He loved Christmas
The cold, the sounds
How the smell of food passed
And trees weigh a thousand pounds

He smiled at the little children and the Santas
And waved at the moms
He paid his dues to the Church
And donated home made balms

He was a simple man
He loved to paint
He went home and smiled
His little home was very quaint

He went to the basement
Got out his brush and started to go
The body next to him was still
He loved the sight of blood on the snow

Don't tell me it was for my own good ,
if you're the one who benefiting from this mess .

I can still feel hands upon my body. I miss them and I shouldn't, but their touch sends shock waves through my spine and I can't think of anything.. not even the time. Why do I miss those hands? They brought nothing but pain, yet I still reminisce and remember the shame. Can't help but feel like I belong in a mental institution when I think of your hands upon me could be the only solution. It's been years and it feels like yesterday when your fingerprints were imprinted on my thighs. I can still feel the burning in my brain from your piercing blue eyes. I don't know why I feel this way and I try to end it before it even begins, but biding my time does nothing when you're in this ****** up head of mine.

There is a man from my city that spent his nights
killing and ******* men for the hell of it.  Sometimes I worry that
his blood might be in the water like 160 year old cholera
or 30 year old cryptosporidium.  Sometimes I worry that
I breathed in the stardust from which he was made, that I
swallowed the ashes from which he burned.  I do not think that
I will ever be American ****** enough to fit the bill, and
this might be my one true happy thought:
at least I am not a serial killer.

I closed my eyes in August and saw the dried up teeth of my
estranged grandmother floating in a pool of blood and thought about
how the phone works both ways.  I opened my eyes in
October and thought about spitting up the chicken bones I had
been choking on since second grade, when my father
helped prepare dinner for the last time.   (I think I might have
                                          sacrificed a couple people to the devil
                                                        without actually meaning to.)

I find the numbers
             13,               16,               and               18
to be unlucky and I am beginning to fear that the pattern
will continue, that 19 will be the year I finally get bitten by
poisonous snakes outside of my dreams.  God whispered in my ear
and told me that a different Helter Skelter was coming.  He told me to
keep breathing easy, to trust in his light, but when I
asked my Magic 8 Ball if I should quake like the Earth in 1960, the
day after Satan released Dahmer from Hell, all I got was a
bright blue, “Better not tell you now.”

The séance I conducted last year in a blackened, decaying cemetery
did nothing but rattle ghosts, and the four-year-long pity party I held prior
did nothing but chain those ghosts to the floorboards.  I have
never been good at abandoning my thoughts and feelings.  

Some mornings I wake up face down in the Green River or
with my head severed and on display in a refrigerator of a house that
is not mine.  Other times I awake buck-naked in Death Valley—
sand coating my tongue, my tonsils, my esophagus; burning
and scratching into my flesh—and I know that I will never
be able to forgive my father for destroying everything
he ever made or his mother for turning into everything that’s
just      out of                     reach.
There has never been a time when I have been
good at letting go of grudges.  I am far too aware of my own existence.

At least I am not a serial killer.

Go now to the second stair;
I've hidden many wonders there.
No gold or jewels or gems or cash.
But, rest assured, there is your share.

You'll perhaps think me brash,
When you happen 'pon my stash.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So at the stair, go be abashed.

You'll find tufts of matted hair,
Clotted flesh, both dark and fair.
Now all these deaths are mine to claim.
But, rest assured, there is your share.

I cannot say it was my aim,
To turn the stair into a frame.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So I'll not be taking all the fame.

So go now to the second stair,
First comes joy, then despair.
Past that: regret, then who knows?
But, rest assured, there is your share.

And just like the old saying goes,
I will admit, my blood-lust grows.
But, rest assured, there is your share,
So go to the stair and claim your throes.

Now go on to the second stair,
Fret no more; you've no right to care.
'Twas your goading put them there.
So, rest assured, you'll find your share.

Andrew ate my tamales inside of 11 minutes,
and soon there will be more kerpustiuous ones ready to taste.
Watching ****** through three different windows; all broken at the moment.
Anyone have a sheet of blood to give to my mad mothers rage?
Let us copulate together for the glory of this fleeting age;
yet inside eleven minutes
the leaning waxy vomper mice shall dance upon my wig and deliver unto me an aching head.
So let me not,
no do not,
let me live
through this night so dark and shmear-ed upon this graven face.
Nay, let me live toward this learn-ed light with a hand to hold,
and away to learn your shining grace.

Once upon a time I would have given you the world
Would have sailed the seven seas to tear the north star from the sky
Once upon a time I'd steal the fire from the gods
Just to keep you warm in the frozen morning so you could stay with me
Because once upon a time
I thought you were the one and
Once upon a time you were my center
But slowly over time I see
The monster you've become and I
Resent the fact we ever coexisted
Now it's all gone
The love I had, the flame inside
The way your gaze lit up my life
It's all gone, your once proud name
Poisoned, and burning away with the blaze
I would say that I want you to die, but in truth
I just can't seem to care
I should feel betrayed at your lack of faithfulness
But really, I'm just glad you're not here
By all means, be free from me
Keep my shirts and keep your money
Forget all of the memories
Of you, and me, and this travesty
Go find someone else to be your dad and
Go find someone else to raise your kid
Go find someone else's soul to desecrate
Infect them with madness, pollute them with hate
Go sink your fangs in someone else and
Fill them with your lies
You used to be the woman I loved, but now
You're just some ***** I despise.