Violence can take hold of anyone;
It strips away the virtues of what one was;  
It is the thing that breeds contempt in one's soul,
It forces them to lash out from the depth below;

A depth so dark where terror fills the night,
A place so cold that Hell would never know,
A silence so loud, it would drive one insane;
So grim this place, no one could ever brave.

These “Ones” whose virtues were compromised
Seek vengeance against the deviants of immoral genocide;
To lash against the transgression wrought upon their souls,
To reimburse the deviants ten thousand fold.

Retribution will be made on their day of reckoning
As these deviants will regret the pain and suffering
They invoked upon the “Ones” they wronged.

For now they wish they never engaged
In their acts of brutality and incoherent rage.

Justice has set forth and finally prevailed.

There's a sickness in me, something I hide
At night I log on and search my inside demons
Low grade image on HD monitors
Guts and glory

I watch the videos, and smile, post a comment
Boy's body torn to shreds, eighteen wheeler destruction
I see you in Mexico, gangland violence
Remove three heads in a four minute clip, machete madness

Lean back in a leather chair, comfort in freedom
Adolescent boy, hung by the ankles
"Allah Hu Akbar", whip his *** ******
Family takes turns, mother holds a bedpan

Black man beats white woman, dominant dictator
***** shouldn't have kissed another man
Beat sense past the bleach on her scalp
Sister apathetically asks him to stop
Weak willed humanity

Who were you, before your face was gone?
Fighting this war, none shall win
Cannot see your brothers
One steals your wedding ring

There is a sickness in me
I derive pleasure from these pictures
"Zlo'radstvo", the sick man vomits

What jail cell is this
That one shoots up so freely
Gambling ***** cash
Am I, a free man, allowed to do the same?

Poor boy, cut the noose from round your neck
The poor girls are fighting in the streets
Childhoods are lost
It's hot out here, getting hotter still

Police brutality, gas station punch-up
Families fight, prostitutes steal
Streetlights are gallows
and the town burns to ashes,
with a skeletal man stumbling through the smog

Incestuous family, filming sick fantasy
Little sister scorned, crying to sleep
Bleeding orifice of a broken *****
Bleed for daddy, bleed, bleed

There is a sickness inside of me

Terrorist, hooded infidel, story to tell
Death to the west and other such messages
Bomb your city
Bomb your school
Upload it all to YouTube

A couple thousand hits of a girl beneath a truck
Dead-eyed cameraman zooms into a strewn liver
Back to her once pretty mouth
Anonymous comments, ****** deviants

There is a sickness in me and I want it gone

Secret currency, pays for a secret vice
I enjoy watching violence erupt,
Warring girls in the schoolyard
Cuts her hair, kicks to the face
I *******, feeling disgraced

Grainy suicide, bounce from the ground
Racist attack on a bus, perpetrator not found
Baby ***** in a crib, video with no sound
TheYNC profits from this,
The human condition keeps me coming around

There is a sickness in me
I call it humanity

Hours whiled away, begrudgingly sordid pixels
Opening new links, delving into insanity
Curiosity got the better of me
Tonight I probably won't sleep

