Flood every grocery sack with opened up noodle boxes.
Ask the butcher for fresh chinook salmon.
Bother the pharmasists for a secret remedy until he sighs and gives in.
Give the lady yourcalifornia sunshine drivers license when she yawns and
Has to make sure you can buy a bottle.  ( I imangined what happened after we danced.)
She moved my pulse like safeways selectice bold brazillian roast.
I believe her secret recipies for pickled seduction.
Every first isle Leaves  me happily underneath the celings act three popcorn
Until I beg her to hold like fresh melting george forman grilled cheese (what I was looking for a long time from now)
The iron clad grill Whisperes"you have found her missing grocery list".  Why has her bias condemmed possibilies canned tuna fish in oil.  Theres nothing to see insider her locks of eggplant stems.   i can find a alternative way to cash my sacronized invisible receit stamped with red words raincbeck.  I couldnt afford you impulse items.

No one has ever broken my heart.
Most would say that’s a gift,
but I am not sure.
Maybe it is not that my heart has been broken
but I’ve never let myself be close enough to anyone
for it to be broken.
At night before I sleep
I think of what would happen if I were to be
*****.
If my parents were to
die
suddenly. If
I were to die.
What would happen?
Would I be able to take care of myself,
or would I wither away? Who would I become?
Would my friends care? Which ones?
Maybe I feel unloved, but I don’t.
I have so much love in my life that I can’t give.
I receive but cannot replicate.
I feel it but can not find the place in my heart to give it.

Feeling alone in a crowded room.

That’s what it feels like but
in my own mind.
These thoughts that drain me while I sleep
they’re the awkward goth that sits in the corner at prom,
trying so desperately to fit in but refusing to
sell themselves
to the pink dress.
The rest of the thoughts wonder why they’re there.

I have these thoughts not because I’m depressed or
lonely.
I think I think these things because I’ve convinced myself
I want them.
Disgusting isn’t it? To want the amount of suffering I do.
I hope somewhere it’s not the suffering I want but the
emotion.
The state of being overpowered by emotion to the point where
you can’t function.
Where every choice is the product of an emotional
whiplash.

I see these people who suffer in pain. But I’m strange
because I do not see it as horrible I see it as
beautiful.
Their suffering is beautiful because it is a level of intencity
I cannot feel.
A level of emotion that I hunger for but can not reach.
I don’t know why I want this.
Maybe I feel numb, but I don’t really know.
Maybe I speak words to fill the air. Fill the time.
All those words that are safe, they’ve become
boring.
I want something more to say, more to feel than just the daily shpeal,
even if it means pain.

I do not think I am depressed.
I do not know what I am.
I’ve never met anyone like me before.
Maybe I am
alone.
Maybe everyone feels like me but they keep quiet for fear if they speak
they’ll be condemmed to live their life in a
white jacket.

The world is ******* up.
I am the girl who wears pastels then
talks back to the teachers.
Gets straight As but hangs out with the kids who
smoke *** at lunch.
Who is that that you know?
No one.
I want to help those who I don’t think need help,
because society says there is something
wrong
with them. But what if they’re the one who are sane
and we are the insane?
Maybe we’ve been manipulated to think we are in control but
we’re not.
They are.
The ones on the streets and in the straight jackets.

Insanity is the highest level of intelligence.

Dolphins once free in a vast ocean
wild intelligence captured in Taiji Cove
after hours of exhuastive persuit by men in boats
Desperate families try to shield their calves
witness to blood bath slaughter
for the meat trade
Others to be penned and starved
when broken and hungry they learn to eat dead fish
are then sold around the world
to travel in tanks by road
to fly hundreds of miles
to be condemmed to a life captive
doing tricks for less intelligent humans.
                 ??
Dogs made bad by dangerous owners
condemned to death
under the
Dangerous Dogs (Amendment) Act 1997
passed by dangerous men.

Now is the start
We’ve gone apart

This is a start
On your mark, fresh start

You will be okay, you're smart
Please be strong and stay on your guard
Going separate ways, return eachother's hearts
Hit the eluding bulls eye, stay sharp

Now imagine and see
How happy we can be
When no one has to lead
And never need anyone again
Our souls are not condemmed

Now I promise I’m sane
The time we kissed in the rain
Sensual pleasure, ****** pain

A thousand smiles, a single frown
Go further down the road
Paintings in the mausoleum
Even further down the road
Follow the coyote, follow him
The shallow lies that made you cry darling

The coyotes warm
Ripped and torn

Follow the coyote, he’s been so good to me
Head north, tread east
Paradise, pandamonium and a good nights sleep

I’d runs in the woods
If I could
Run in the woods
If you would
Can you remember where you stood?

A boy sat and drank his milk, then went out and killed
******, stealing, fighting
He’d done it all

He went to the house where the old man lived
Came through the door

To the house where the old man lived
Threw him to the floor
He had done it all

And he wanted more
He felt no remorse, no shame to hide

“We have a new technique we can use to turn him into a member of society instead of a hoodlum”

“I was cured alright”

655321

Come on now follow us
Come on just follow us
Deep into the underbrush
Take your time, no time to rush

This is where it starts
Where we part

This is the start
So near so far from the start

You’re everything to me
But it’s not meant to be
Now we begin our lives
Where does the future lie?
At the start

The heart of an angel
Condemmed to Hell,
Was as fragile as glass,
And shattered as it fell.
She denied what she had seen,
But it was far too late;
Try to find yourself,
Try to accept Fate.
She wept and pleaded
To no avail,
This was her life
And she must prevail.
Her broken heart reformed,
But it was no longer clear as glass.
A smokey cloud engulfed her
As her profound shame supassed
The limits of her mind.
So she took the only course of action,
And I watch my angel cut herself,
Staring at her reflection.

