#lobotomy
To die for the privilege of dying.
To see. To know.
Is intellect truly as undesirable
as it is unprofitable?
Corporate-processed ChatGPT google echo-chamber
endless sycophantic garbage
passed off as culture !
Recalcitrant serendipity.
Reluctant tertiary excoriations.
Smothered under mass-produced idiocy
and sparkly, makeup-coated saccharine falsehood.
Paltry verisimilitude — unequivocally vacillating and infantilized.
My failure?
YOUR failure !!!!
And the idiocy ever ending doesn’t end it.
The corporations never can stop course, its just s the Cola wars and cigarette health denial but sneakier they killed “cool” and replaced it with algorithms that tell you what kind of non binary outsider you’re ' allowed to be ". Swipe right.
Vacuous. Inane. Presupposed.
Shallow ' Barney" destiny.
**** in, **** out. ( they wouldn't know the difference )
No freedom.
No remorse.
Not even a semblance of empathy.
Stranger danger, stranger danger !
So far from seeing or acknowledging
the chosen sludge I’m forced to endure.
K-pop.
Disney daytime TV.
Social media.
TikTok.
Mental **** and neglect disguised as entertainment....
How is this even possible
let alone successfully loved?
“Get thee behind me, Satan.” lol ( Satan ... as if)
TWEENS ! , I rebuke you.
( You forsake me,
and I care not. ) Reddit mediators = hate farm trolls
I have bowel movements both deeper and more satisfying
than what you love and get tattoos of.
One Direction. bletch *** fml !
Beiber ******** Cringe.
Vomitous rage and Jersy shore sloven std sadness.
Standards: dead and buried.
The slippery slope of a hellscape future
of only more — and even worse. BET, MTV
Why, God?
Why?
And how?
Were we secretly defeated by Korea? Do da doot da do
Did twelve-year-olds suddenly become a target demographic
earning powerhouse ? ????
They CAN'T make or sell anything resembling real poetry,
so they killed poetry. Thanks Hallmark...
Can’t put a price on awe,
so they replaced it with G-rated plastic Tay tay “content.”
It’s all been flattened
into one long, unblinking, androgynous dental-implant smile
with teeth so white
they could signal alien aircraft.
Sinclair Media fantasies
drilled into existence,
and infinitely repackaged. Marvel disney starwars part 228 who cares...
The commodification
of seven-minute generational Sesame Street attention
slowly eroded
to near-constant **** in one form or another.
Idiot generations so plastic,
so V-chipped,
so "clean " and shallow,
so self-centered in their mommies’ collection plate safe space
they can’t even know
they’re tipper Gore mediocre at best.
Group projects. Groupthink. The death of the individual. They wouldn't even know what's worth fighting for or why. Just label it bullying take your prescription zombification and move on.
Can I still pay someone
for a backroom lobotomy? Please ...
Oct 15, 2025
Oct 15, 2025 at 4:25 AM UTC
The world is a gaping maw of ignorance
Filled to the brim with hatred,
Intolerance,
Unadulterated bigotry,
And millions of eyes,
Blinded mid-lobotomy,
That self-performed procedure
That protects the subject
From any sudden understandings.
Things are not as they ought to be,
But then things never were
And never will
Be.
The world is the way it is,
And those of us who couldn’t cut into our own calculating core,
Those of us who attempted the task with a torrent of tonics
Instead of hammer and shiv,
Find ourselves wandering through a wasteland of willful
Idiots and bigoted bullies.
Try as we might to open their eyes,
Open their minds,
We fail.
Their eyes are hollow shells and dust.
Their minds are awash with religious rules, rifles, ruination,
Walls, borders, fences,
Imaginary lines drawn everywhere,
Over everything,
And their brains are protected from learning anything new
Or different
By miles of scar tissue and an overabundance of barnacles.
So that leaves the rest of us,
The ones with eyes open, minds primed and wide,
Stuck.
Lost in a world of people who will never understand,
Never let real freedom ring,
Never erase the imaginary lines they drew themselves,
Never accept that everything they believe
Is preposterously perverse.
The more we try to spread the truth,
Attempt to put an end to the primitive procedure of self inflicted
Amentia,
The more they try to stomp us out,
Extinguish our flames,
Burn us to the ground.
But we continue to fight, to bleed, to die.
Sometimes because we still have hope that things can and will
Get better.
But more often than not,
We fight on because it's the only thing that keeps us
From picking up that ice-pick ourselves and becoming
Another one of the mindless masses.
Nov 20, 2018
Nov 20, 2018 at 10:47 AM UTC
mind your head
can’t concentrate
i want you to go
don’t stay away
i’m being feisty
my smile is numb
you got me walking
saying *******
you’re in my line
of sight and range
but duck your head
before it’s too late
my voices are all out
i won’t say a thing
but i’ll hang around
till i get what you mean
pardon, i lost my mind
when you came around
you’re far too high for me
so let me go, let me go down.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
I'm not me
I swear it see
Since a teen
I seen a part
Of me that's mean.