Can we just play *****, you and i?
I mean give me looks across the table, that you are disgusted with me, for taking my ******* off and dropping them in your crotch. I mean like you talk to another girl and glance at me, as if to say '******* *****', knowing you will **** me; Later.
Let's play *****, come on, i will welcome you in to my house, in stockings and leather, and push you against the wall; grab your hand and bend it back whilst i bite your neck. Push my knee between yours, and hold your chest in my hand whilst i make you watch me unbuckle you. Let me drag you on the floor, whilst you try to get up and say 'not here'.
Why can't we play *****?
I don't want no ******* bedroom. I want the doorway, i want the hall, i want the kitchen counter, i want the living room floor and the shower. I want the couch, where i will straddle you and make you watch me as i undress myself for you, slowly, pulling, my, stocking down, so my knee is between your legs and i lean over you, so my ****** points out to your mouth, and i can hear you breathing, and every time you move towards me, i pull away.
Why can't we just play *****?
Why can't you get me mad, and we argue so bad that i want to smash my fist in to your skull til you bleed all over my kitchen floor, brains on the washer...then pick me up, throw me on the bed, slap my face about, slap open my legs and grab my throat and the other hand on my chest as you push deep into me? Hear me gasp, watch my pupils widen, groan at you, watch as you come close to my ear, and say, 'this is what i *******, wanted'.
Why can't we?
Why can't we be deviants?
Why can't we go play in the forest?
Why can't we do like animals do?
Why can't we make two barebacked beasts in the moonlight?
Why can't we play *****?
I touch your leg as you drive, playing the piano up and down your thigh, biting my lip, running my fingers up and down your thigh, nails pushing deeper, up and down, up and down, until you pull the car over, slam the brakes on, pull off your seatbelt and grab me, push the seat back, as  i smile a secret smile as you breathe deeply in my ear as you pull off my wet knickers, and begin to take me on a journey through the stars.
Why can't we play *****?
Shut your eyes. Shut your mouth. Shut everything, the, ****, up. Listen to the beat of my heart, as it quickens and i place your hand over my chest, and i look in your eyes. Stop you talking about me, about what i am like, and who i am, and what it should be, and this and ******* that.
I don't want no tv before bed, i don't want no book, i don't want no midnight stargazing.
**** that ****. ****, me.
I want to play *****, with you.

Without the danger,
where's the excitement?

Without the consequence,
where's the temptation?

Without the pressure,
where is the drive?

As you create rules,
you create deviants.

As we have well known
for ages ages upon ages:
the forbidden fruit is the sweetest;
yet, we continue to condemn.

the earth shakes beneath tectonic plates
a misery of mistakes weaved from the same rope that will hang the united states
as empires fall we withdraw
compassion for killjoy a complete and utter moral cleanse

dictators or dollars it doesn't make a difference
retrograde deviants persuing misanthropic leaniance
together as one bleeding out of every orface
the love of god flickers as the sign for hope is resurfaced

An exit for expression
An admittance with no fee
A mind free from excluding
An exhibition without end

The centerpiece- an installation
Ever moving within its frame
Its contents constantly disappearing
To reveal a blank canvas to be filled once more

The artist turns out to be me, and me alone
Leaving my post is an improbability
As the gallery holding me hostage is my own mind
Yet in truth, I find happiness in this prison cell

Without sleep I find energy from passers by
Who refuel my passion with their coins
Thrown into my hat beside me
Tokens of positivity that they cannot directly give

The door is always open
Even to those who find fault with the artist
Who tease me in my chained feet
And hurl their abuse with intent to delay completion

Yet still, I welcome companionship of viewers
Without noticing the deviants who scratch away at my painting
My selflessness renders me unable to notice evils
Blinding me with the future I paint before my eyes

My piece is never mastered
For I am distracted by evils constant approach
Presenting me with gifts of seeds, that grow in my soils
Only to blossom as weeds, and eat away at all goodness

But my grounds are open, and my job demands time
Rarely do I have the time to look upon works accomplished
But I steal a moment as sun and moon change shifts
Only to be met a view that gives no happiness as before

My stubborn positivity keeps defences up
Protecting myself from taunters and ghosts who take refuge in corners
I am distracted by my own optimism, the joy of what I do
But it hinders me, in ways I cannot defeat

My ability to seek vengeance was never yielded nor encouraged
So instinctively as always, I turn not to the voices behind me
And paint upon the canvas once more
The doors still open

