You're such a *****. Eyes wide open. With excessive pride and low self-esteem as company. How lame are you? As pathetic as can be. Apathetic ninja. The revolution's never coming. I still have faith in evolution. Let's kick-start the process. I am the gateway. You can be my opening.

Tell me a story about all the lost people
all the lost people in chairs.
They sit and they cry
all while wishing to die
and look up
and nobody cares.
Their bodies, they cover the rooftops
for they fling themselves high in the air.
They lie there in shame
for they realize all was a game,
and it gives them, oh such a scare.

Where are their raspberry Tuesdays?
They have fallen from the passage of time.
Where are their ***-raisin Fridays?
They have oozed from the last of the slime.
Our fancies and dainties are dust on the ground.
We incline ear towards decay, yet it don’t make a sound.

I let the devil nearly catch me.
For I run.
Let him slide right up
next to me.
I consigned all the while he wrote
checks on me
So sure no fire could ever burn
the Lilly whiteness from my skin.
I made my bed in sin and lay
next to his evil grin
His eyes shone like his lies bold
Once highly favored son.
But what remains....come casting
Chains and chants
His nickname just for fun,
Once they called him Lucifer
you just sY....it Dunbothamenun.

At a sungraced window sits,
I,
Pondering,
the greatness,
of a man.
Amid the lacy curtains of my romantic mind,
I strive to learn something more Heavy,
Next to my golden couch,
is a vain peacock,
Surrounded by green fibers,
woven expertly,
forgetting he lives in a cage,
the gardens but imagined,
little lies from his mouth,
Are hard to ignore.

Two ****** loving each  .  .  .
In lieu of gnats and peacocks,
  .  .  .  Pathetic poetasters.

All in open sky  .  .  .
Once was a gnat so preening,
  .  .  .  Even sun was low.

From the ***** of a saint ,
And the womb of a sinner
Comes a natural born winner .
Full of unrelenting hate
For these pawns that surround her
Drown her
Leaning her to ask is it
Abnormality or insanity ?
That plagues her mind
Cyanide dripped vanity
Trying to hide her hate for humanity
Ink screaming ,
"DONT TALK TO ME !"
Blood singing for like minded beings ,
Loneliness doesn't even have a meaning . ™

Perfectionism is deadly when it's believable:
A plant with infinite roots in my brain
As if my entire existence sprouted from that
Seed so evil that my very veins
Pump pride and pretensions through me
Pulsing, rising, filling me to the brim
With false dreams and glimmering hope
That feel hellishly hollow within.