Shoved off our red hot suffered shackle

back brazen stripped out spine bits stack higher than I can see

Bleeding out of wood grains are sandy strips of solar flares that stare back at me with a stupid grin.

I pumice ****** off the grimace writhing, then stained with lye the burning heads, severed without cleansing.

Stuck with a red hot poker made me skin burned and sticky,
and it ripped from me my whole world.

Shivering, I stirred.

Numbness makes sense when life's absurd.

Serious sticky sugar heat
Baited me when I hated that pretty girl.

Crazy, I dug so deep
Doubt tip-high nights with a facade of trust.

Busting through a shroud of hell,
you made,
and hid,
cuz you're such a sharp gal.

And we both found it when we found ourselves
in a ***** bottle after a night of happy chances.

After flirty advances,
a shell ripped off my legs.

I sign that I was just another,
One of your nicely sculpted dregs.

Immediately, really,
I'll shut up.

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.

Clandestine stonework embedded into a nasty little nest.

Showmanship passed for ambivalence wrested from dead reefs.

Sheep blocked out a weathered blood scene.

Worn in ridges was worry held in high esteem.

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?

Go into blackness.

Show sintered, ransacked make up.

Make out.

Show off.

Pick a part all of the noxious little faces

and add them to your sticker collection.

Protect the shiny corners of your smile
and please make sure to have a good day.

Let's let our life roll on
Let me feel nothing on
On an awful awning
on our deadly fawn
Sawn on deadly sawings
We should take upon
Upon our own aggressions.
Lessening our loud report
I don't distort her founding
I tried not to report.

But it hurts, it bleeds.
Ape great needly needs.
Lovely bloodly needles
Needing nice nancy ways
Caughted blood can make life thud
It's the only life we need.

Mandibles stroke against a stork on high noon.

I blew a cloud of candles to make us all swoon.


This is very much off putting,
I can see only glass.

It's pudding in central air while you stair at my ***.

I apologize for forgiving how sharp shells can be.

Because I dig  hella deep in ground that I can barely see.

I hate to hold you hostage.

But what I hate less
is that I don't have a life to give,
and my girl woke girl cares even less.

Pressure is just that,

navigating through sand without sandals makes my feet hurt.

Stepping forward is just that,

propagating national pain nixes ******* people.



Pleasure is just that,

Greatness passes the the eye of our needle bound stitch rippers.

Schlepping towards non-tactics makes me rack my brain at night.

Consolidating passion feels vain, and mixes my misty eyes with my brain.

Let me see if I can find it
The burden in the tree
The bird that stole my heart
and took my soul from me

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.

My favorite smell I ever smelled was a bit of dirt packed in a hole.

I feel like my favorite food, is just the favorite food of a fool.

I like starchy food.
And tough personalities.

I can smell good people,
a sweet smell at an ease.

I thought I knew a people,
and I hope heave for my friends.
But my pursuit for greatness,
I'll die before it ever ends.

Try it.
Please try.

I wish you would

I bleed.
I bleeded.
And knew it wasn't good.

You held my spine.
High.

Just because I don't care about you
Doesn't mean I don't care about your life.

Just because I don't think about you
Doesn't mean I've forgot about you

Just because I would rather not remember you
Doesn't mean that I don't remember  you

Just because I hate you
Doesn't mean that I don't love you.

Living life as a lord,
where death barons are restored.
Oxen, cattle, sheep, logs, ranches
Chickens, hogs in slogs, as my dog dances.

It's not the lord that I am scared...
It's lack of love, lack of health repaired.

While spotting for terns and heron,
My sunburned arms were glaring bright red,

Subsurface sunfish weren't interested in my suffering,
they preferred my redworms instead.

Pock marked, panfried fresh
finishing my signature dish with zest isn't fun anymore,

I brushed the soles of my boot against the icy grain of frozen dirt.

I touched the crusty, crystal pane of white glass stain with watermarks and fingerprints.

I tried to abstain from feeling cold, because of how old it feels.

Being old can steal

bold feelings

holding on to the heels

of gold leaf
peeling off of sinter cinnabar shelves
checking off sinister forces

pieced apart by well ministered contorted purposes

Such forces on bring remorseful endorsements and attackments

and shunted, splintered, fragmented tactics.

It's a gal
Glaring in the light
Like a mountain with some snow

It's blaring
Like a light
It's scary
God I hate what's right

It's staring
Into me
It's blaring cacophony

It's a bear
It's broke
It's a fire
I won't stoke

It's there
And there it is
It's right, so wrong, so is
What's I'm doing difficult?

Canned in bags
Lacking. Lags.
Stupid stags.
So silly is this drag.

