#cabaret
The smoke filled the room
Overpowering the smell of gin
As the lights flashed to the stage
Begging silently for your attention
And you can't look away, why would you?
The troubles that weigh on your shoulder aren't here
The things here are beautiful! don't you think?
The gin washes away the sin
The smoke is like a cloak
The rhythm of tapping feet is so much better than the stomping out there
Isn't it?
The Kit Kat Klub brings out the best
Better then the outside
Where the frost is everywhere no warmth
Food is cold and rotting
But who needs food when you have gin!?
Who needs fire when you have lust!?
The world outside is crumbling but who cares!?
We have NO troubles here
Because if it doesn't go against us why should we care?
The more gin and smokes that are gulped and smoked
Only makes it harder to see
Doesn't mean that it isn't there
If you can't see the killer you're still afraid aren't you?
If there's still people in the streets others are still harmed, ja?
And soon people around us disappear
And others are in their place
No more warm people
Now it's an unnerving cold
The sound of synchronized dancing doesn't seem different from the sound of marching
As you look through the smoke, it covers the bands on their arms
But the smell of the cabaret doesn't cover the smell of rotting
It doesn't cover the smell of
Gunpowder and gas on them
Their boots track the dirt, a grime of hundreds
Of weeping, starving souls
As hundreds still drink to take off the edge
While others stare off the edge, down to the piles of bottles and ashes
The smoke isn't from cigarettes but from buildings people don't come out of
When the curtain falls and the Kit Kat Klub ends
Six Million Jews Are Dead.
May 19
May 19, 2026 at 12:59 AM UTC
be a holiday
ill be a presley
we can dance at the cabaret
waiting for dawn to greet us gently
sway your hips
in motion with mine
we'll tremble and move
all to the time
of the beat of the band
boy, aren't they grand?
let the music die away
let neon, unravel and fray
i'm happy to just shake if you'll stay
just hold my hand
let's run away
Jan 13, 2021
Jan 13, 2021 at 11:44 PM UTC
Glitters and red meters
givers and received perceivers
usher the gift of illusionary display
vision all the aspects of reality
Signal the surreal posts on trees
yank and spotlight my dreams
walk and split the glass panels
wagon us from societal ice
Glitters and red masks
course every vein of our being
pour the red wine and misplace
protrude every nautical sense
Read my palm, contact the wizard
grab my sight, take me to the moon
contactless,eventful and tasteful
contactless, easy and resourceful
Jul 12, 2016
Jul 12, 2016 at 4:49 AM UTC
There once was a man named Beowulf
Who was fiercer than a demon or werewolf
Except that he had a flaw
A dragon made him mortally sore
This prologue is prophetic
To the ending of this epic
So I’ll tell you more
Beowulf made his mind up at twenty-three
He would race his friend to swim across the sea
But fighting many sea monsters is quite trial
Beowulf only caught up in the final mile
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Breca nearly beat him
He managed to defeat him
But he would make up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up in his head
He would battle Grendel until one was dead
But even though his strength could cause a lot of harm
Beowulf only severed Grendel’s left arm
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
Though Grendel he had saddened
Beowulf wasn’t gladdened
And he would make up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up then and there
He’d **** Grendel’s mother in her watery lair
Although the angry tarn-hag had put up a fight
Both monsters were beheaded that very night
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He took a child and mother
Like Cain had killed his brother
But he had made up his mind
Beowulf made his mind up when he was old
To slay a raging dragon of whom he’d been told
But Beowulf couldn’t deal with the dragon’s fire
And he was later burned atop a funeral pyre
Poor Beowulf, fierce as a werewolf
His equal would be hard to find
He once was a great hero
And now his worth is zero
But he would make up his mind
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
I am a dramatized china doll,
but I never rouge my knees.
The MC introduces me as Scarlett.
Lulu embraces me as we saunter
off the platform. Whistles follow my footsteps
digging into my brain, fermenting,
to strong wine.
Gentlemen enter the club to leer
at cabaret girls dancing in lace.
Some are drawn to the boys of the club,
the ones in the dark corners with kohl-rimmed
eyes and eager kisses.
From their seats in the dimness, the audience
fails to notice rips in my blouse, cigarette
butts smudged out in the wings. No one
sees the ***** face powder spread out
among the lighted mirrors, overused,
my own makeup dried out.
Their giggles and applause keep
the club alive, filled with dead
grins from dinner to dawn.
Drum roll—my turn.
We rid them of their troubles.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC