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A Simillacrum Jul 2018
My toes don't point straight it's a problem!

I walk on my feet that lead to my knees!

My knees work with my thighs!

Thighs work with the hips!

Duck foot pigeon toe leg

Brace or back brace

Face the fact!

Dreams need
   to be
      counted on
fingers      and thumbs.
&   monkey is as monkey does
produce so well
   that it
      cannot think.

That's the matter.
in dispute.
Why --
why move?

Become
a pretzel of
the bottom half
and wait
long enough,
turn back

into
   an
  egg.
A Simillacrum Jul 2018
Get carried away
Turn against the pillow
Sleeping on the sofa
Pretend you're in bed
Take it back to ten
Where you can pretend
The flashing blue and red
Connected to the police
Is coming from an NES
Coming through a CRT
Shadow Dragon Jul 2018
Raw meat on your silver plate.
Heavy fingers
caressing my bare flesh.
You cannot invite yourself
if you aren't welcome.
Then you used your
sticky, heavy and disgusting
thick fingers
to caress some more.
In my head  
broken people can only
create broken things.
So what if you created it  
you said while
everyone in the cinema
had melted hearts.
But this is no love story
more like horror.
For I would not bow
and you made me.
Brandon Conway Jun 2018
Mothers garden adorned with fleshy fruit
Thus I plucked and ****** at the jocund juice
Branches speckled with luscious loot
A taste so sweet, I propose a tantalizing truce
Immortalize me with nourishing nectar
Keep my belly from famished fallicies
No longer a fleshy comestible collector
For godly ambrosia has mended moralities
Bryce Jun 2018
It's political, isn't it
the ones who get the book deals
acting like actors
starry eyed
dreaming to be
the next Stephen King

******' sellout

entertainment
that's what wins
and who decides the words
a company on market street
in a big tower of steel and glass
coffee machine


people hate to be proven wrong
they hate to have their methods questioned
Geocentrism maintained until the atomic age
and even after

let go of preconceived notions
of ideology and dogmatic sheen
step away from petty partisans
perhaps then we can come together

you won't like it if it targets you
because today
our hearts are fragile
and we feel the instinctive
(instilled)
need to defend and revolt
against a system that is broken
in all the wrong ways

but tearing it down
and building back up
is always more tough
than simply,
agreeing
to disagree
and working
to find
a solution
somewhere
in between

c'mon
please wake up
don't keep eating soylent green
mean broadcasts and slanderous media
consultants that own the world beneath their words

Walt Disney (ABC): 92 billion
Comcast (NBC, MSNBC): 186.9 billion
Viacom (Paramount, CBS): 23.7 billion
21st Century Fox: 50.72 billion
Facebook (Instagram): 84.524 billion
Verizon (T-Mobile): 257.1 billion
AT&T (Sprint, Cricket): 444.1 billion
Google: 206.94 billion

These are the biggest industries in the world
manufacturing information
buying yours
selling you fabricated dreams
and hateful wishes
to turn you into time bombs
picketing angry on main street
buying pamphlets
buying lies
buying momentary good times
so that the dividends incessantly continue to fund

And you fear youtubers?
with thoughts
different than the conglomerates
and the fourth estate
in beded on the capitol building
drinking martinis
jacking themselves off on an american flag,
saying
Land of the free

silencing the opposition
quietly
behind the scenes
MKULTRA
greedy
and mean

and you'll eat it up
thinking you're kind
playing exactly the cards
they printed for you
and handing their printed money
over
with interest
siphoning the wealth of a generation
like ticks

but the solution is not to redistribute
it is to reinvigorate
the innovative
engine
and accept,
maybe,
that all states are doomed to die
eventually

but don't fear death
please
that's the first way
they get
in your skin
and through that wound
will inject you
with sin
You can hate me, call me whatever you'd like. Won't change the fact we'll look back and wonder....

why didn't we do anything sooner?
Shadow Dragon Jun 2018
Your mother spoon-feeds you happiness.
But at some point
the happiness becomes rotten.

So she cuts your meat in pieces
and feeds it to the therapist.
In hope of answers.

