don't be serious
you must try to smile far more
smile from ear to ear

I contend
That I have
Never
Hated the guts
Of another human being

For the guts
Are not
Responsible for
The actions
Taken by their host

Nor are they at fault
For the decisions
Made by the mind
Of a madman

The humble guts
Are only but
Organs with purpose:
Digestion
And continuation
Of life.

I have
Never exclaimed
“The nerve
of some people!”

For the nerves
are merely devices
through which
a person
may harness
the sense of
feeling

But some people
Go on
Through life
Without feeling
Things like
Remorse
Humility
Pain
Emotion of any kind

I pity them
And I ponder
I envy them
At times
And
I am fascinated
By them

Sometimes
Pity crosses with
Envy
And I ponder again
Intrigued –
All three.

I wish to know
How to be
A wretch
A *****
A *******
A criminal
An *******
A licentious *****
A nuisance
A mean *******
But feel nothing at all

I want to know what it’s like to be cold and callous and without regret or remorse
Without a single ******* care in the whole entire world

But all I can do is speculate
That it is
Unlike anything;
Just like nothing at all:

Emptiness without knowing what fulfillment is
The coldness of not knowing the definition of temperature
The hardness of living life as compressed carbon atoms also known as diamond but without knowing I am or feeling like a jewel

I may not quite myself be a gem
But I can feel
I can hear loud and clear
I love to be whole
I love to be warm
I love to love
Because I am not a wretch
I am not a *****
I am not a *******
I am not a criminal
Or an *******
Or a licentious *****
Or a nuisance
Or a mean, cold ******* –
At least for the most part

I am
a human-*******-being
And I will never try
To be anything but.

It was
Never guts
It was always,
Is,
And forever will be
Folks with their heads up their butts
And brains in the drains
Who waste
Our precious air
And time.

One can certainly say
They feel it there
But alas
That is not
Where
The choice is made
Nor is that feeling
What upon
the action is taken.

One should not hate
Another one’s guts and nerves –
It should be
The mind within the brain
Who takes all the blame;
Everyone else is just doing their jobs.

I like to wear a body suit
That’s made of human skin.
The gruesome onesie, head to foot,
Fits well: I step right in.

O.O

(n.   a state of exhaustion inspired by acts of senseless violence)

Maybe it's the thrill of adventure that lures you-
The thought of getting caught red-handed,
The feeling of flesh parting and revealing,
The spray of fresh warm blood on your skin.

Maybe it's a thirst that spur you forward-
The need for the adrenaline rushes,
The desire for vengeance or payback,
The want to fulfill your deep blood ****.

And so it happens, swing after swing after swing-
Ruptured veins and crimson staining your vision and soul-
As hateful and warm as the **** you know you'll burn in-
Come what may, you think, as you fall and the kuebiko settles in.

These hands of mine
Are perfectly fine
Whether I am clapping
or snapping
They are perfectly benign
Even if they can't draw a straight line
as they cut their lifelines
They serve me well
when sending them all to *****
Even though these hands of mine
Are perfectly fine
They tend to tremble
with excitement
Whenever something seems to resemble
Blood

my heart
will never be as heavy as the ones of the
children who are forced to learn the anatomy of a gun
in two seconds
flat. it doesn't matter if you believe in
god. god finds calm in
violence, god doesn't come
here, to the schools that are named after presidents and
townspeople who've done good
deeds, places
that were supposed to be
safe.

my heart
will never be as heavy as the ones of the
parents who sent their kids to
school in dresses and ironed
khakis and two little
pigtails and got them back in
body bags. there are no
flags here. no Purple Hearts
for the kids who couldn't wait long enough to find
god.

What's happening?
My feeling is keeling
over like a rooster
Losing my sanity
All feeling's vanity.

Where's the knife?
I want to survive.
I don't want to be trapped
in this stage of insecurity
I need to let loose,
like a goose.

Blood's all over the room.
This never-ending feeling
of satisfaction
what is it?
Is this
Life?
Death?
Happiness?
Sadness?
mAdne$s?
I've forgotten how to tell.
Do I need help?
Am i in vain?
In p@in?

I'm laughing.
I can't ** stop.
Is this humor?
Horror?
My third eye
has closed
my actions
are no longer futile
the heads
hanging from the ceiling fan
are you pr0ud of me?
Mom?
Why are you quivering?
Why are you running?
"WHAT DO YOU THINK
YOU'RE DOING?
WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?"
That's what your lips are saying.
Why're you on the floor?
You're still breathing.
Are you sleeping?
C'mon, wake up.
cAN I pLay w!tH yOU, Too?