Bleeding in a park bench,
Up you're ***.
Upended fast it the
Wrought-bent, upset,
Tortured-tilted dealing.

Sickened, ******, packed-apart narcissists
had held hate.

And placated nauseous fates.

Saddened.

Dicked apart.

Showed fascism and
hell-soaked ramen noodle dealings.

Really, I don't care.
But I rather have a hope,
than care about improper,
unhopeful, lawyer-made dealings.

*******,
****** painted perversions.

It's a simple symptom,
made of soy-based meat, and lumps of super sorry self hatred, held in solitary confinement with lies, and that little bit of **** that hangs off of your hands after you scrub your hands after you take a load.

After you ****.

Slugged off a solid mud-baked toad made of humilation and june bugs.

It *****.

And so do you.

Just dont' eschew how bad you've been,
because You're found out.
And you'll pay for every calorie.

Every ad-spot.
Every sin.
Every media spin that you hope
make you free.

Not even.

You're a cast off,
frozen bug.
Slug.
Salted.
Neutered.
Faulted.
Rotted.
Broken.
Blackened.
­Fractured.
****** up
thing.
You're nothing.
Natta.
Bladda.
Broken.
Stoked in a fire of lies.
Try.
Please.
Try to be a person.

Please.
Know what you lost.

because you're worse than a ****.

Worse than a ****!
It's absurd.
You should be in charge.
But instead you're a childish joke.
For real!

Commander-in-Chief!

You're the ******-at-large.

Little, battered, melted thinking.
Held deep down in the fry,
is a glob of batter thinking.

Bitty, little, shake-ups.
Held hard, and soaking in a basket.

Tiny little baked goods,
turning stale as time is passing.

Chewy little fractures,
can turn up and **** all truth.

My life is full of *******,
made and kale and Baby Ruths.

God, poison hate-crimes have held me in wrapped up pieces.

I shared friends, made more the many people my people.

It's yucky,
but still,
I'm not evil.

And even held an even keel,
showing that I'm still real.

I'm, not were I ever, even people.
Not evil.
Not even.
Still.

Blood.
Nooses.
Pale golden gooses.

Shedding,
Noxious cedar bedding
ridding us of pest and paupers.

Laying off noxious,
toxic, pickled, ******.

Annexing hate-held fractures feces
is making me think.

I tripped over a huge rock yesterday.

What the hell had really happened is kind of a mystery.

But, still I tried to help, and scraped my knees.

Weird.

I felt like I was being a hateful ******.
But, so was she.

Placing hateful showers up into high-held gelded guilds is a perfect way to be,
to make a soul show
patience,
when it came to hate.

So, not knowing how it really felt
to be in living hell
only shows us how far
that we've really fell.

I brewed up a couple of cups of coffee before my best friend woke up.

She had wanted breakfast, but I was broke,
So, instead I'd suggested staying in.

I could make up a *** of coffee,
and put together some food.

I would take cups of whatever we had last night,
and forget them.
I'd forget them soon.

And instead we could just laugh and make
a day out of how we feel,
instead of living of life feeling how we should
wondering.
Really.

Reeling and having happy moments but never feeling food.
Goodness held in graciousness,
understanding, taking it all up like a fool.

Chitters, shivered chatting teeth pitter-pattered when the heater had burned out last night.

So, I covered myself in my blanket and brewed hot tea, but it's only lasted an hour or two.

Or three or four hours at most,
but before I knew it, the sun showed up and sparkled.

Light beams brewed out of me and my coffee cup,
and before I knew it, I had breakfast loaded in my belly,

and a tote bag full of new stories to share all of my
hung over friends after our brutally long
weekend covered with ***** and losers.

Little fibers.
Little tiny pieces.

It's dirt.
It's called "dirt."
It's earth and inorganic matter.

That's true.
And it's called air.
And it's really there.

I bet I bet I bet
Yeah...
I know.
I know.
I know.

Not much here.
But I regret.
So...
So.
So
I said it.

I held my tongue.
As often as I could.
While dating the skinny-faced girl.

Sure.
When she twirled me around,
I found myself out of my own head.

And
Sure.
Even when she was found dead,
in the comfort of the bed,
in that house of hers,
doused with secrets and drug-fueled murmurs.

It's stirred something deep down inside.
Whirred up all of my hiding hidden emotions.

Sure.
Sowed.
And show how action over devotion
determines who's actually in charge.

