this is it, man
the last stop before hell
the final chapter before knowing the unknown
I prayed this day would never come
and I have feared it more than death itself
but now that it has arrived, I can’t move,
I’m paralyzed, comatose,
almost vegetable-like
too many nights were spent
laughing with diesel-powered killers,
singing with mop-haired lepers
in monotone slate
& dancing with minotaurs around
the open flame of age
it’s all behind me now
my days roll through soft and fuzzy
like peaches in the August heat
a cozy bed, comfy pillows, secure blankets
and yet, I felt safer in more dangerous places
(I always preferred the acid rain dripping from the mossy underpass over the holy water bubbling in the Vatican jacuzzi,
yeah dig?)
but now that I’m surrounded by all this
security, comfort and warmth
I feel less alive, almost finished,
when I’ve got so much more to unleash
like a mad dog, old and vicious and untrained by its master with enough bite
to inflame your wrists with rabies.
it’s been one hell of a picnic, lemme tell ya:
kissing death under the ring of vultures
loving women like a broken bear trap
delivering music like an olive branch
cleansing myself from these filthy poems
it’s time to turn it over to someone else
let them abuse the night
and listen to it scream
me? my nights weep themselves to sleep
and I join in on their sorrow.

looking around this empty room right now,
I’ve come to accept that the gig is up;
the party’s over, the lights are off
and everyone’s gone home:
the music here is quiet and tame
the basement echoes in phantom laughter
the window panes are no longer broken
the pyramids of beer cans have crumbled
the late nights have turned into early mornings
the dancing girls have turned into career women
and I had it good for a while, maybe too good;
shooting dice and rolling sevens and elevens
but now everything comes up snake-eyes.
I finally understood that the foundations of people
were more unstable than water and
less faithful than a Rush St. ******.
friendships and other relationships
sank faster than a mafia ****** weapon
(maybe that’s why they call them “ships”)
but as the aging hours of time came
crashing through like lightning:
I found love when love was unkind
I found hate when hate was merciless
I found people and stubbed them out like cigarettes
where by and by, it all turns to ash,
just mounds and mounds of ash,
windswept by gentle persuasion
and now they’re buried in their shrink-wrapped lives;
dropping kids off at soccer practice, attending PTA meetings,
hosting chili cook-offs, yelling at football games,
disgusted with Tuesday’s, bowling on Wednesdays,
pretending everyone’s doing fine and living quite well
while I am left here with myself
and this eerie moment
of reflection, now realizing:
it’s all gone.

It's not that humans are inherently evil, it's more like that each & every person, even the most virtuous one, has the potential of backsliding into being evil. Take a look into your mind's corrupt part. What is it that you really desire or get thrilled by? Imagine: regularly having entertainments & pleasures of whatever types you dig; having a wealth amounting to hundreds millions (or even billions) of dollars at your disposal; being in the position of giving requests & orders, having those around you who'd obediently satisfy them, having loyalists who'd put those disobeying or rebelling in their place by either legal means or forcible ones; being in the position of projecting & enforcing your will, views, ideas upon masses.

Imagined? Now say neither of the mentioned sounds tempting to you, that you aren't interested in any of such stuff. I wouldn't believe a person rejecting those temptations wholly [holy] or claiming they aren't interested in any of those. Such a person is either an ashamed liar or out of their mind. I, as well as some other individuals thinking alike, believe each & every human is corruptible, hence, keeping in mind that appetite comes during the consumption process, each & everyone has the potential of turning into an archvillain, under circumstances being favorable to that, of course.
————————————————————————————————
Не то чтобы люди злы по своей природе, скорее каждый без исключения человек, даже самый добродетельный, имеет потенциал скатиться до злого. Загляните в порочную часть своего сознания. Что это, что вы действительно желаете или что приводит вас в восторг? Представьте: регулярное наличие развлечений и удовольствий любых нравящихся вам типов; наличие богатства, составляющего сотни миллионов (или же и вовсе миллиарды) долларов, в вашем распоряжении; пребывание в позиции, чтобы отдавать запросы и приказы, наличие вокруг вас тех, кто покорно удовлетворит оные, наличие лоялистов, что поставят неповинующихся или же бунтующих на место либо законными средствами, либо силовыми; пребывание в позиции, чтобы проецировать и насаждать свои волю, взгляды, идеи массам.

Представили? А теперь скажите, что ничего из упомянутого не звучит соблазнительно для вас, что вы не заинтересованы ни в чём из подобного. Я бы не поверил человеку, отвергающему оные соблазны полностью или же утверждающему, что не заинтересован ни в чём из оного. Такой человек есть либо стыдящийся лжец, либо безумец. Я, как и другие похоже мыслящие люди, убеждён, что каждый без исключения человек подвержен моральному разложению, следовательно, помня, что аппетит приходит в ходе процесса потребления, каждый без исключения имеет потенциал, чтобы превратиться в архизлодея, при способствующих оному обстоятельствах, разумеется.

I don’t know how it happens
but every nut job you meet in a bar
has a story they’d like to share with you
about their wild days of youth
or about how things and people were
decades ago without the usage
of what we have now.
they seem to be unstoppable,
their mouths are like pistons
running on an everlasting engine
pumping out these useless words,
these agonizing words that don’t
amount to anything
and the crazy part that blows my mind is
I continue to listen with great anguish
I am their ear, their therapy
I am the light to a handful of moths,
an oddity freely roving amongst them
these people were once people
a long time ago
fulfilling fantasies
they could never imagine
and now they have found me and latched on
as if anything had to do with anything
but I need them though, I need their agony
I need their glory and their damnation
because without their uselessness
how would I ever continue pumping out
these meaningless poems?

do what makes you happy
and the rest be ******

forget the critics
the naysayers
the reviews

forget those who pounce
at first glance with
unsolicited feedback

forget those who wait
with serrated edges
for the unveiling
of your back

forget those who lambaste
and castrate your creativity

or worse, those who
try to help you
improve it

and then there are those who
uplift and support your work

say thank you
and
forget them
too.

forget about polishing the knobs
off the editors of poesy or
the literary brotherhood
and sisterhood

forget about your friends,
your enemies and
your audience
all together

they are a cough drop
trying to cure an illness

do it
the way it was meant to be done:
without obtrusion
without approval
without asking

don’t allow them
to cloud your mind
with judgment
of any kind

do what makes you happy
and the rest be ******.