Digging in my files
I found a dust pile of papers made of people
A soy based type of parchment
Printed on it said, with blood red words it read:

We came from the promised land
In the form of four stages of man.
First there was a titan
Then frightened bugs and spiders.
Lying in a layman ocean
Choking on the Stalk
The Stalk that lead to three
Third in this story
Third was just the fishes
Flying in the sky
A skyhole broke the mission
of only fish glory
To get to number four,
it's said here in the lore,
Men and rats ate feces
but was Women saw the land
Tinsel made of sand
They'd been our lookout
They looked out for our species.

Goodness...
I hate to say this, but I partied pretty hard in the woods the other
night with two super big intoxicated squirrels.

They showed me that doing ******* can live alongside a productive life.

I didn't believe me, but I asked them for a selfie anyway, I can
say that I'm finally growing up and learning the truth.

I set the precedent that sent my body reeling

I know it stole my heart and soul

but still I'm peeling back the layers.

Because I don't know, and I sure don't show it

but I'm blowing it *******

I'm stealing time from golden stables

and I'm going to steal the show.

I'm a walking keg of dynamite
Beg me then
I exploded

I'm loaded
It's a sickness bore by drinking
and thinking about the muddy lord

Pages and pages of rock bottom words
Sorting, listing minds on paper
Paperbuilt cages
Crusted now in the tears of men and women
I wanted a weekend of rest
But now after a month of pain I'm awful restless

Let's try to have a friendship dinner
I'll make your favorite food
As long as we find a way to both die
In way we both think feels good

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.

Bleeding is what happens when you don't have blood to bleed.

Crying is the sideboard when your grief no longer leaves.


Kind of, if kind of life, the non altruisctic bags that see.


It's kind of if you hadn't tried, sisters only find the way to grieve.


Taxes and obama find a world where I should pay.
It's only taxes and costumes, it's not my greatest day

In the air I used to smell a sweet smell
In the ground, it was there too

In the trees was fruits of sweetness
But sad berries turned to blue

In shrubs and weeds I seated
My stories were seeded swell

But without water is weakness
I'm beholden to my well

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.

God how I miss her
And wish she was with me
I ****** away mystery when I had her
And now I miss her hair

Triggered in a barrel is where the fire starts
Powder on a pyre can make a tired heart

It'll be like sephyr to be happen about the hateful, killing, engagements she had endured in heaven.

Like a worm who isn't happy with the gruel and angst presented by all of the rotten planks, plants and pottery that are built and
help up in high regard, in light of all the molestation and ******
held by higher officials and gods made of grey hair and soft, demon skin.
Skin it would be a sin to hold for my soul, but on the shore of eden and the new world, it'll be a better pedigree than eyes
that can actually see.

Baby magpie birdies
Cluck early in the morning

Coyotes have breakfast
on all the worms and birds.

Trout gather nymphs in slurping slurring.

but the longest live terrapin remains inert.

She set a stage for me.
For us, I should say.
Because both of us had decided it was worth it to stay up late tonight.
With each other.
And why does that
feel like a proper decision?
It's because the exposure to the things that you like can actually make you happy.
Things can feel not so bad.
When there is someone to have an evening with.
And to even have someones ear.
Caring.
It's what begins to be done once evening staring has won over topics in conversation.
The air on the tongue and the skin in the lamp light is what actually matters tonight.
Any song can be sung, under proper conditions. Then the artists true vision can be heard on her ears.
Her hair.
I'm feeling the urge to stare and every one can tell that she might feel the same way.
But they haven't said anything.
Because there's nothing to say

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.

I soaked my head in acid this morning.

And afterward, toked as hard as I could.


I poked a hole in my favourite tarp to let water in so
I had something to couple with my lunch.


I flaked on dinner plans with my favorite guy in the world.

And I stored up all my regret in leftover pickle jars.

And after stacking them
I finally found the devil edging herself on the brim of my seat.

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.

Captured on the blue lined edges of paper
Was an envelope, wrapped in parchment.

A sort of stipend built in jelly
and telling me how to feel
about supporting systems
at the same time as
stacking and ticking time
off of your belly
Melded out of celly made systems
The rhythm is the joke of it
stoke in fires
the lyre of arhythm
a prism and animal
happy trap built apathy
a rapture be some sappy he
turnabout into a ninety three
under the knee
how bout it be

Flabbergasted by misguided altruistic zeal isn't appealing,

neither is kneeling next to a half-hearted neighbor,
and spilling your guts.