Ugh.
So I barged into my mildew-made storage unit.
And I used it to plop down
And sit.
And see.
On a concrete floor.
With nothin.
Just me.
and I mangled me.
Exsanguinated.
Strangled.
With bloodshot eyes.
Enough.
Enough to manage to see how
hate
and hard hell
can create an icecold shell
over everything I ever wanted to be.

Hog-tied and Stolen.
Gone.
By the wayside.
And stolen.

Old little goatheads stuck in my heart.
Little poison *******, shoved in from the very start.

Little boiling *******,
blown in the air by Pompeii.

It only left a visage.
A portrait.
Of me.
And everything I ever wanted to say.

What's it's like?
What's it like to be okay?
To spend everday
shutting of
everything you feel.

Like a lizard under a rock,
Like a slave covered in lamp black.
I wish I could rock a faithful cover
but instead I'm smother by our over carboned-air.

What's it like?
To hold hate far against your heart?
To never have feelings?
To be the kind of person of never appreciated when your life started?

I'm in a thick and
terrifying.
Time bomb tiring
Ooey Gooey Depression.

Less is more.
And salt crusts up on the ocean shore.
I stored more stools and sores for a very long trip.

****.
Pick apart pants and leftover bits of rotten leggins.
I ****** myself.
******* at myself.
Rocked off of a shelf I sat on for over five years.

I was born under a sash.
Held high.
By a midwife in a mudhut.

I learned under a tree.
Where I stashed the fruit of knowledge
beneath me.

I grew under the dirt.
In a burrow underground.
And found my first and second love.

I stirred and stewed around
before I came upon a mound of more folks just like me.

I made a life.
With a woman.
Who would soon become my wife.

I stayed, through strife and struggle.
In order to make it work.

I, sad to say.
I went on strike from life.
And bottled all my hate and love up in little plastic cages.

And I raged and thrashed about in moonlight on my bedsheets.

At the reunion,
I held back in the corner.
Watching people walk passed.

It's lasted at least an hour.
I refilled my seltzer glass with a shower of ****** *****.

So, in a effort to pass the time
I perused the guest book,
and used the socially available sharpie.
Made available for signing.
In order to remember.
Instead I used it to draw a HUGE, crudely
rendered manly member over as many faces in the yearbook as I could.

Sold.
Stolen in grassy air.
Hay hell,
smell.
Musty, sharp bales selling me
nutrients.

So, I'm told.
Old rattlesnake skins and apricot spit
is lit on fire while I'm try to defile and remember who I am.

One:
Two, how have we heaved more?

Two:
What's more than failure on the seashore?

Three:
Black women led us to victory

Four:
How sour is the hour of hate before I felt filled up.

Five:
Before, before, begin and after.

Six:
It's nothing. It's just a rapture.

Soft speakers.
Lured.
And held in secret.

Blessed martyrs.
Maybe matrons of
health and hell.

So, maybe.
I should be okay.
And maybe, so should you.

What's for dinner?
What's the food?
What should I eat?
How do I stay alive?
What should I do?

How do we manage?
How to we heave out hate?

What's it like to be a person?
What's it like to try to mate
with anyone.
Or anything.
And anybody who made my heart sing?
And Why?

Why does my soul hurt?
Why am I sad?
And why do I cry?
And why does it STING?!

Call it a natural.

Even though it's not, at all.

It'll be a plagiarized ball of masks and hair.

It'll be what you show your kids,
on your old facebook.

When you thought you were young.
And they'll stare.

At the screen.
And then at you.

You wish you were a better mom.
But all you can do is stare.

And they stare back at you.
Blaming.
Shaming.
And naming you.
The owner.
Of all the bad decisions
you ever did.
And every bad decision you'll ever do.

Grazing in the hell hills,
I stumbled about a sticky situation.

Mumbling.
Making a mole hill out of ant barracks.

It's true.
I shouldn't stare at the sun.

So, instead
Let us run an artificial operation.

Maybe, let's mention
just how sterile of a horrorshow life showed, and should be what it should be.

Stumbling around...
Still.
Holding still in a coffee shop.

It's not what I hold.
And It's not what I have.
It's not even anchored in my soul,
but still I can NOT stop.

Shivered,
Half hearted heavens had shelved
High, hope-filled tropes.
Showed, in a high glass window.

Feeling.
Felt in a silica ceiling,
made in heaven-held weaves
Showed about in all sorts of
mentions.

Extended ceilings.
Pretended feelings.
Unscrupulous dealings,
Stated,
and held in toxic air.
It's a share of horror.
It's a pair of knowing
More than ever was.
Let it ****.
Let it do what it does.

Held in a concrete roach shell.

