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.

Jeez.
I'm salted and run about.

Please.
God I'm all fallen out.

Really.
I'm all sort of problems still.

Ease.
Just let me bleed out

Freedom.
God, just let me go.

Grease.
Ooze me out of a freedom that I don't know.

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.

I think I had a good idea
To build a new strong closet
So that can hold lions and my dreams I do deposit

Only problem that I have
is the rattle snakes
So home to have a path to my mind vermin take

As much as I would miss them.
I know they're just plague rat
But so sweet I wanna kiss them
A furry rodent that's like me.
But the that I don't kiss them, they'll
take my life from me.

Mealy motion could have gruel in her veins
I've abstained from all forward action
Because it's my heart that she reigns.

Coolness sent shiver down a pain killed nervous column
Section of spine dealt with ***** and filler
To **** would send spiller space messages
out to help in order to assuage
all the speculation and guesses.
So now it would seem better, much better,
much better in deed
Much better indeed to **** my fire with greed.

I stuck a melted crayon right into my forehead.

And I let it melt into my eyes until my tear ducts bleed.

I even had had the nerve to show my never-face.

I gurgle up an explanation of why my life's a waste.


Even still, I packed my lunch.

Just caffeine and old shoes.
The things that make me love life's color
and love all of it's hues.

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.

"Hey!"
"I hope you have had a wonderful morning!"
"I'm your milk dude"
"Yes ma'am, I'm apart of the diamond package."

"Yes, MA'AM! Yes we do... but the residue you find around
the corner of your bed is due to all the
fat Sedona sand skitters."

Yeah... yes ma'am. They ruin the land with their compostable cat litter"

It's a pity to ****** about,
so I rerouted my question.

"Umm... I came here to learn a lesson about life and love, and every little bit held in between."

"Okay, well you'll have to turn in, because there is a lot of sinful fog in the air, so maybe it's time to repair what we can and have time for."

Captured in a facet made of perfect, diamond-cut, faces.

She sure held face, because she really was beautiful.

So, it'd be my duty to know why I'm smeared like this.

*******, I could really be.
And I could hold a candle up to see,
Shine light on what I'm really for.
And crack a solid stick of fighting over head,
for what? I'm not really sure.

Blossomed,
showed me out of  a gutter.
Spent, showed, muttered.

And bled out of me.

So, spent
unfettered.
Mucked,
and ****** up little bits.

It mattered before I felt so bad,
before I left in my spaceship.

I find that fire burns when gas is all around
And I find dead useless meat in a freezer
because it's old and can't be found.

I ripped out grass
out of the ground
with my unclipped nails.

I build dirt under my skin
and it's why my life has failed.

Plastic fact-based witches dug a ditch for me last night.
I never knew. I only thought I'd partied too hard.

Sentenced to a hell-hole, in basal bereavement I showed.
I showed up and store all sorts of goo.

I knew it's not funny.
But still I buried my hell-bunny
And hopped into a hellhole of sinful slop.

Greaseniness is which and when we had held air.

Pleasing is just bereivement and it's soley how much we sell air.

Blankets and coughing coughs had sloughed me on a deal.

I don't pain or run.

It's just feeling is all I feel.

Scissors used to be a tool I'd ask my mom for
So I could clip comics from the paper

Sundays were colorful, and full of ads
and deals, and payments for the lives that we had.


Older.
Older and older I learned
that's lives aren't made out of food and water.
But paper and paper ideals.

I spilled on the floor
my heart bleeds on papers

and i bleed on it more and god how I hate her.

There's as sense in my garden frozen
Hardened herbs and veggies
set me on a course of action
that will set a plan of course
Coursing courses of tiny plates
Tasting bits and pieces
Places released a faction face
Found in my patrons feces
Fevered fair cost a lot
Lots souled off of dead replaces
Chasing perfect is a lot
Like living in empty spaces

Goodness goodness goodnessbuilt
I let a longb= built chapel
Long stood and let it see
Like a favor
Like a lich
That wont die wont die wont die

Like fever in a pit
wont try wont try wont try

Glassiness is the debt I made in my eyes.
Money's overrated
and so is love.

Love is like a masterpiece
that you see in a show.

It's real nice to be by it
but it'll blow you up and know
just what it did.

