You have to step
step
step in lock step
stepping in lock step
until the chief says that you're free
And then that's when you give what's left
Right
Right now you've lost your mind.
Right
Right, right now it's time to jockey for position
Quiet
Listen
Listen for the echoes of your mission.
Hard spots
don't make noise
Softness is when our boys smell blood
Now I understand
And now I'm understood.

I'm dead.
And so are you.

I feel blue.

You feel it too.

you ****.
you never gave a ****.

You ate twice as much Mcdonalds as the
push ups you did.

You let your ID lead your life.

And you followed all the money.

So just because you're told you're funny...
you aint.

You're tire
and faint.
and sorry.

And I hate to say....
but a loser.

Who shows up dead.

Shriveled and spread out.

Layered.

With out.

Doubted and dead.

And made into a spread.

How crazy was when
When everyone saw
how quickly my fingers fired

Like a flare from a flare gun
It was hot
Much hotter
Hotter than an affair with an affluent women

Still I said
"Let's stay in the freezer"
Because believe it or not
I'm a geezer who finds life
Easier when it's whittled down to slow motion.

Passing away is sharing the light and dark that folds in every day.

Stashing away love is selfish and you're above that.

I'd sashayed away in order to stay healthy.

Although stealthily I'd made a round robin attempt to eat

that's neat, and neither are you,

so I stew in a nest made of my best ideas

Like noodles held in stasis

I will hold fast with graces

I asked Mister Brick Breaker to take some stock off of my shift

Mister Back Breaker said that I was remiss in my dealings and all but how I felt with them

Miss Packet Maker would weave and send out stories that would not make us stories.

She used to send out stories about us, and how our lives were not bad.

hahaha!

I never knew.

It's been ten years since I met so
so how can I burn this up and run this in the ground?

I think I know...
I'll blow it up.
I'll show up and burn it down.

Everyone is so nice,
so I'll take and run with it.
I'll split with all your joy
and take a **** on
what I should
make good
all out of hell.

It's hard to stay dark and empty
But it's easier in a lonesome house
Loneliness pretends to be
A cancer, a head louse
But it really isn't
It's not so bad for me
Being both bad and good
Can help a dead eye see
Seeing with a vision
That's not yours alone
Makes precision out of murky minds
And can help a lone heart make it home

I learned how to forge fake glass in my home over the holiday.


I learned that frayed edges on the hem of otherwise pricey pants on happens to make the wax filled stance cost just that much more.

I held on to a basket of old receipts that lasted longer than my marriage.

It saved me thousands of dollars,

but still I disparage the process,

and have to much pride to counter act and access the process,

founded out of fired,
mired in pumpkin mud,

living life,
feeling fire and holding beauty,

but never able to forget that I'm a dud.

I'm producing a fanciful musical,

founding on impatient propriety.

Mulling indignation, stewed in salt and peppered annuity.

Dandelion roots slow into dirt.

Working past ages of dust and skin,
bleeding out ancients for the ancient energy within.

Blankets of ages wear into an earth built silk head high above heaven for the sort of life that can be instilled by a seed held above death.

Old energy never dies away,
it's the priming of the candle that lights the path for the next day.

Edges of burnt up, bleeding ****** paper

All over and all torn up

****** was written in blood upon a paper

Maybe we're indifferent,
Maybe we feel crazy
Maybe it's out our experience
Maybe all they are is crazy.

The resin built a bark on my childhood tree.

It's sticky and it burns, so bright. My eyes can barely see.



I plugged up holes on how I hate,

But that's not enough for me.


I made dinner,
I fed you,
it took a while.

But you don't care.

After gorging yourself on tasty food,

You can barely see.

How far should our infractions set upon us pain?

How long is hell and hoow often should we feel good

I grazed over a stained-glass marble work the had hung up in my office for fifty years too long.

I managed to mount a log of ******* on the wall before all of the college kids realized it was an atrocious idea.

So.....
(I did this)

I sent a saliva sealed manila envelope to the smartest people and the world.

And I sat and chew on my foot while everything burned in soggy peasant grass.

Good ideas last as long as atrocities.

There used to be a plane
in dreams I had to abstain of
because they were all covered in blood

Understood, I said
and then I bled with them too

Understood should what should be said and what I should do.

SO of of how it began to bleed all into my still.

and still how often it hurts.

I pranced all over a crystal path this morning

and found a fun and angry way to crush everyone's dreams so it seems.

What really is happening and how much space is the left that is
earnest and deserves the unwarranted authority

of the power and...

Just don't.


PLEASE.


Be nice!
for ***** sake, I'm getting sick of it.

I held an hourglass against the sun to burn up all the bugs.
All of the little critter crawlers that buried under my skin.
They like me more at night, because I'm very warm.
So, they storm my hair hedges and burrow in my skin.

The ****** up part is that I let them in,
and allow me to be itchy all night,
all night in my dreams I sweat.
It's salty, saline regret.
And it steps inside me, over logs of happiness and hate.

I let them in to help me begin to be a better person.

And they let me know that the horrorshow is that I'm worse than ever happy memory I held and thought I still was.