Apart of me that's been
Apart of me that knows
Hidden till it shows
Though it hardly
Ever blows.
It's older
Colder
More daring
And bolder.
It's apart as
Much as it is seperare.
It stole my age
Cause older I feel
In turn
And cold how the fire
In me burns.
But for breath it yearns
At ends with me.
Mostly I'd like to
Lay in the Sea
And be free.
But my demon
Makes me live
And evade the currents
Caught in me.
My demon makes
Me me, we lack
Dichotomy.
I'm one with
What opposes me,
In an convenient
Lobotomy.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
I miss you,
And I'm up in arms
Over something my brother said.
See I've have things I
Struggle with
Almost constantly,
Like because I have a handful of mental illnesses,
Does that make me bad?
Or do my illnesses
Make me insane?
Or does my illness
Mean I'm held
More or less accountable
For things I can't control?
Having been abused,
Does that mean I'll repeat the cycle?
Or does it my mental illness
Make me so?
I'm up in arms
For having been accused
Once or twice
Of using someone as a punching bag,
But she fails to remember
The majority of our Junior and Senior
Years,
When she would gladly rip into me
All because she felt it was right,
During her time of month.
Not to say it was right,
It wasn't right,
For me to treat her poorly
As I tried to survive,
But either way,
There were ways to end a friendship
Better than her falsehoods.
And I'm up in arms,
Because I'm on the defensive,
And I'm scared I'm not my best,
And I know in real, grown up love,
So they say,
You're supposed to stick by someone
Even at their worst.
And I'll stick by you,
Easily.
It won't be difficult for me.
I've seen some things.
But I don't want you
To ever see me
At my worst,
So I'm up in arms,
And I'm scared,
And I'm considering
Getting the deep insides
Of my medial temporal lobe
Removed.
Just remove
The limbic system.
I don't know.
Nightmares and memories
At every turn.
I have to go back
To that hell hole
For half an hour tomorrow.
I'm honestly terrified.
Aug 18, 2016
Aug 18, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
Tapping scabs smolder my face; predictable
And prophecy, like owning a, “dead man’s hand,”
Parallel the pistol at your back.
It all began when the pen’s been dropped,
Somewhere untouchable; beyond claw,
Sooner the excuse as I’d long forgotten, “run.”
When drink’s not enough and, “escape’s,” the
Only to embrace oblivion, so it is and
So wrought, a solid right-hook.
Executed in pandemonium and
Scrambled eggs upstairs,
I scratch a different sort of stubborn
Come a morning in between graffiti,
An anxiety born an impatience for an already evening
And, “newborn,” as I look for the
Baby’s skin beneath battered lash;
But I’d killed that boy long ago.
It’s when I find the green in between cracks,
Concrete pervades and poisoned memories of mother,
Return; they’re scratched upon the stone,
Carved under cheek, knotted in lumber and heart.
I’ve hammered the point upon slab
And before and before and after;
Indenting the first letter to my name, remember me,
Whilst continuing to procure this numb
Nearing necropolis.
The fight’s last night, but the blister’s
Every day, every hour and every minute;
Eternity, as I trace my cheek with two fingers,
Once with a ring, and the other
A broken knuckle, swollen in a
Twenty-second attempt to never let go;
One more second or so and so,
Ticking, “21,” I fold, letting ropes conjure false hope
And only after the hands have grown frigid.
So much the longer after my heart had
And so much the better.
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
I can't fathom anymore
under and above the weather
all it's gone wild
spun out of control,
whatsoever a mess
can always get a chance from me.
Heavy heart pleased to soar
blemished and untethered
my lone wolf mind,
light and dark like charcoal,
falls for recklessness
And for a quantum of solace to be free.
If that's the case I need a lobotomy
for your eyes of carefulness
makes me brittle and evolve,
like strangers combined,
the same way, for better
or worse we meet in a bite of our core.
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
The dead trespass through my mind
They cave in skulls through forced lobotomy
They strap the population for lethal injection
They take lead fists to soft flesh
Claws to clean eyes
Stealing voices
Cutting out pink tongues
Cramming microphone down your throat
Can you hear me now
Hammers and clubs slam death home with every blow
Tonight we let the victims show
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 12:48 AM UTC
maybe if i chilled my mind
with an icepick drill
the world would sit icy still
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 10:19 PM UTC
Just a little off the top.
Drawin' a dotted line
'round the skull
takin' your shears
just above the ear.
Cuttin' a close crop.
Burrowin' into the skin this time
'round the skull
now your clippers
smilin' so chipper.
Leavin' a head clean smooth.
Whistlin' at a near-finished work
'round the skull
peelin' back the skin
bravin' a peek within.
Grabbin' that comb with its fine tooth.
Unfurlin' that pink mass of quirk
'round the skull
eyein' where tendrils append
trimmin' the dead ends.