I should just get breakfast
Break away from me.
Breaking from the sorry soul
So such is being free.

Homelessness and Joblessness are brothers with a plan
Sanding hope off of boards
Making meal out of man

Sleeping under, over bridges
Sleeping in a can
Sleeping with the winter witches
Which person feels a pain
Which person can abstain
From feeling pain from people
Popping pills and stealing
Stabbing Stabbing
Choking Choking
Folks in dirt can feel.

And then I finally saw what you said I couldn't see,
How much I loved you, wasn't a foreign idea to me.

Pining for that little bit of love you gave
Pickled my heart strings in tarnished golden thread

Darkness gave me glassy eyes
Loveliness is little more than stress on my workbench

I've dusted lint out of my linen pockets and stocked them with candy instead.

Mussy hair makes me care less about why and where
Just disappoint me
Poignantly
And I'll breath it just like air.

Let's pretend I'm happy

Let's pretend that's right.


So.


That's not enough.
It's not enough.
Resources and polemic strife.

So.
Then.
Let's pretend I love you.
I don't.
But that's ok.

Only because has to be, because.

You make me.
Papa bear.
You'll make me rot my knee.

Splattered on grounded gravel
was all about lava labor
a little more that flavor savior
the saber that'll build
a little field
of golden grit
lit with lampblack
and litwicked slacked made
lackadaisical magick
whick will have woven tragic
old fashioned words
built in passions
and up on stewards
hoarding all of our
new world copper
and proper human presents.

I told them I'm a was a boxer
Working graveyards for Federal Express
Lessening my emotions
Chewing tobacco in excess

I mention cost pretension
Ten
About ten I've had so far.

Like a gooses on a lake.
Like a lot of angry geese.
I've leased you hard felt portions.
In giving, I made it least.

Lasting on so little.
Like liver in a bag.
Bleeding onto to my friends.
I am such a drag.

But I won't belittle being
But about who I won't know
Knowing is a feeling
A feeling I feel, won't show

Debilitating rehab little mission soft serve digs

Mitigating shifting shores over migrating make-up plains

Stagnation covers cold old little riddles

Pragmatism isn't a vision

Stigmata lives on in our stitches

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 you think of your life is Hercules when you remain
untween bread.
But what you are is a heretic,
when when you choose life, live instead.

I saw a ******* monster hovering over me in a dream
and I decided it was time for it to die.

And I tried.
I really did.

Instead my Id took hold and sold me out
into slavery.

It's amazing that my freedom sold itself for love.

So now I'm a puppy-dove in a cage made of safety and food.

It affects my mood
in the fact the effects should hurt and now that they do
I'm eschewed of all personal beings.

So seeing myself in the mirror
is the only spirit
I have left.

Don't take it.

Please.

It's all I have left to give.

I think I found a way to wear away my stomach
Corrode my hard built gut lining.

It's easy.

It's just making knots out of string
And it hurts but I kind of like
how much it makes my heart sing.
It's a song I never knew who wrote but
it shakes me.

It's louder than a missile
shot from a fighter jet.
It's a wreckful way to live a life you love.
But it's the self that I respect.

at least

pretend to be interested.

Because stories aren't as plentiful as squash and strawberries.




the beast

he had entered sideways into a show that'd already started.


at least

the words placed on our family mantle top had showed
that life is a locomotive that will never stop.

sheesh.

aggravation only does little in order to shift
my opinion from one place to another.


wish,

pessimism only places a knackered placard on top of my well earned toothy veneers I had held on layaway.

Yucky,

yack, not ever.

Sorry,

I had no intention of going back.

Salt can smelt on you
And take your taste
Make it much better
Like colored dye on gray wool
that is made into a sweater.

I love the sound of birds when I walk out the door
Early in the morning, it's what I adore
Worrying and seeming like I give a ****
So I act silly and so seeming, I am a big ham

Having heart is hurtful
But it can feel good
Asserting is a virtue
It's how I'm understood

i'm a bespectacled onager ivory hilted outsourced claw digger.

I cleared my crusty eyes with Visine after a half hearted attempt
to better clean up the mess made of my glass ***** of heart.


Stammered pockets of red hot sauce have been ladled into our
signature oak-barrel bed spread.


So, in everyone's best interest, breakfast has been rescheduled for tomorrow morning, and we will be happy to see if you're not dead.

1.  "This isn't how I saw my life ending..."

2.  "I don't end anything that feels so new.."

1.  "...can't breath."

2.  "Don't look at what I'm going to do..."

1. "People don't bend that way."

2. "Most people don't, that's true."

2. "Promise me you never felt anything."

1. "You know I would never promise anything to you."