I sit holding my aching head in calloused hands
experiencing ‘forlorn’
a worn soul aged beyond the calendar
dreary eyes look upon the state of humanity
irradiated babies trading rabies with deviants
live on pay per view
seeing the shape of famous faces
manipulated flesh blankly posed
only desperate oculars show the truth
darting frantically form mirror to mirror
attempting to validate existence through reflection
but not like the monks in Tibet
regret fills bent cheekbones
spackled with Botox and raspberry jam
thinning peak aligns with the occasional grey strand
and I sit wishing only to see people love themselves

The clouds race golden
As be chariots
The sun is born
Like the deviants

As gusts of wind
****** the thoughts
Underdressed
The chest it coughs

While Major Clank
On wheels and stub
Bellows out and
Rubs the nub

Then by runes
the best made plans
Test the dikes
And angst of dams

The age of truth
The youth desired
Across the space
without the wires

The universe comes
In a box
Neatly packed
Shelved , detoxed

And all because
Annointed by rain
The blue sky morning
Clouds it's pain

Jazz history teacher scattin about
swing
Now, war on drugs (****)
wait, kansas city night clubs

Territorial Deviants howl the blues
dragging themselves bar to bar to jam

Teach has jeans and a black long sleeve
shows off his impressive gut

27th and manhattan, playin for pete
everynight bald head shinin
bass thumpin, saxophone whinin
count bessie, chick webb, rotating stage

Bothersome lesbian

Timmy the tortoise shell
Lived a tortured hell
When he fell
And cracked his shell

As Timmy tortoise
Had a timid soul
That would spill
From the cracks
And stack in tow

But Timmy was a loner

Quick to ******
Closed the traps
Of deviants and attackers
With his snapper

Even happier
He'd turtle slap ya

But Tim's dapper days
Were done

He was a flapper in the ****
Of an overly populated pond

Technologicalcated and wrong

And it tinied t
Under its beams
Of ruining

Until he
Eventually

Was gone

Hi.
My name's Blair and
I'll be your instructor tonight.
Defensive driving with a class full of
Deviants.
Even the instructor had
Five Tickets
His first year and a half in San Antonio.
But, hey! We get an insurance discount.
Sometimes people get to the front
And they're not sure if
They're supposed to have a book.
What book?

You still have time before class--
Get those donuts!
Do I have the right book?
Everybody needs a pen--
If you have a fairy pen, that won't do.
Today we're going to learn about driving techniques...
Don't worry.
No matter how far off track I get,
We still get done early.

What's the real policy on pecans?
I was wondering
If you could cut the jet noise
Between, oh...about 5.30, sixish?

Split-second decisions
Spot the hazards
You're driving along 1604
And the speed limit changes to
Fifty
Overnight.
Where were the warning signs?
Is this the book?

How hard is it to drive your car if you're not in the driver's seat?

Did anybody get the donuts?
Where's the pizza he was talking about?
Why isn't he in the driver's seat?
Why am I?
Out of hundreds of architects,
Why did Newsweek ask
A nearby park resident?

Your jury isn't attorneys.
No, it's people.
Your punishment isn't
The Red Square.
No, it's--
               CUT THE JETS!
               WHAT BOOK IS HE TALKING ABOUT?
               I WANTED PEPPERONI.
List common signs of an impaired driver.
First, he's not in the driver's seat...
Sometimes people get to the front...
Of donuts and pizza
And they're not sure
Which one should I choose?
If they're supposed to have a book.
No matter how far off track I get,
There isn't a policy for pecans.
We still get done early.
You can't stop the jets from flying.
The jury isn't attorneys.
Drive within the speed limits and
The jury is people.
Pay attention to your driving.

I found the book!
All right--class is over;
I'll see you on Thursday.*
I thought we were going to have pizza.
I'll bring donuts...next time.

I was wondering...



How hard is it to steer
Your car if
You're
Not in the driver's seat...?

~Christa Elise Cannon.