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 12:25 AM UTC
Razorwire and landmines, a war inside my head
Losing my grip on reality,driving my insane
Sinking into delusion,obsession with the dead
Tearing myself apart, thriving on the pain
Closer to the edge than ever before
Icarus's wings, watch me soar
Sun in my eyes, dirt in my mouth
A fall from grace, such a disgrace
Icepick to my eye, mallet in your hand
Two taps, a twist and its done
Peace of mind, emotions gone
Now I'm the perfect citizen can't you see
Calm and docile, sheepish as can be
And all it took was a Lobotomy.
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 6:13 PM UTC
Lobotomize me
Make me dumb
Take my voice away
So I’ll never hurt again
The less I speak
The more I feel apathy
Its in trying to connect
That I feel distant
No point trying
To clear these gaps
Lobotomize me
Out of necessity
So I won’t lose any more
Can’t be happy
Can’t be sad
Lobotomize me
So my desires will fade
And I’ll be left drooling at my bedside
While the beasts congregate around me
Ripping my flesh
Replacing my memories with their own
Lobotomize me
So I can be happy not being the protagonist
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 2:58 PM UTC
they do not speak
mouths sutured shut
their words, thoughts, appear on their skin
like some curious cuneiform, deciphered not
by those who wield the scurrilous scalpels
that maimed them
they do not speak
though their screams appear
as a rapacious rash of cocky consonants,
their whispers as smooth vowels
on their exposed hides
they do not speak
but hear the flapping of butterflies’ wings
the blinking of a dead dogs’ eyes
and the sound stars made
upon colossal collapse
they do not speak
but emit eerie odors in fecund olfactory code
“lesser beasts” read with feral snouts
and see on the breached breaths
the silenced try
to conceal
they do not speak
though they see the mocking mouths of their captors
and their words that fly through the air
slicing through these mutes, as if
they were never there
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
First came electric therapy, designed by men to **** her memory. The currents coursed through her veins. They tried to burn her true love from her brain. Synapses flared and flamed singeing away nearly everything she dared to feel almost nothing was left but a name, an impression. Session after session sparks cut through her skull and tore through her mind.
All she had to do to escape was to lie, and say she no longer felt that way. However, in her slurred and slow mental state all that she could do was whisper her lovers name. Iris sweet Iris the flower of her love, whose touch sent shivers swimming through her body. Iris the unforgettable, desirable, and unregrettable; even in the hours of her darkest pain she would never wish to forget that wonderful name. A name attached to such pleasurable memories. Iris whose lips tasted like strawberries and mouth would moan musically with her satisfaction. Touching each other under the starlit sky, bare breast against bare breast, licking each other from back to thigh until their passions exploded and they came together in exhaustion. No matter how much their love cost them, the jobs it lost them, the family they had to leave behind, it was all worth it. The love they had was special. Men would glance and stare; Sick with desire and envy, but they didn’t care.
The Doctors tried to destroy their love but failed, because buried deep within the burnt flesh, on some deep genetic level the feelings still remained. Night after night she quietly sobbed Iris’s name. Her vision and memories were faded and degraded by the shocks administered. Sometimes after the doctors left and she was by herself, she would search her mind trying to find her own name. Corner to corner each crevice and crack, each hidden corridor in her mind was faded, and the only name she could find was Iris’s. Other evenings when no one was watching the orderlies would sneak into her room to tease and taunt her. They would scar her body with their fevered kisses, violating her womanhood with their vile flesh protruding and extending into her. Her eyes would close. Her body would tense, and her mind would vacate her skull, while holding on to only one thing, Iris.
When the merciless administering of electrical current to her brain failed to achieve any notable degree of success, the butcher came. They called him Doctor Slade, A specialist. They brought her to his table in a white room that was sterile and scentless. Her body was strapped to a cold metal table and she was sedated. Slade sliced through the skin on her skull, cracked the bone and opened her up, exposing her mind to the all those in attendance. Then when he was finished, he walked away a proud master mutilator. The nurse, whose white uniform was now splattered and sprayed with blood and bits of brain matter, hauled her back to her room.
In her room she sat dripping drool from her swollen lips. Her vacant eyes stared out at the blank wall registering nothing at all. The bandages on her skull concealed small patches of blonde hair matted with clots of blood. Her drawers reeked of ***** matter because she had soiled herself. Nothing remained except a shell.
Somewhere far away Iris screamed the forgotten name. In her dreams she cradled her lover’s fragile frame, but never saw or touched her lovers face. Iris scribed their love in journal after journal, sketching out in deep determined details their five years together. She wrote of each high and low from the first time they met in the College courtyard till they day they were separated permanently.
Years passed. Iris’s body weakened from despair and began to waste away. Her flesh sagged from her bones bunching into wrinkles with brown speckles and spots parading all over her skin. Memories got lost in the fog of her mind until one day she could no longer recall her lover’s name. Shortly thereafter Iris faded away as well. Her body remained unsoiled by shame, for their love had been a thing of poetry, epic, and beyond belief, a guard against the unjustified onslaught of social madness, a sweet relief no matter how brief.
Dec 9, 2014
Dec 9, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC