He's found himself in the closet
After he lost to himself in a game of tic-tac-toe
And tied his lobster bib tightly
Then hid his cheat sheet, for the pop quiz he knew was soon to come

It's curtains for her
She let the cat out of the bag
And now she's up **** creek with ****** for paddles to go **** herself with
Right in the birth canal

Then we'll auction off the ******
We'll pass them off as European defibrillators
Maybe some extremist will want them
If we spew out enough mindless dribble

The All Time ****-Show is about to begin
We have
The Chronic Masturbater
The Hypochondriac
And The Pathological Liar

It was either sometime yesterday
Or sometime tomorrow
Or was it sometime today?
That you were all going to make fun of the boy with the cleft lip down at the laundromat?

Out of the three of you The Pathological Lair sticks out like a sore thumb
I can tell he was the runt of the litter
Who always bites off more than he can chew

I see the Hypochondriac has convinced himself he has eczema  
He rattles off all his symptoms
Inordinate filibustering  

Now there's the Chronic Masturbater
He looks like he's over the hill
He's only twenty one
But the blue circles under his eyes and the deep defined lines on his forehead denote his inelegant aging

I sign all your lives away in my horrible cursive
And now you belong to the ragtag trigger-happy posse of gun-jumpers
My billfold his happily filled
So I must go do some reconnaissance
Spy on those who have quit their day jobs
The fish out of water

You must find that thing that really rolls off the tongue with a nice ring to it
******!
*******!
*******?!
....*******?

No...
Go hang youself with dental flossed you home-schooled fool

Indentured servants we're just an after thought

Woke up early like I always do, no matter what I'm going through I sit and contemplate my present situation, like is this life worth living or am I wasting it, I got plans for myself but with what I know, I know there's a possibility of removing it from the shelf of possibilities, sometimes I can't control myself, so I get ******* let some shots off and restock, my life is just a ramble that needs to be reshocked like defibrillators to your live stock, cause global warming turned to climate change and they make it seem it's not an issue by keeping your mind invisibly encaged and your nose in the tissue, I've been changing, so when it comes to blaming there's no one to blame but the cats who put our work to shame, **** the industry it's why I live in infamy like the US has for practically an entire century, continuing forensically but fail to catch their own trace of criminology, instead blaming you for your ideology passed down from generations along with theology, some things are more believable like the inconceivable evil that's injected inside the bloodstreams of my people, makin them turn from people to machines, **** that I'd rather be trapped in Saturn's rings but sometimes it's hard to stop some things

- This world has been ruled, dominated, and conquered for thousands of years.. I think it's about time to let that **** lay to rest -

Man I've been living for quite some time, and all I've seen is the world go from a bright shine to a darkened shrine, but I guess that's what will happen when you're born into a world that's already fastened their seatbelts for a global blastin, end the nukes end the fed end the ******* who will leave us for dead while they happily sit in bed waiting for their master Satan to come in faster, the worlds a disaster but it can be fixed if everyone pitches in to dethrone their "masters", mathematical factors plotting out disasters cause they're done on purpose like previous stories remastered, some will ridicule me but it won't matter when they realize the truth that's been hidden educationally generationally, you're serviceably useful to the machine aka the system, but the system needs you, you don't need to listen

my footsteps emit echoes,
they bounce off the black horizon and ricochet back to my ears.
i have long since learnt to treat them
with the same disdain i treat
the damp edges of my eyes
my own thoughts have become mockery
against me. i walk down the pier.
floorboards creak below, unable to hold the weight
of both me
and the demons
that cling onto my back.
my shadow is not one of a lone silhouette.
it is of two, me
and my ghost.

i am not sure
which i am.

the dust that line the boardwalks
no longer disturb me.
i have long since clothed myself
in loneliness. though it's warm,
it sinks.
it is only when i feel the rush of another's pulse
the heat off skin,
that my heart starts beating again -
flames engulfing defibrillators,
and i am suspended in a hot air balloon.

there are no winters in my life,
there is only blistering heat
and dampening warmth.
i can't say when all the coldness had seeped out of me,
for i never stopped caring
about myself.
i believe that
i care too much.