I once asked a classmate at college
after a Sociological lecture on Deviances
why most women get traumatised and upset
about those perverts heavy-breather deviants
because where I come from, you'd laugh at their sickness
call them stupid and waste their money by not hanging up

And if you're crazy enough to be those perverts exhibitionists
who frighten women and young girls by exposing their privates
rather then scream and run, the woman would actually go to the
fool and yank his ****** trousers down and aim a hefty blow
to the offending sight, God help crazy silliness behaviours
where I was raised..

These perverts get their jollies from terrorising and the shock
reactions from their victims, that's their money shot
same with trolls and bullies, they relish knowing they cause upset
or fear or some emotional responses from their victims
Hell, I come from a place where cowardice is recognised for what it is
The rationale is so simple, you've got beef with me, say it to my face
that's what confident real worthy people do, stand by your words
anything else shows you lack courage and you are immediately called out and exposed as a weakling and a coward.
They will tell you, have the ***** and talk to my face'
A cowardly man is the lowest of the low, as simple as that.

But a worthless idiot who hides and then start hissing and cursing
immediately shows cowardice and becomes a joke and a useless example of a man,
So how can the ******* spewed by a pained faceless nonentities impact me, how can a hidden coward without the nerve to face another man, be considered an equal or respected, much less cause me emotional pain or make me doubt myself.
These fools that are given the run around by clever Asians and Africans. Tell me more jokes please!
I actually enjoy toying with fools and when bored take the ****
out of them and bait them to laugh at their ridiculous comebacks.

Do me a favour, how can a semi-illiterate yobs, who turn ghost white and physically trembles at the
the slightest pressure wants to get into my head and disrupt it

These shameless buffoons, who are being academically humiliated
by indian classmates, whose parents come from dirt poor villages and can barely speak english.
Such proven fools and cowards, then decides they can come and terrorize me, like we say where I was raise
" for where"   that means ',   how is that possible

Even an oxford educated person who can't face me earns my fine
contempt, you call yourself Oxbridge, what's respectable with being a coward who can't talk man to man but sneaks around playing a childish game, utter contempt!
Even with their artificially created chaos and difficulties i still
fare better then them
and these pathetic sickos think they are relevant in some way

But I know, they get off the contacts with me, its like I bless them
with recognition
after all there are perverts who pay women to kick them in the *****

I feed the trolls, as my mentioned above, our woman would yank down the pants of a ***** pervert exhibitionist rather than scream and run away, you don't go crying, saying I am emotionally damaged by a mentally ******* fool and pervert dropping his pants, you know immediately this is an idiot not worth two bits, you treat simpletons as simpletons,
what's to be terrorized about by some scallywag dimwitted
cowards with problems and inferiority complexes.
Pray do tell me.....................

If I Was anything the compound fools are alleging would I be here laughing at them or perhaps I am stupid like them, and can't recognize demonstrable spineless cowards and what they do.
He's broken, we've planted seeds, he's anxious, he's crying, some mentalist even says, the coolest stylish man is goofy.

These are the brain dead bullies who pick on the prettiest girls and start calling the ugly, the classic bullies trade make, flip everything because you are all brain dead, smelly ignorant, dumb nobodies
Trash like this want to alter my personalities, want to do my head in

Ohh.....puuluuzee!!

Oh, planet of the azure,
Cypriot sands,
Nordic beauty,
Amazonian lands,
Nile river plains,
It’s plain to see that our world
is a paradise for the
paradisiacs and the aphrodisiacs,
The business suited men,
The wedding dressed women,
The children of the soil.

But also plain to see are the
oil-stricken sands,
Viking battlegrounds,
Deforested lands,
Dry river plains.
Unknowns and ****** deviants,
Power hungry animals,
Divorce cases to be,
Already dead.

Oh, land of the azure,
Strike up a match and burn us all down,
Won’t you?

Oh, paradise world,
A giant floating blue pearl,
Cut us all down and burn our ashes?

Let us make amends,
Blue and green marble,
For we have doubted your sands,
Lands, and beauty,
We have doubted them whilst we have stood upon them.

