Whilst I sit and read
I fly on a unicorn
Lighting up the sky

I don’t know how to be normal and most times I don’t care
I could read for hours and contemplate the ups and downs of whats fair
But sometimes I feel a spark of despair
A deep dark longing or apathy beyond compare
Sometimes I feel like death would be grand
Who gives a **** if the normals wouldn’t understand
I get tired of this life and all of its pain
Of the suffering existence is a trifle insane
To walk through this life which is so **** mundane
What do I have to show for this trip but a broken heart and overactive brain

Now: in World News
Syria
has been hit with
Chemical
bombs by Russian aircrafts
no consequence
violation of human
and of human
and of rights
and wrongs?

Next: in World News
Palestine
received some 10
Bombings
on civilian areas
no consequence
violation of human
and of human
and of rights
and wrongs?

Shells
           Dropped
on children on children on children
play in the rubble
as they bleed
what an image of
Innocence!
and of human
and of rights
and of wrongs
of human
human
huma
hum
hu
h

Hatred is a
Natural
emotion experienced
by the rich and powerful

Scientists
Psychologists
Doctors
Academics
confirm this

Again: in World War News
no comment
no consequence
violation
human
rights -

Take a left
And our reporter tells us
you'll see safety
in the west wings
taking flight over dead bodies
truly this is the world of -

The first time I visited the freak show
I nearly burst into tears
It wasn’t because of the cruelty of it all
It wasn’t because of their cruel deformities
It wasn’t even guilt, not even a bit
It wasn’t about the greed from the stupid ***
Who ran the freak show

I burst into tears because I immediately understood
That the roles were reversed
And that we were the freaks
We, the cowards, who hide our deformities
And denounce our guilt as useless morality
And clutch onto greed and a hunger for entertainment
While every day we ourselves star in the freak’s parade

And the freaks themselves they are not moved
By my dreaded revelations
For them the truth was always pure and simple
Bonded by their deformities
They understand kinship and compassion
As they clutch on to each other
And the parade of freaks moves past them once more

Why does normality **** creativity!
Why does it always get in the way
like yesterdays rain spilling into
tomorrows sun.
I cant run from this.
I cant escape this dreary rule of
mundane society.
I want to write!
'Then write' you say.
but I can't,
not with normality being
the murderer of my muse.
How can I create something beautiful,
wonderful,
brilliant,
magnificent
When normality is just one step outside my door.

Another "randyhornbag" poem for all avid fans of *******.*

rip off my dripping *******
and part my waiting ****-cheeks
sniff my fresh-scrubbed ****
then rim me ******* senseless

taste the sweet-sour tang
of my recent defecation
force your ***** mouth-*****
past my eager sphincter

seeking to engulf me
in my ****** ***-lust
and now for our delectation
shove your huge **** up me

and fill me with your hot *****
or fist me till I scream
my ******* brains out and
then **** myself in terror

The curtain falls, a veil between
Thinly drawn emotions, more than they seem.

Her hair falls to shade a radiant face,
I cannot scream in a hollow place.

He loves me true, he loves me not.
The stage lights up, I want his passion hot.

Or cold?
She fears this is getting old.

In likeness of a failing fight,
Fly then run, walking through a torn night.

"It's normal" I say to the soul in my eyes,
But I cry that night, but everyone cries.

I don't think he does, and so do you,
On top of all this I must watch my own heart too?

It's normal I tell her, but this lie I have loved isn't
I bleed from my heart.
I plead for my art.
Is it normal to crash down, feeling so distant?

This play put on by us in youth,
This show of passions, far from absolute truth.

The vapor pours from their thin lips,
The smoke clears, black gold cascading from her hips.

Is it normal to crawl against the wall?
To bite at the night and scream and call?

Call for his name to pierce the dark,
To open the curtain, to erase the mark.

Her windows, thrown wide, show the same play as me,
And shut they hold all of my fragility.

That night I fought my own skirmish hard,
That night fate dealt you a burning card.

Is it normal? This lavish dance?
These worrying minds in the vast expanse.
It may not be normal. Or maybe, it is...
Maybe our minds are just torn like his.

I am no source
of poetry or art;
Music or prose.
I am not your one true love or
Your spring of inspiration.

Sensible,
"Down to earth",
Trustworthy-
Normal.

My passions and
Ambitions are unanimous
to the average class.

Anything I am that's
Good
Is reflected in the surrounding
Mud.

For in the end
it will be the belief
in my
potential
and the hatred
of the
conventional
that kills me.