
Bones
Come undone and be unraveled.
Accept your punishment for crimes
Wicked and debased, born of your soul.

In the land of the blind
The one who can see with two eyes is called a madman
a freak.
They say it's better to see
But liars do preach
Teaching untruth through misconception
When your fed with lies
The more you eat the more you swallow.
We are one like the universe
We don't have to follow words that are hollow.

The madman works
Toils towards
An unknown purpose
Be it brushes or pens
Canvasses of color
Or lines in loose leaf
Emotions are erratic
Nothing is static
Everything is always
Moving towards something else
Nothing ever stays the same
The truth is change
With only little windows
The truth is
Tiny pockets of time
Emotions translate to
Déjà vu
The universe of experiences
Encapsulated in one mind
So the madman makes what he can
With what he was
Or at least how he remembers what he was

Across the water he skates with feet of clay. Frigid eels in his veins, they slither under his skin. His blood is volcanic ice. His forehead is an avalanche. His eyes are frozen atolls. His soul is made of liquid nitrogen. Dancing, he's the creature 10000 Leagues Under the Sea. At rest the iceberg that wrecked the Titanic. Don't come near him ladies. He comes off as a nice little cuttlefish. But he will lash out with his whip pads, ****** you into his ***** beak, and glomb on with every sucker he owns.
He's a real masher, the Disco Slasher, Mr Goodbar X 10. Comes off as a "Nice Guy".
Comes off as a "Friend". But watch out for his Frozen tentacles. They will be your END.


SoulSurvivor
(c) 3/10/2016