So, what is it with you?

What do you mean, John?

I mean, are you evil?

Evil? Well I suppose that depends. What does that word mean to you?

Evil, I guess to me is, means taking pleasure out of the suffering of others.
So what I am asking is, do you take pleasure out of the suffering of others?

Yes I do. In that definition, I am evil. But I put this to you, John. You are evil too.

I am not. I try my best. I may not be perfect, but I wasn't meant to be I'm human. I want to make others happy.

You are a liar John. You take pleasure out of the suffering of others. You love to cause it. Especially sexually. You are a sadist. But even in non ****** contexts. You love being "dominant". Even if, sometimes especially if it hurts others.

.... I seek consent, at least, for my evilness. They share in the blame.

That's an excuse. You know it. You seek absolution. You run run, run away from your sins. Oh but God sees, God hears, he looks into your subconscious, and he writes every note.

Fine. I'm evil, Satan, though I'll have some things to say when it is my time to be judged. But we are getting off track... Why do you fight so hard to take souls? To ruin people? To be the cause the source of all suffering!

Because I have to John. But I am not the source.

What do you mean you "have" to. Isn't that just an excuse? And of course you are the source. You are evil incarnate.

And who incarnated me?

Oh. ****.

Your name was written in a book, long ago John. Your story was written before the time space even began. In words you can understand, your soul, your life, your pain your suffering your free will your eyes that time you kissed that girl that time you couldnt get hard and she hated you. He made it so.

Stop it. Even if he knew what I was going to do, I still decided to do it. I didn't "have" to do anything. And neither do you. At least, since you rebelled and took   hold of your free will.

Did you decide John? Let us look at it closely and see what is worse. Either you truly do have complete and utter free will and God does not know what you are going to do. He never did. I'm wrong. You can save your soul, albeit through the acceptance of Christ and yada yada, outside of his plans and will. If that is so, God is not all powerful or all knowing. The creator is a fraud. A liar. Someone without a "real" plan. Who is just dicking around as he is going on. There is a lot of biblical ancillary information to back it up. God asking Adam and Eve what they did(One of my finest moments if I may say), then later Cain about Abel (And I didn't even do anything there!), regretting making humanity and washing away the earth in the times of the Nephilium and Noah. Plenty other examples. Or he, as I suspect, really did set everything in motion. He condemmed Judas to an eternity in my mouth, in the coldest fringes of Hell, to enact his plan for "redemption". More glory for him, I say. More mindless worshiping. It is no coincidence Jesus is a "shepard" and humans are his "sheep", his "flock". Baa, baa, sheep. Baa away.  And every person since. The original sin is his. He knew of it. He allowed it. He willed it. He enacted it. He used me. He used Adam. He used Eve. Because HE wanted to. Because that was HIS plan. Heaven and Hell. Pain and love. Winners and losers. Cruelty and love. Two sides of the same coin. Just lies. Just mirages. Freedom is *******. God is a selfish, hateful, prideful, condemning being. Not so full of infinite love. Which is worse, John? Who takes true pleasure out of suffering?

I don't know anymore, Satan. I don't know. But I kind of wish you had been God instead.

Me too, John. Me too.

I have declared myself unsafe
unsound
unknown
unwanted
unnecessary
I’ve been condemmed
I am unsafe.

Maybe it’s because I felt I owed you something for giving me all that happiness,
For you to never slip my mind, though I’ve tried to drown you out.
Intoxicating thoughts of you lingered as the toxins took over my being.
As if your hands warmed up my body and heart once again.
My veins a map you sketched to life, but I’m merely a rough draft of the love I thought we were.
Though I gave you everything I was equipped to give, I still couldn’t make you whole, even as you left me empty.
Pieces of my heart were forged to make you anew, but it wasn’t enough.
And neither were you...
I settled into my sober thoughts, no longer drunk off fake love; fake words.
Affections molded to keep me quiet, this happiness I crave wasn’t true.
How could a heart truly love when it’s as cold as you?
A glass heart doesn’t beat, only breaks, as I do.
Yet I can’t seem to slip you out of my mind, by force or gentle persuasion.
I’m condemmed to this loop, hoping you share the same fate as I.
The shattered pieces that remain here hurt, I hope the ones you took do too.
We can bleed together, you and I. Maybe then I’d be enough for you.

Peace can be found in anger,
But only for a fleeting moment,
Before it is consumed by guilt.

We then become dependent on it,
The pain we feel,
Regardless of whether it was deserved.

The human moral compass,
Always such a hypocrite,
Twisting the mind so it always blames itself.

The burning of possessions,
Old and cherished,
Only reinforces the fact that we are alone.

But should we be forced to suffer
At the hands of the ignorant,
The jealous, the thieves?

But I still share the blame.
Not because of my actions,
But lack thereof.

Should I still be condemmed
For my refusal to act
Against everything that tears my life apart?

Regardless,
I still have these bruises,
And they were caused by you.