Smiling, I had hated charming shaving.

Little, bitty shavings.

Shredded.

And held an inch above my head
when I never knew a knowing rapture.

It'll hold.
It held watertight.
And it'll capture when I'm right.

Held,
in the stillness
Like a lake.
But it's so small.
It's all I have,
and ever needed.
I bled my heart and soul
into the pond across the street.

It's bleak to think that
It never mattered
and I would bet my soul
that it's mind
over matter.

No talk,
no love
Just water
and the blue sky above
just hold your nose
and let no water in
just let me say
whatever should have been.

I dug a deep hole
to hold up a fence post today.

Held up with hardened mud
Was a re-bar
maze of cringes and shudders.

Concrete.
In stolen, steely kindred, killmonger, kinds of
courtship killings.

Let me make sure
that all my heart-spillings
is anything but truth.

Shove off,
and behoove
who should, whenever
they would
make a mind a sinful ocean-built
souls assuaged and sure of notions
held near the hilt
of our poison-bit dagger.

Lagging. And lacking
in age.
It's just a turn.
A turn of the page,
of the story of long-lived life.

Just taste the hesitation
Out of all the kurfuffle
Out of air, we've stuffed
Our own misplacen muffler
Half full of air
and half full of horrorshows.

So, seemingly
Lately,
Steamingly,
As of late.

Make maiden mating hatred.
And hold a hoard of hellhole ears against the hard of hearing.

It's searing molten gold,
the type of metal that showed how
showers of sparks
showed us how hate and hearts can hold us hostage.

Glass.
It's shredded hell.

And it spills on the world.
Spilling on ground.
and smell.

And it's awful.
I hate it.
it makes me sad.
But still.

I would take away your world.

Fashion.
Razor wire fashion.

Blessed
Brazen-fired blessing

Messed up.
Most, bereft unsure *******.

Fess up.
Make sure we don't lose hope in our unmessing.

I heard it crashing.
Lime-soaked hell
Dripping on a haven
MY Haven.

Made of stone.

It's an iron maiden
Licking off
every mineral

Taking everything
until I'm all alone.

It's all I want to do now.
All I can do is talk.

It's the only power I have,
is to have a time to squawk.

Even still,
let even measure,
make sure that I can be.

Even now,
let cloudy weather,
determine what I can see.

Sitting.
On oak planks.
And splinters sticking in my ***.

Pitted.
Placed on a saucer like a high-class olive.
And I had never learned what mass was.

Still, on seclusion.
Held on a highlight board.
Held up to the limelight of precision.
My work can not be ignored.

But even after I had held it.
Up close and to the light.

My ***.
They can smell it.
I don't care.
They can share it.

They can see
and they can smell
Just all what they can see.

It's nothing.
I've ruined your sight-seeing.
Because all you have is just me.

Listening.
Be by me.
It's all about missing out.

Glisten.
On happy, grassy edges.
Life is good, worth screaming about.

Missed. Missing.
Bliss, blessed life is remiss
of all of hope still held aloft.

****. ******.
******* about all of
the things I hold high and tight.

Hissssss.
Hissing.
Melted.
Messed up.

Gulped.
Gather it all.
Gather it and make sure.
Make sure that's it's enough.

Glassiness is the hell that's
happened to crack my blood-soaked eyes.

And crass presumptions
hold little hell when gumption is what belies

Belies a holy belly,
Held in hell,
but built upon holly and poison ivy stalks.

Still,
I don't talk about green deals
and I don't care about water.

Not long enough.
Not enough to falter.
Not enough to give an ear.
Not even enough to breath.
Not enough to give a shoulder.
To cry on.
Enough for the earth to see.

I've decided to hold my head up high,
Above the noise, and amorous clamor.

And even still,
I'm enamored
by my glamorous, water-mirrored visage.

Hammered, I wished my mission was what 'this is.'

But it isn't.

But it ain't.

And I would be remiss, because I know,
For sure, that
I faint before
the shadows
and faint furrowed brows
of all of who have
had and all
of who have
may had been.

Bugs
Little bitty bugs
With itty bitty legs

Hugs
Tiny widdle hugs
wrap around my legs
and it bugs me

Shrugs
Teeny bugs
Itty Widdle mugs
Smile and wave
at me

Tugs
Tug at my heart it does
Tugging
Holding on my pants
Grabbing the cloth
gathered at my knees.

Bugs.
Little bitty bugs
Biting at my shins
I begin a life of hope
But sins had shaped my hair
So I lugged in a soap opera chair

And I sat.
And I stared.