Nothing will work, and it's nuts.
But, making is like living without taking up more than you need.

And even then, it can suffice avarice, greed, by allowing the self
to make and consume one's until, with out outside help or need.

But, callous and canvas can't stand lack of work,
so the stork of labor swaddles on over and dribbles out a bindle.

Carrying a button, a bun in the oven,
an warm hearted creature in need of some lovin'

So, start shovin' your sorries and stories away in a heap,
because someone
might someday
rely on you
rely
on the silence and peace of your sleep.

I made a point to poke a pinhole in the shade
to let a little light in.
How honest hearts hate home
Lonely, living life like little lizards
under a dome
under a rock
How I wish the garish light and wind would
Delight me by dowsing me in a dirt devil.
Locked in a replica of life
I'm ******. I'm ******.
My equal is a little homunculus
Clue me into why I try to live alone in a stone home
Humming as I cry. I don't ask why.
Lizards aren't for me. I'm a birdie that can't fly.

After scraping away rubber with my nail,

I found a hole.

My pneumatic contraption, 100 years old, in ideas,
Had failed.


I sloughed off sheets off ice my old lady had held on me.
Because she was so hot, I had to be freezing.

I wheezed and coughed up a ruckus into rain-soaked air.

After I cough a lot, I could hear music blaring over my ailment.

I derailed, reverse-repented, and spent my next month lamenting in piles of white powder and rotten meat.

After weeks of self hating, I was able to abate from being a *****.

And Finally. Finally, I let her were stick and grow on me.

It helped in as much that It was me see what sort of **** I would be when I enable my own, immature, worst, behavior.

Blink.
Blink blink blink like
Light has never cared.
Be scared.
And think think think
GOD
and link together light with love
GOD GOD GOD
Lighten sorden braken broken branches into a
Tree.
Maybe you'll see that it's worth seeing the way dead seas.
If'en loaf of bread feed the flies.
Then I would happy live a soften-short life.
As long as maggots fly
and I can DIE DIE DIE.

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.

So show them my poem.
Please tell them to see.
Please tell all your kids
Life's not about livery.
Living a life in filigree fables
Can blind an eye that sees.
Stinging is the story
about shaking up the bees.
Something shakes my bottle
and breaks my battered brain
I could fight a battle
and let full life me abstain.
Stretched in my own dominion
I pay for my own pain.

First off...
Who's the chump now?

I know.
I figured if ever, I'd have to show my true self.

I'd held hard.
And even have had a fast to hold on.

But it bit me instead.
and now I'm dead
and I never held
a head in my lap
that said:
"I Love You."

I found aground about battered chafe a windrow full of hair.

Soaking into the ground was innocent blood caked with despair.

After climbing loads of hills, on skis from a dead Fin.

I found a supply depot where I could fit in.

I found a place in a broken world, placed fried potatoes on a plate.

And after hell had passed me by, I sent myself away.

Who would stand to live longer than those who live off over others?

Who would survive in a world turned upside down?

Is is the tiger or lion who only eats when they're hungry, and lays about the rest of the day?

Or is the scrapper?

The raccoon?

In a world that can only serve scraps,
courage and valor only take you as far as they go,

In a world that can only serve scraps,
what are the eagles in store for?

And what of the scraptakers before?

The pigeons, rats, and raccoons will soon inherit the earth soon, they will be the only ones that can stomach it.

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 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.

Devastating rigmarole backwards asshats

enacting lackadaisical marshall guffaws

Law enforcement dogs push sugar coated cremation

Led with force, inciting indignation



Pleasant little patties sizzle on my grill

Bluegill fritters fashion out of flour and cornmeal

Make me make sense hopefully

Cementing demented ambitions is fishy business


Dog treats make me look like cornsilk hung high up in the sun

Songs are something frozen in my chamber

Popsicle lips horned over pickle juice

wax paper skin never looks silver in the sun

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 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.

The dirt under my knuckles is that last leftover I have from
helping out with a wheelbarrow full of hashbrowns this morning.


I can't butcher a hog, but I hauled in the cases of Coke, and bread, and extra chairs, and also managed to scramble every egg we had on hand.