Bidding for a fancy life
is a horrorshow
is exactly who I am
and it's all I'll ever know.

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.

I think I saw a cockroach underneath my sink
I wanted him to die
But it made me think

Think about what life means.
Meaning.
What is meaning.

He or she is not so bad
How he or she just lives.
Living is a struggle.
Living is a shiv in the ribs.

I'd tried over ten days over, to master how to pick apart a pickle jar.
It's a travesty to see a grown fuddle over glass and cry.

Still, I've had a chance to see my life through brine-stained glasses.
The passage of time is an ******* who steals all your good jokes.

Instead I stay coked up and well-fed.
And I no longer bleed red.
Instead I'm a bleached blanket of white socks and sorries.
It's not how large I am.
And not only how smart.
But my language can be best felt
in all my stories.

So often, love softens hard hearts.
Pilling ***** on sweatered chests
Choosing light, lift off of our own air
Prove over and over, in an even way.
Oddly adding is a scary day in my planner
Running into any additional action is the antidote to my brooding and to my bad manners.

I clapped together a batch of tortillas.
And I had handled my hands steadily when I haphazardly
felled a mesquite tree for good quotes and firewood.

I should feel bad for feeling
and so I do
because I knew that reeling suspicious condition
would finally show it's
ugly head and leave me cold and dead
and blue

I knew.
and it hurt, but was worth
the moment I had to spend
when I still felt like
I was alive.

So now I strive to dig the stickers out of my shoe
and show that I'm still healthy.

I'm not a monster.

Please listen...

I'm sorry.....

I don't think that I'm a monster.

It's seems like somebody left some eggs in the sink
For far too long.
It stinks and I wish I had something to eat
Maybe I'll reheat the spoiled eggs and gnash at them anyway
I'll have it with pickles and whisky
I'll eat over overstained sheets
Repeat, and renounce
My flavorful past
And then last as long as my food

She shoved me in the corner after chipping her teeth on the tip of a ***** bottle.

Nodding off, and mottled in bits of brackets holding fast.

I sighed, I knew it wouldn't last.

Like, it hurt.

It hurt real bad.

But I let it pass,
and now it hurts a little less.

I'm still a mess and my clothes are *****.

But folks say that I'm still young.
They laugh when they found out
that I'm not even thirty.

There's three stacked sticks stuck in my back

That were put there by a little rat

That rat that rat sang songs to me

Now I'm pickled in a vat

because that rat ******* me

I'd soaked my sad *** in saline water to see if sins bubble up.

I had had bad noxious knowing notions while wretching up a sip,

A sip of sour, mineral remissings caked on cornered eyes.

Salting, sour corners of mourning lives.


So, instead of feeling something,

I poured molten oatmeal in my bowl this morning,

Just to stay alive, and feel something warm.


After my fifth cup of coffee,

I got bored and stormed out the door to challenge all the

Vagrants at the park to chess to buy a case of ramen noodles.

Squiggly, giggle-painted patterns.

Nature curing writes offs,

licking life off moons of Saturn.

Totally tanking,

Making way

Ruminants in mood.

I learned that I'm handsome if you like
a mud-caked stud.

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.

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.

Well!
WELL
yes.... yes
it's something we should do.
Let's take ALLLLL
the arts we found.

I'll take mine...


...and


you'll take yours.....!!!
Yes!!

AND WE'LL MAKE A MONSTER.

How to dare to love:
Likes its easy, right?
Shoving out all of life.
Bereaved of life's misgivings.

How to share your love:
Spent, all night, with work.
Yet making dinner.
Veg and pork.

How to spare your love:
With sorries, and 'sorry dear'
Work takes life
and so does love
Loves a parasite endeared...

How to rake your love:
Send sorries
Send a lot!
Send, please repent my pleas
Love demands an awful lot.

How to spread your love:
With friend and family.
Kindness is a sickness
that's spread through revelry.

How to lose a lot:
Be mean.
Have hateful hate

How to spend a lot:
With indignance, and a painful gait.

How one feels like hell:
It's a spell cast by a wizard.
One who focused on how pain
can effect you in your inards.

How one finds a way:
A way to where?
Away to live that's just fine?

Away into the air.