But she will never find the knifes
cutting slowly in your mind.
For you are hopeless.
Johnny Noiπ Mar 2018
I have a Barbie doll that is so cheap & slutty
she's wearing a belly chain like the cheapest
blonde stripper/****** on the beat up strip;
seems she struck up a thing w/ a Hans Solo
I found but he's holding a laser pistol &
has articulated wrists; so I get that at first sight
he's thinking who's this nasty little piece
of white trash  w/ the nice *** of pink
molded plastic; he's got hard slick backed hair
& he's wearing that stiff Star Wars outfit cuz
god forbid they give a male doll a decent wardrobe;
so he's no metrosexual & I guess technically
he's a movie star; he does look like a young Harrison
Ford; Barbie on the other hand has long slender limbs
& hard fake **** that look real except
she has no ******* which I've heard can happen
& a thin wasp-waisted torso; long out of whatever
clothes she had on as if she's been wandering
back alleys dizzy & naked; I know that happens
but it's never a good story exactly; I'd already
stripped her naked
& dripped hot wax
all over her perfect little **** so now it's covered
in clear solidified drips of viscous wax;
it looks nastier than its sounds; wax on plastic: ouch...
so I had been thinking about polishing her up; u know
giving her a Barbie Spa day to make up for abusing &
mistreating her; treating her like a toy I can just set
on the shelf & forget about; I've lost so many gfs
that way but me & Barbie we're not serious;
I mean she's my property but u know I understand
she's got needs & we're two different...well, I set
Hans Solo beside her on the shelf & next I see
he's on his knees with his pants down sniffing
at her ***** ****; I'm thinking not a good look
but when I pick him up to move him
he winds up behind Barbie with his pants
down; his left hand's tangled in her hair
and his right's holding the gun to her head;
I figured she's had worse & left them to it;
they're still there & I haven't forgotten
I still owe her that Spa Day
subconscious growling: ***** u made me do it! Why'd u have to wear that! I couldn't help myself! It's ur own fault. get up, *****...into the back of the car. u wanna go to jail? get to it or we'll taze ur *** & leave u here  in a hot puddle of ur own **** & u won't say **** to anybody...that's a good *****
Ira Desmond Feb 2018
The goat didn’t understand
the significance of the bell around

his neck,
smelled

the sunlight hitting
the dewy grass

as he opened his eyes each morning,
looked

at his handlers, the humans,
and thought of them

as his protectors,
took

a kinetic joy
in bounding through open fields

among sage and purple wildflowers,
kicking

up dirt,
and taking naps

in the shade of thick cypress trees
on hot, dry afternoons.

One day,
a rope was tied

around his neck,
and he was led

to a place he had never
been before, and

into a situation
he had never

considered
before.

The goat was tied
to a tree

in a sunken, gray,
muddy place.

He was surrounded by
a throng of faces.

He recognized
some of them—

humans he had known
and smelled,

sometimes kicked,
sometimes licked.

Some of the faces
smoked cigarettes

and sat in silence.
Others talked excitedly.

Others drank
and sang.

All of them were waiting
for something,

but the goat did not
understand what.

And then he
felt a hand

grab onto one of his
horns. Its grip was firmer

than the goat remembered
the grip of a human hand could be.

And then he felt an arm
around his back,

it was almost a hug,
but more resolute in its

intentionality—
wholly,

horrifyingly,
out of character

from what the goat had
understood about

his handlers.
The goat now

realized that
something was wrong.

He did not
want to be in this position

any longer. He
began struggling,

kicking more
and more violently,

but still he felt more arms
and hands

restraining him—
pinning him down

in spite of
his protestations.

The goat began to
cry out

for help, for God,
for one of his humans—

a final plea
to the universe

to come and rectify
the situation.

And then the goat felt
a cold, hard edge

pressed against his throat.
Wild-eyed,

he looked up,
and there he saw

his human,
the one who had

fed him
and cared for him

for as long as
he could remember.

The man ******
his arm

and yanked the goat’s head
back,

and the goat felt a shocking,
slicing pain.

He could sense that warm fluid was
draining

down his neck, could
tell something

irreparable had happened
to his body. His

eyes darted around,
looking at all of

the unflinching, cold faces
surrounding him.

Up until
this moment,

the goat hadn’t
considered

the possibility
that the ones whom he

loved
so dearly

and who loved
him

so dearly
could

betray him
like

this.
Zero Nine Oct 2017
We've our grievances
right
here in hand

Blood soaked envelopes
stamped
sweat and seal

They use empty truths
to pitch hate
as a promised land

They sell their answers
used, as is
to the fearing masses

And they do so
dirt cheap
dirt cheap

From a throne
of our skulls
and ancient
bones

.our ******* bones.
thrash trash post-*******
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