now, i find myself drawn
more to the darkness looming
from the lighthouse up ahead, invaded by
shadows after its shimmering fortress
of fireflies and candles
had been burnt down
by its own heat.

the pier reminds me of my thoughts,
discarded and clothed in dust.
leading to nothing but
a shambled shell of a building
burned to ashes by its own light,
crumbling to pieces,
dismembered fragments
lost in the ocean.

the worst feeling is when you can't feel a thing. you desperately search for names that they call for the emptiness in your being, but you can't find any. then somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice reminds you that your lungs were void of emptiness; your lung's emptier than empty. there's not even air, and you can't breathe, but you're not furious, you're not upset, you're not even afraid, but you know you're won't be okay. and you can hear your heart, as if it's singing a tune. but it's nothing like those soft melodies your mother hummed while trying to lull you to sleep. it's not the high pitch whimpers you hear in never-ending tunnels either. in fact, it's worse than that. it's just a flat tune, as if the notes were awfully written on a horizontal line. the line that looked like the green display that attaches itself to a critically ill patient, the one that steadily beeps and jumps up and down as if rejoicing for the demise of someone. and it goes all happy and screams at the top of it's mechanical lungs: one long beep. and then the patient's gone. no really, actually you are gone, and no one seemed to be able to save you. you can't feel a thing no matter what you do. defibrillators might bring a pulse back for the patient. no don't get too hopeful, it won't for you, nothing will work on you. overdosing on feelings have already got your body immune. i bet on the red unfeeling machine in my chest, that no course of electricity could ever get the nerves in your brain to connect to the channel that teaches you how to feel. even if you crack your skull open, you probably wouldn't find it. and it's a terrible terrible thing, to not be able to feel. you don't really feel alive at all. so tell me, do you really long for the feeling to not feel a thing? because i did. and i wonder why i did.

We worry about why we exist but our only purpose
is to fall in love with a masterpiece created by a god
so lonely he had to invent an audience.

So if every one of us is one and we are all god
maybe that's why I don't see shooting stars,
but I look up and fall in love with
every wish I will never make.

Maybe when we drink wine we lose a sense of self.
Because we are not humans,
but we are something much bigger.

Maybe that's why when we drink we get hiccups.
Because hiccups attempt to shock the mind back to consciousness.
Thinking is a drug and drugs are just spiritual defibrillators.

Depression drains you of all feeling.
Emotions can be up or down, but the worst is when there's nothing wrong at all.
Just like the alarm from the monitor when there is nothing pushing you forward.
You feel exactly like that sound, but it occurs inside.
If only there were defibrillators to resuscitate my emotions.
The feeling leaves me powerless and there's nothing I can do to stop
                                                    The Flat Line

The silence is too much
I hear myself think...think...think
About nothing important
But I scour my brain for it
Fight at the little thoughts
Like how much water makes
Your cells over-hydrate and explode?
What if I replaced coffee creamer
With Windex tomorrow morning,
How much time would the ambulance take?
Would I be okay?
Because I don’t really want to die
But yes I do, for just a second
Bring me back to life
Defibrillators against my chest
Don’t shock me as much as
The silence, because it rings
It’s not even silent
So how can it be so invasive
I think about the consequence of
Lighting a candle and leaving
It there by my bedside all night
How quickly would I
Knock it down in my sleep
I’m so afraid of burning to death
And drowning,
Though I guess one solves the other
I mean if you push a burning person into a lake,
Say a witch tied to a stake,
Are you saving them,
Or does that make you a killer,
See she couldn’t swim up,
But at least she isn’t burning,
And am I the witch or the fire in this scenario?
Probably both, though I’m also
A lake because who else
Can put me down better than myself.
And I pushed my own **** self in
Because “I don’t need a hero”
Every feminist bone in my body screams
While I’m tied to the railroad tracks
How did I get here? Wasn’t I just drowning?
I guess I took a crosstown bus.
But I was the only passenger
Because it was completely silent.

How come you didn't tell me
Your lips are equipped
with defibrillators?

.                Sacred War


      A sacred war we fought

    and won and spared your

world the fate of another ***.


   We drove the stake through

   a vampires heart but west’s

    defibrillators made it start.


    We saved the Jew to what

  avail, one is back to take our

  blood, and fill his unholy grail.