For we are too tall to see what heaven lies beneath our feet,
And we look to the skies for heaven whilst we are among angels.

Like old
mean beetles,
like old
men in battle,  
like egos: solid anvils,
like families: lethal weapons,
like these: them,
begotten sons
who begat daughters
of a land, of a bordered plot
on the globe, the dirt,
the house, the property
which begot
them
both,
these two
bitter enemies
from two
separate places,
furiously blaze,
as the time
for darkness,
is far
from arrived.

And the sun
quakes,
in its heat
rippling sights
and
knocking particles,
which deter the next
knocked,
and which enforce
the continued sensation of
warmth
continued,
of aversion
continued,
rising,
screened,
for its impeccable quality,
against
nobody in
general or
specific
to announce, or to gain
against
consequences, which are
soothsaid
in time,
nullified.
Partners afflicted will be less opportunistic
and more egalitarian,
but are sworn,
like the sun,
against the monotony,
of repetition,
of indistinct days;
like these:
them,
the enemies,
they
are
engaged,
aged,
unteachable
and
spoiled.
They are always
immersed
in
vexed
states,
always in competition.
Hope
is
the
souls
united
never again
as much
as the static,
single dimension,
alone,
impeccable,
impossible,
for its possibility
is drawn by He
who
spews forth
lumens
next to card sharks and Amazons, knowing these
will have to suffice, having no escape
from the projected
source
of energy.
The metal heads
of garden rakes,
weapons
thrown
at devils
in the sweltering heat
of hell,
the Inferno
that holds a
first-person
point of view,
a dream, alongside
superheroes, allied,
but who are,
nevertheless,
without their unique
and exceptional powers,
pros and willing deviants
from the celibacy,
the weight,
the unoriginal paint
that collides
in
each
stroke,
making what
appears
null,
and the array
but one,
and supposed,
so that then
are the weary
and soulful mergers
which corrupt
and meander throughout,
polluting,
as
it
were,
the tranquility,
the wrenched service,
of the destined
machine,
of a million
trajectories,
homespun threads,
woven
into
a
million
miserable
microfibers,
unanswered
q­ueries
that were
held back
in
fear,
and
were
never
asked,
and remain
even
now
sorry.

Luscious lovers strangled by sheets of seduction,
Is this for real or is this our thirst for another,
Do I need companionship?
Or was the **** simply not good enough,

A man on a makeshift crutch
With a dependency fed by lust
Not a ******* son,
But close to the Judas of Love,

Defying what those before me had done,
Doubting the prospects of the one
So beyond the romance and the monogamous harmony,
All I care about is the curves that caused us,

To get close enough to realize,
It’s no longer about trust,  
Since a physical attraction caused us,
To get close enough,
To experience what we can’t live without,

Is this a weakness or my evil plot?
To enjoy what I perceive,
Without the prospects of a teaching an infant to walk,

An action that caused a religious reaction,
A natural necessity once socially ingested,

We are fighting to keep from,
Regurgitating our misguided perceptions,
Of what brings you and I close enough,
To abandon those popular convictions

An extension of humanity,
The exemplification of our species physical conformity,
In the wake of a pleasure, an enjoyable experience,
Came prospects of fostering generations to show what we’ve done,

My fantasy goes beyond the seductive sheets of lust,
As I hope that my words will one day be carried with those who follow,
Those who will inherit a world of,
****** deviants,
Ego edified lunatics,
And love.

My mind is a totalitarian regime.

I build up walls, paranoia, panopticon. (And to me, Denmark is a prison.)

Keep the voices, the evils of the world out.

An ideology, power, purpose,

Convinces me of the diseases, the deviants,

That risks an illusion to be shattered.

I am my own dictator, hail.

I control words—words are power—

I write my own narratives, make my own excuses,

Create heroines and gods to populate the prison walls. (He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about his Father’s business, the service of a vast, ******, and meretricious beauty.)