I found a man on the ground soaked in water life
Living with hungry brown bears in his brain.
He asked if I ever had felt what love a wife can give.

And I said I wish I never had. It's bad.
And I hate how much I hate her.
It's not what she deserves.
She was my most favorite and it's not what she deserves.
I Left her in a desert with dry hope and dead love.
My beloved left me because I killed her heart, the dove.

I'm a cold person.

And I'm good at being cold.

I've been told I'm an old soul,

But I'm not so good at being old.


I'm not sold on the oversold notion
that being old means being tired.

I've felt the most old at my youngest
and my most ancient is when I'm most wired.

I read and study history
Almost every day
Like watching children have to learn
Learning how to play

History is how we know
Just what, and who we are
History is what we show
What we think is on par

Just because because it's happened
And just because it nests
Just because horror can happen
Doesn't mean feel bad, please don't rest.

History is our mother
And our father too
Life left in a basket
Is a foot without a shoe.

I love you. Liberal party.
I'm ok. I will fight back.
Ban me, I don't care.
I just enjoy being a **** head.

It's nice.
Thank you for the opportunity.
Have a wonderful evening/

Passed on, passed over.
Held in tupperware were all of my leftovers
And everything else was kept in an envelope.

Half shown, and half covered.
I'd blown off all of my friends,
and I shove my lonely self in a shower.
It had empowered a bitter pitiful boy
to finally say how much he enjoys being alive.

I'm a chewed up, contrived overworked
salad-piece made of charcoal and avarice.
It would have been nice to be plane
and just see what every one else sees.
But that's not me.
It's a version of myself I don't ever plan to be.

Pristine hens,
covered in golden feathers had penned
me a welcome note
to show me where all her, and their eggs were.


... I never stirred in the mornings,
because our rooster was a horror show.

He'd blow out bellows and blankets of snot covered win,
that began to make us feel like sinners for only living.


Still every day...
We'd sit there and lay.
And stay....
and lay.
Every day and every morning.

I'm sorry I wasn't more for you, Sir.
I"m sure you'd rather I were.
But all I am is a chicken, Sir...
Really!!!
That's all I ever really were...

Godly.
Think of then.
What is the odd end of Godly hoards.
Offored with erreverence in the sanction of Lords wards.

It's not like life's worthless.
But a purple without dew.
could bring ashame and worthlessness
as long as there's nothing you won't do.

I can not believe how much time
TIME i spilled and lulled into a lucid black bath of hate built laquer.
It's like the rapture in gopher holes.
I'ts like dynamite lite with hate on the tip of hopeful poles.

I'm hungry.

I'm not bad.

I'm hungry.

That's why I'm sad.


I'm sorry.


I miss my grandma's tortillas.


I miss breakfast.


I miss her stew.


I miss waking up.



Because she is dead.


But she would make breakfast for you too.

Things didn't break

They just kind of fell apart
I have the pieces piled in a corner

I can put it back together whenever I want
But it I like the way this looks
I like it better this way

I had invested thousands of dollars into my
next door neighbor's renovation.

Patience and promise of a hard earned vacation
were mentioned and that presupposed the notion
that every evening I had since boiled away hadn't been for nothing.

Nodding as I exited out the front door cradling the exterior of my shameful severance package had only applauded

the stewy ingrates and laid laurels and lauded all the lazy baffoons,

who instead of working, had eschewed a barrel of monkeys,

boiled their bones, placed them in my lap, and then had the audacity

to ask me to throw them away.

Let me paint a picture of pinbuilt basket hope
Like a ***** tincture of tolds that told me nope
Like a noose that necked me for lack of livery
Like I condused a might slack, a lack of symetry

I pasted a piece of my favorite food

on a bit of purple paper that I made for dinner late last night.

I still can't decide it's something that I've written, or something I should write.

I shoved it down my gullet and got in a fight with my ex wife.

Little-me never knew that this could be considered life.

Lovely little silver strings strown in long night gowns along midnight hallways.

Hovering into bitty livered beings known in **** lights owned twilight stalls.

I burnt a crispy bit of bark,
So we could cook our food.

And then we sang and smoked some ****,
before we choked down all the *****.

...

I woke up early,
it was cold.

So, I cook all the water I could.
Because coffee and oatmeal warms you,
in the wild,
warms you much more than it should.

But not only that,
only two days in,
your boy smuggling in some bacon.

Why? You ask?
Because.
I love my friends.

And the coolest sight.
The coolest thing in the world.
The coolest thing ever.
Really.
The coolest thing....


The coolest thing is watching them shaking after several brutal ways...

Cooking up a pan of fresh bacon.
In the morning.
With your friends.
Is the best way.
The best way to spend the end of days.