Dry hugs held in hope
Fried hope crisped the open air.
Listen, missed is open air. held in an open trope.

Clipped, and happening
on the shores of sharpened shears
Is a veneer of shock built beetle shellac
That'll act like a sealant.

Believe me, if you peel back the needle paper
of staples and waxy stock,
then,
again,
don't be shocked by all of the little bugs that shock you.

It'll reset back to zero,
Heroic actions, not withstanding
So!
Instead let hate have an ample landing,
and have ample space
To hold together
the sort of space that
had been bothered.
More so,
Bothered to be.
So live,
to breath
and see.

What kind of leader are you?
What in the hell are you talking about?

What sort of shoes do you let yourself wear?
And what in the world can make you shout
Like you do?

Is it all the blue air in the sky?
and the way fresh dirt smells?

Is it that a chicken nugget
tastes so great
but will never make you well?

Holding, from tearing apart.
A bridge of angels was a pin of crystal air.

A nail made of modest minds
A pin that held what's where.

Even still
hope was what was
and I never had to be.

But sir.
SIR
It all collapsed.
And I can no longer see.

Take me into a soup shop.

Take away my boyhood please.

Take me into  boiling water

So I can never see.

Cemented into dead empty was the best of me.

Cremated was an elated hate built race war that I was never meant to be...

Crammed into a noodle *** was a lot of hate filled bits.

But I don't speak for skin and bones.

And Even more..

I'm not all of it.

Straw.

dead grass is all I saw.

Passed in the moment i meant to be alive
all life is just a patch of grassiness.

It's an obsession to pick apart the source of life
to make ourselves less remiss.


But even still... it hurts so bad.
I'm glad I have no guilt.
Cuz if I did, all what I'd feel, is every pound of what I built.

Glass light shines on shattered edges
and hold highly the carbon of stunted beds.

Same ...like...Frosted carbon bits will polish better
and a set of copper arrowheads.

I hate to hate on the dead,
but instead of copper and chrome

why not instead lie in wake for an alloy
to keep you from pain instead?

I heard seven birds in the morning.

And in their music I heard a warning.

It hurt so bad that I wanted to die, but I tried to live so I held on.



I heard four birds at lunch time.

While I minded my own business

they slithered in my head.

But still I kept them alive for business.


It's risky lips that licked and held on the edges of my love,
Evenstill it's not any blessing from above.
It's luck and it's ******* ridiculous.
Passionbuilt plays made of love and dreams.

It's an easy way out but it seems that Im shot.
I'm not what I should be.
I'll die here.
That's okay.

Unfairness is all I can see.

Innocent purple, tiny little laurels.

It'll hurt like a pimple when I popped your brightest morsel.

So...Lets linger instead into dreadful fatty food.

Because it'll be the mood, instead
That will shape what we do.

So.


I held a bug and it was dead.

And I was I, you see.

So instead I'll be much better than

what ever you'd thought I'd be....




Yipee!!

Clippity Cloppity, Clippity Clop
A Rhyme is know to stop.

And so should you, but if you stew.
You would never know when to stop.

It's a heart upon ages
That never assuages
Just how when and should you would be.

So instead you let air
and life
tell you what is what's right.

And in giving so...
now you're less dead.

Licking a leather lollipop made of dog-hide drool.

I never knew a piece of me that would slobber all over dogs.

Pick a pepper in pleasure while pylons pop at all

Is knowing the little weasel who knew where to stop and stall.


Still, the still evens
and I can go to bed.

Because In my heart, I know the road is even.

Regardless, I'll end up dead.

I had a bundle of hair I held in the air full of instant noodle powder.

And still I held It towards my heart to fight all the silence.

All the noise as it got louder.


And I had held still.

I was what a good boy was.

A well taken care of soldier.


But.

I mold instead into an iron-built building.
A brown-person shield that still stands!

**** the man and all his agriculture.

It's just a vulture that feeds on flags.

A pig that ****** on nations.


An aggregation of aformentioned mobile folks who will never stoke a fire or feel heaven sent heat.


The beaten. and Absorbed.
The bit of humanity we can't afford.


It'll all go away
It's my duty.
To thank you for the time.

And now all I can do is rhyme to thank you for the truth.

Flickered in a lamp
Was the last light I ever saw.

So it's time to fight
because I'm at my last straw.

We'd never had a night
Or held a monster head.

But instead let's let light
into us.
Into us all.

Let light hold a higher being.

For real!

I'm not worth seeing.
But maybe my ideas might be.