I feel like a nothing , about to receieve
A little of something , to finally succeed

I changed all my attitudes
To become more like me

I hope she does not notice
How eloquent i can be

In a world full of normal
Were anything else
Is seen as a trouble
And should be put to death

In a world were the media and people that are
Will try to erose a cycle
to enslave all of us

Let's feel a nothing and realise the truth
Let's change the planet and rule it for good

.
From their private jets,
The primal privileged
Spot a spark earthwards,
The glint of the rolling
Out of guillotines.

Guillotines so tall, waiting,
Just for them and they know
It was coming, as they know
They have it coming.

The rabble they so despise,
Yet pander for as they pull
Wool and leave all in cold,
The wretched who someday
Read injustice in the leaves,
The Princes of sham, cloven,
Always bearing woven bags,
Carpet dreams of desperate,
Down trodden, never fearing
To be trampled, till the blade
Is shining in the searing light
Of new day.

For retribution is a fable
The reptilian upper classes
Are cold to see as it strikes,
Their forked tongues,
Eventual as slimy winter
Strangles themselves
In a hollow cave,
Unmarked.

Even the dirt is soiled
With their fame, their
Scaled names, even
Sun will not shine
On the bloodied blots
They have wrought.

Such murderous stiffs,
Who enslaved all warmth
And empathizers in a rug
Fit for a tomb.  And all their
Art as false as they!

The earthy shall rise
And salt their mortal
Wounds, songs will not be sung
For the indifferent masters
Who now pour into streets
Made for severed muck.

The only beauty they left:
Opulent, soppy-red coiffured heads
As they roll on the potholed,
Sooty pavements.

I'm a ****** of ambition
a clairvoyant
whose true sight can only
seer through my objectives.

I am juxtaposed from my life--
from passion and experience
feeling is a concept
that lingers outside the realm
where I reside;
by choices I was forced to make.

It has bibulous proportions
that consume my cravings
and intoxicate the senses--

So can we believe to be free
instead of circus-elephants
who plunged their trunks
into a trough of indecision.

Where caging and pushing
each other to perform tricks for the audience
is the normality of existing--

to be the scampering mouse
that lives outside their barriers
causes them to fear us
to stampede and
stomp until
there is only obedience.

she reads meat
eyes in a meeting
persistent of the trysts of leather
her steady trap-door arose
in her deposition
the latitude of her nubile degrees
Procrastinates his step,
Subtly overdubbing the scrawny pallid ache
In the etch'd skin, her color-by-numbers comes undone.

We might be the master
of our own thoughts.




Still we are the slaves
of our own emotions.

This city never sleeps.
There are two cities in one.
I can show you both,
if you want to open your eyes.

Have you ever been to Heaven?
How about Hell?
I can show you devils,
just follow me there.

They are dressed like angels,
they have pretty smiles.
If you kiss their lips,
you will never die.

I can show you angels,
with big frightening horns.
If you bow in front of them,
the world will be yours.

Bite the hand*

You will be behind me, or
Even in front if you like
I wont call you anything,
Or if that is you want me to,
I will call you everything.
Whatever you say,
I will lie here in a pool
of rampant madness, decay,
You shall be my "soul's" leader,
You will tell me when I'm "good,"
Or if I am insane, I won't complain,
I will be your tool, your stool,
I will not shun you if that's ever
Even been possible, you will be free
To ram your religious and political
Ideals down into my mind whether I
Believe or not, or they will "save
You," and take me away in locks.

If I look back, there is always something so close.
It's a cough, a bug, decay, it's the essence of a ghost,
It follows quite near, year by year, the more I ignore it,
The closer it gets. When I go to sleep at night my dreams,
They seem to vividly remind me of this following "thing,"
The proverbial "monkey on the shoulders," It's quite
Like something that starts out soft, and gets to be mean.

If I look back, there it is again, this thing that follows so close,
If I listened to you, I'd decide not to bother with it but just
Throw myself into this daily routine, this job that we "must do,"
I could ignore it and let it build up, like an itch I simply wont
Scratch, I could pretend it's a mirage, a cloud out-of-the blue.
But do I ignore it?  

No,  instead...

It becomes my inspiration...the reason I don't care any more about
Your endlessly building needs or concerns.  
YES  I know you hurt, "you'll die first!"
If I don't reach you in time  I WILL  **be "sorry I forgot your pain!"
While I reach behind my own back and rub my own troubles away...

As the daily news  I was reading,
Here is the story that was leading,
Zombie spider slaves, wasp masters dictating,
Subsidised fake spider skills,
Wasp masters must be getting their thrills,
I sense an allegory,
Like humanity's history,
Teeming ants in a global rat race,
Pleasing some master's lack of grace.
Same scenario, different day,
Till you retire and fade away,
Who, indeed, are our wasp masters?
Come on, humans, work much faster,
Don't you forget to hurry,
Or wasp masters shall give you curry!

As the daily news  I was reading,
Is there no other news for leading?
Yes, allegory I was perceiving.