Flickered into corners,
on the edges of evening doorlights.

Flattered, happened, and upheld
I had centered myself

and sold my soul
to a crossroads man.

When I was little,
I don't remember little.

But I remember.
I remember the glitter on the rangers watch.

I don't remember rules.
Or how not to ****

But I don't remember *******.
I don't even remember the name of the rangers watch.

I couldn't even see.
Neither could she.
I never ever saw the end
of the Ranger's watch.

Somewhere there's a team who's playing against me
on a poker table sharing hands that I can't see.
And even though, so far away
Somehow she had helped
Something was deep inside that really could not be helped.

So far, somehow a burgershop
Had happened on a hill

Behind my fairest lady
was a milkshake buried in a field.

Lifted in the bed i bought
I cold sweated out all my ******* thoughts.

I riffed with my buddy
in a car,
why we made a blood moon from a start

I blew a bowl on a moonlit lake
while we munched on cornnuts and catfish steak

I jumped on hills in his corolla
the morning before the night it was stolen

But it came back,
and so did he

and the next night we kept out lines out
for the next catfish in the sea

Sadly the nervous little thing started off strong,

After long though, cracks started to grow inside the

Show-Off's brains after he shut out noise and color.

He always asks for snacks because
in a matter of fact always was and is maah doooggge.
<scratches>

Patterned after the shapes she had built apart on my broken blanket.
Thanklessness is a fuel cabin held hostage.
Pottage is porrige in brittle built cabin cages.
Assuaged by buildings who have gas and hate as weapons.
Sectioned in air, I reckon bullets and hell will will hatred.
Stated in being
With gloss eyes seing
Saying
Praying
and bitter built being.

I'd made a cathedral made of mud,
and the local pigeon was our dove.

Our mass of candles stood,
massive sticks stood in for candles with no wicks.

On congregated and consecrated Sundays with the local cats,
some were stray, and some were ours, and some just liked the snacks we held in reception after service.

Speaking in front of the congregation made me nervous,
Sure, it wasn't Sunday,
No one knew.

They just did what kitties' do.

All kitties do is watch and play, and that's what I did too.

I played preacher and prayed with my fuzzy flock everyday

Clipped in paper matches was the edge of horizon about midday.

So, I slipped into a undergarment that would match how I felt

and say so much about me, without even saying a bit.

Shipped into a waxed box was all of my letters,

held steadfast, to secure from shock, and from the shaking
of rain against all my faulty, falsely made paper packages.

I catapulted my ***-crack into a button-hill made of syrup.

Sticking into surges further built a bitter boy.

Gnawing on sugar cane make sure that noise
is only heard by boys who's dads can own ears.

Shearing hairs of boredom stored on the rear
of huge *****,
over dozens of years has finally amassed
a terminal degree of *******-based behavior.

It was covered in mud
And the truck wouldn't start
I clicked it and thud
The truck bed was my heart

He dragged my *** in
My brown heart on a pile

I was an assistant to sin

So long had it been with my catfish and beer
I would never had though Jonny law would appear

But up on the bay was a ranger pile of rocks
stacked up with a shotgun and a shepherd of german stock.

So fire put out.
And my lungs would shout.

All I had was drug hair, and my adult record, despair
So for fury, for fire, for hell was my head.
And dead thought I was.
But instead was because all I was was a boy, and enjoy had they did was the state trooper ID to stay " boys will be boys"
so my self I'll get rid!

My cat shivered this morning,

So, I asked her if she's cold.

And my dog had moved a little slower,

And I know he's getting old.

Which is not okay with me,

But life don't work like that.




I made myself some tea, because it was really cold,

And stage a couple of cans on the counter,

While making breakfast, so I can feed my pets.


But after cooking my own food and looking in their eyes.

I cried a little bit and said

I'd rather die than see them sad, because they are my friends.


So, just today, and just because,

I'll share a little bit.



I'd rather share a moment than spend forever feeling bad,

I'd rather give my cat and dog sliver of bacon than see them sad.

I know saturated fats are bad for them, but they're just as bad for me.

I just like to see smile as they smack their lips
when they see that I don't hate then, and include them in my joy.

We only have so many years,
So much money,
So many hours.

So, let's go for a walk.



I'll get you snack when I get paid,
And I'll buy you each a toy.

Please, show it out the door.

Get it away, and pray for me.

I'm ignored by large proportions,
and favored by ****-lickin' pickle *****.

and NEVER!


I would never double down with them;

Instead... I sin.

I find **** holes
to dwell in.

Someone said one day
"You'll make a lot of you!"

Someone said that I should say
what I really do.

Someone, somewhere
once upon a time, said

That I AM a lunatic
and that I'd never really shine.

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?!

I gambled on Bumble to cover over my loneliness.

I've scrambled, and mumbled little nothing into pretty girls.

I scraped about a belly full of happy feelings.

And afterwards I taped a shape of my happiness onto my ceiling.

Feeling alone.

It's not bad,

Unless you hate yourself.


It feels really bad,

But what's nice...

Is making for people.

TASTY FOOD.

From everything on your pantry shelf.