And then I pretended I didn't care after I tore through my backstock of bacon, afraid of making my aunties sick because they're thick to stay home one winter in their ******* lives.

I don't want anyone to die.

But I know that they do.

And I guarantee you the last thing you want to say when you get to heaven is that youre dead because you couldn't get enough of your ****** nephews disgusting Christmas stew.

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.

Charming, Changing Women flutter about me
And I drank the heavy stout
And was surprised by the heaviness I've since lived without.

I don't feel pain
I promise
I'm fun, and honest

Doo-Doo day

It's almost there

Doo-doo day

It's almost here

doo-doo day

It's right in front of you

Doom is a foreboding

It's almost Doo-Doo day.

Judgement. Guilt, Flirty
Those bases are begrudgingly
Logy, lackadaisical  pace
Send tracers out of guns
What fun can feel when I steal all my light from my dear sun

Moaning is a miter saw
Sawing on my face
Mooning is like cortisol
Doping me to win the race

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.

Somewhere, while out in the world
Standing, I stood and heard word of a bird
Who had heard of me
Who I had met before long ago
Way back when then is when she'd decided to live with me,
live by me,
and love me
Pragmatically acting on my behalf often for lack of my proper judgement

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.

Every morning she left me,
but before she did
I would make her eggs and coffee
and we would dig into the plans and meat of the day...

Then she would go,
I would stay.
Because I worked all night, and get home at 2.
But that didn't matter when six o'clock came
and my baby had to get ready.
Showers and blow dryers fired at full engine
while I managed a 2 hour regimen including
coffee filters and boiled eggs,
toasted with bongs and foil.
Toiling over a freezer frittata
my motto is that:
I love her and should oughta help her.
Because she's mine.
I don't need help back.
So much, in fact, I'll be glad when you don't.

So now our morning is built upon me, and what I see.
How I feel,
because even still.
I don't see you when I leave or when I go.
But you do when you do and you do.
I set up a show.
Just for you.
But you can't take too much.
Because I will no longer be me when you do.

Note to self: I have plan for tomorrow. Be scared if you're planning on participating.

Forget everyone. Really.
People are going gorgeous and being lovely, but forget them.
Let them vibrate my mind makings.
Said they shredded and stood unencumbered,
lumbering backpacks of beholden abstract knots.
Thick snot aught to be plinking into wax boiled ww1 army cots.
Gut shot free based hard thoughts.

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.

It's not little fifty dollars bills anymore

It's a lot more that I ever that should be

But here it is inside of me, upended in my intestines, and shouting

Kindey dream doom

Soon it'll boom all over

It's paper packets

Over all the olive oil fires\

and it end's in the refreshing wishing well

Boughs of plasticine
built on my mind
a line of obscene edges
combed out on
needle built
lines
grinded
into
a
line
on decent
course. leg with real
emotions that weren't out sourced.

Classification is hard to predict.

how **** impossible would it be enough
if you hadn't made enough food in your family so
we could all be safe?

Three days after pasta night,
It's alright
It's only food,
and we are so poor
so don't be rude.

Flecks of salt

Clumps of flavor.

Sealing sound.

I'm Jesus' Savior.



Make it last.

Just so you know.

Life takes water.

And needs smarts to grow.

I pretty sure I found some bugs in my pirate ship
Earwigs and some roaches are brimming at the hip
Sure it turns out would should have saved a lot more food
Because we are not the only life the lord determined good

So now I build a fire made out of barrel scraps
The whisky makes it higher and our work it does entrap

So give me a glass
a glass of water
I can only sip
I'm bare rehydrated
On the trip
On this pirate ship

Turns out that birds and bugs are angry
Just as much as we
I didn't have a clue about how a fly, hornet can make me see

We have have plan and tools to inflict pain on we
But It's a matter of planning with our soul
Planning a salt shoal to be

Some sort of way to take a way the pain,
remind us still

That live needs salt and rock built tablets
If we are to love and feel

Welcome to Rock Bottom!

We have nothing and space.

The space isn't free, nor is valuable.

Plus we have free parking!
Lots.

Please enjoy your stay at Rock Bottom.

Serving life in suffarage is handbuilt basket hate.
Love is half without a heat and heart heat make's it shake

Sending in some service mean, nothing, with heart heart.
So glory sown, so whence it shown, will die the way of heat.

Miming only action is like mining fiction faces
A fraction found in fire can be the sum of holy stasis