How one finds the end:
More than bending in the river:
Let me so deliver:
Messages aren't so assuaged:
do not disgage from death.

It happened.




You're what's left.

Please lease me a lot of your heart
So I can try to start my own business.

I bought all the sticks and wickerbough baskets

In the manner of a task master I have managed to make a meager living out of hide glue, soup, and stool

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.

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.

Feeling somber is a somber feeling
I've felt green felt when she was dealing
Betting is how I make a living
Since I started taking instead of giving

Stepping on a soap box
and telling how I feel (I've learned)
Is the smartest way to steal.

I'm feeling over fishes
So, I pop them in a barrel
I am not so barren
As much as I am sterile

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.

I'm so sorry
I know I'm a maniac.
I know I have a nervous disorder
and this is the most
bombastic
Asstastic stupid
******* horrorshow that I've allowed myself to be.


I can't see anymore.
I have self hate slime
gooeing up my eyes.

My life is a slovenly horror show lie
and it's breaking me into little pieces

What's my credit score?
It's all lies.
and I want to cry...
and shy away from everyone.

It's all lies.
everything dies
and I'm apart of it.

I thought life was lit.
but now I'm burning down.
Don't frown and cry for me.
Feel good. Eat food.
Live life.
Have fun.
Have dogs and go vacation.

The world is gonna blow up some day and all you'll have is memories.

It's something we all can see.
Make a day.
Please..... have fun.
For all of us....

Mud is the word of gods.


You only are afforded fungus if you can knaw on your sisters ankle.




The world is raw.

And we can not let you be nothing.

You're strong.

and perfect.


I'm sorry.

Have our food.

I get it.
you're perfect.
We do what we can.

I span over gravy trains.

Other than that.... Just be a superhero.

Obstain.

Enjoy your muscle density and fast hearts.

How and why did I
just find you so freaking perfect?

Maybe it's real obvious now,
about how and why I did.

You lifted the lid off my world
and hid all hate from me
Ridded me of all my pain,
for a day or two so I could finally see.

Landing in both sockets were prongs that made my life
Lighting all around me while puffing on a pipe
Lit by fuel built fire is just like coal made light
Frightened by the guile of an act I feel is right.

Salted in my sausage casing was my dead best friend.

Had he oinked much sooner, he would be a grandpa then

Dead grass is holding up my garden of chicken ****
Stories, many stories held high on the projected
notion that I can save every brown person one day.

How hard must a heart hurt to not feel worth what you are?

How bad must you be, to be able see that you took it too far?

How sad must you feel before you can accept that it's
YOU'RE deal that makes you less happy.

How mad and ****** can you feel about you feel about yourself before you see all you're doing is being a baby?

Not long enough.

But also long enough.

It's been plenty days.

We all have had a living hell and now I have to say:
It's okay, even though it's not.
It'll be alright even if I get shot.
Everyday is fine,
and so are you.
Everything is beautiful,
and so is what you do.

If you really want to be funny
Don't have a sense of hate
Take back and don't take

What do you get when you have
when you have two
Englishmen with no donkies?

A pair of assless chaps.

Life is a dog
Slugging in dirt and creepy crawlies
Love and black lips
Likes and licks

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.

Gently pressed into pages on our family bible,

sprayed with Pam and Lysol were stages of life held in suspension.

I didn't mention the Giger counters,
mounted up meters of stone cold serial serious business.

Still, I'd be remiss to miss our beauty made of grass, and dusty weeds.

I would rather not have frowned at the frau
She was my friend
Slatternly, frowzy, bedgraddled gal
I always wondered how and why she liked me
Like a boy who could be psyched out by bosoms.
I wasn't
I felt it peasant like.
Like a tike feeling in the dirt for flukes and rakes
Rake, she said she thought what I was.
Which would mean I could make her heart buzz
and would mean we could be one another.
Another life left to lonesome fevers in panting fogs.
I matter, so does she.
Dark matter.
Slathered in holes, stolen goals.
God we were the same.
It's a shame we were the same.

Deluded in a brooding pit, I brewed a bowl of noodles.
Steeping in a steamy ***, with veggies and egg milk
What made me think I should go on what the
lack of sense of ilk...
So sorry for the lack of pay
So sorry I can stay.
Cause the fact that I eat noodles
Means I can't eat gold today.