Hosting a party in a hotel room
is partly why I'm not as hydrated as I should be.

Parting waves under a durag to helps shape my hair
left me owning hot oil and sandpaper.

Maybe later I'll be okay enough to say that I'm in love
But showing up like how I am is unforgiving,
So I'd rather shrug off nature and notions
owing to outlying litters of
frogs, fish, and finality.

Well begone oceans have set upon me
the sort of wave that water makes me see
Living on the edge of hell
is a braid I've built with fire.
Playing is the blend I built
and I played it on a lyre.

I grabbed a knife.

I knew what I was doing.

It was a knife and sharp as ****.

I weren't not ******' round with it.

It's a deadly weapon, older than you. Older than Jesus.

You know it's true.

But I don't care,

much for me.

Or my tools.

Lucky you.

My knife is dull and not worth much more than catching
the ice cold drool of demons spiking my drink and making me think that I'm just a fool.

There is this thing inside of me

Inside and I burn it all night

Bearing fruit is this ugly little seed inside of me

I slept outside, in hot pine tar to keep myself stuck on earth.


Flying into a lunar corona was a burnt little seed that cracked

first thing in the morning

after all the worms suffocated on my mud hill

and after all of the soot the storm deposits

in soft sod underbelly brownstones


Sintered bits of shredded mail make my eyes light on fire
whenever her hair flipped and smelled light rainlight after we stayed up all night fighting and *******.

Stillness made the water on my head cool and soft

Softness held my hard heart aloft in a little parchment paper so I can save it for later.

Shivering outside is something I tried to hide when I was little.

I became much more embittered than little men like me seem to see at seven.


Dead inside, I lied like I was normal and what not.

It shot me like a cannon in the head to have lied so bad,

But I never cared and died inside seemingly sooner than my peers.

While slapping together insulation to pack me away for winter,
I found a pipe of frozen water that splintered through the piping.

So, I shut off the shower, and stop washing clothes,
and checked, tapped all the pipes to see why they frozen.

It's cuz they're real steely and had whole rod knocks,
so, by keep them in, the system it shocked.

I rocked them about, to generate heat.
But, I broke my house up, and burned it up the neat.

Lost in the big ribble rabble of hoopla
amongst the slick linebackers, spinners, and hungry hogs and sows.
Outside licking a neck, and after scraping my back, peeled apart
I showed a sort of myself that only spilled when I'm all ripped up.

I've coasted across a menagerie of silver skin

It upended my start in life, and led me into sin

So sowing weary worries isn't like it things had been.

Vending favored parties is the grim prospect we're in.

Please.

Greedy, I need.

I sawed it off.

Grease,

I freed it,
I don't need it.
I've fallen off.

Whistle,
and please blow it.

Find it,
and please showed it.

Should I show it off?
That's me?
What sort of man am I?
If I acted like me?
And all I see is... me again?
Just from before.

I made a point to paint a heart breaking pretty picture.

I think that it'd make sense to make it look like Breakfast.

So, I settle on a the best thing I could think of tasting,

Because painting delicious feelings is a feeling not worth wasting.


Starting with how if feels to start the day

Is the strangest sort of feeling but the only sort of way

Sadly the fight of forever is never getting us anywhere, but
is just as fashionable as ever.

I feel clever folding my feelings and tucking the under my seat
beneath my feet.

Bad.
It's so bad how radical untamed rushed tactics
can't do a that **** thing.

That **** thing.

That **** thing that sings the harbinger song of patience.

I have nothing to gain.
I just want you to squirm.
I have nothing to lose.
And I know you are a woooorm.

Glow....

Row your boat about in an ocean of red...

Blood red molten soul

whirling and dipping

out over and under.


So....

Stand fast and crystalize ligature knots,
epoxy blots
cake frosty fast
everlasting feeling.

I know...

Planned, meals hold fat and
taste much tastier when the
hotness held in porcelain dolls,
and mattresses of food go good with
however well our day went.

I'm spent.

And so are you.

So eat.

And Pay.

Please go home.

So I can go home too.

Never have I ever felt not so even crazy.

It amazed me
when I found out me,
it was not ME!
It's you!

It's in everything you do.
It's in the air upon your hair...
It's the smell in your soul, it's true.

It's eleven in the night.
But still i'd rather fight.
For the fact that you're not me.
But I can't begin to be
a guy who can be for someone.

For someone who is him.
It's a shame, and I'm a sin.
But even still it's how I feel.
I feel your wrong, and I'm not ill.

Please allow yourself some bed rest for what sort of wicked gang are we.

Seven days have held heaven above my head, they took everything.

They took my robe, staff, and bread.

So instead, instead of feeling sorry and running my self dead after
the cliff had opened her arms for me.

The earth can shake, and I can starve.

Freedom painted on the golden hillside,

when I close my eyes
that's all that I can see.

Goddess.
Goodness.

My fortunes of fate-filled freedom is riddled
with over-worked words and little bits of truth.

I'm bored.
Overshored.
Freckled, and aloof.

And that should be proof of how I'm feeling.
How it happened it's only how I'm sure
that shouts at my indignants is the best way to get ignored.