I rewrite constellations, make them smaller,

Build babels, buying more time.  

I tell that amnesiac blackness: that it cannot hurt me; it can’t touch me.

Those labyrinthian libraries of sky charts and lovely flower dictionaries, rooms of polychromatic paintings, which I gathered with gayety as a child—I’m still a child—I haul into the fire,

Ignorant wretch.

We live a part of a global economy, where inclusivity and transparency criticize, perfect.

I can’t stand the critics, I cry, ******!,

Condemn them to death by a thousand cuts,

Slicing and dicing, I can hear their silent pleas,

They speak to me, You are loved, Let your family in, Please stop

Please please please stop please stop stop stop speak to please stop speak to me

Horrible hungry faces, they don’t cry as I peal skin from bone,

With shards I crush those voices, with glass, broken mirrors,

Me to speak stop please to speak stop stop stop please stop please please please  

Break down the walls,

why should you die before your time?
An open market is prone to crisis,

These newcomers, it only takes one to break your heart.

Things with merit are gems; scarcity creates value.

Enjoy the labour of love and life, it is a gift of God,

Dance under pixel skies, they **** pride, ****,

Open the floodgates, the dictatorship crumbles and crumples under the weight of these tired eyes

That see light rushing out from the cell window as visions and vicissitudes

A cry from the streets outside

The end is nigh, Night is coming!

One cannot sleep with starry skies in the eyes.

Stay awake, because the guards are coming,

Remember—you are to be tried for warcrimes, hail.

You and me, we can shuffle off this mortal coil, our self slaughter a mere trifle

In this ocean of failed realties, as man to cosmos.  (All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.)

Cause this flesh to melt I beg,

Keep cutting, smaller pieces,

No, the sunrises, it’s ****** and orange,

Citrus, it burns in these wounds,

I feel pain, I feel, warm with this ambiance,

A jacket to prevent morning chill, breathing wisps,

I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to die,

I don’t I don’t now don’t don’t don’t no I don’t want to leave no leave me

Wait!—


(Feb 7 2016)

Through the centuries, ecclesiastical types have called poets deviants and inferred we would burn in Hell for our heresy. I've often wondered what the rhymes of a condemned poet might look like...*


#1
The serpent got
a ***** wrap
as well as did
the Jews
And if you read
between the lines
you won't believe
The news

#2
As I'm not
a Christian
I think it
quite odd
That I should
be punished
by a biblical
God

#3
God the father
and his boy
appear to find
the greatest joy
deciding who
will sing or fry
in pits of Hell
or Heaven’s sky
Me thinks I’d
rather burn in Hell
for truth be told
I don't sing well
Besides in Heaven’s
realm I hear they’ve
put a ban on wine
and beer

#4
Scribbled notes
on wrinkled pages
offer up my
rants and rages
To the gods
both big
and small
who really
don't exist
at all

#5
Going to Hell
is not my intention
For Hell I believe
is your little
invention
Ingeniously
Crafted for
scaring the
masses
By threatening
Flame if they
don't kiss your
*****.

#6
Such a simple
happenstance
No books to
study true
No condemning
sermons from
the everlasting
Jew
And since
His love
is only for
the chosen
and the few
I think I'll pass
on Sunday Mass
I've better things
to do

#7
Galileo’s castrated
brilliance shackled
to an empty cross
as demonic paramours
burn in the city square

#8
Rest assured
the herd will
follow the absurd
proclamations’
and the institution's
philosophical solution
to the daily grind
that binds us all
to this stalled
morality we
have mistaken
for God

#9
'Peace on earth
and love thy neighbor'
Cried the man with
cross and saber
Even as he slaughtered
millions for the crime
of pagan birth

#10
Cups and saucers
filled with gold
but not a cent
may we behold
for we are not
among the few
selected by the
ancient Jew

A tavern built on misdeeds and insurrection,
House of rascals, whisky and imperfection
A hideaway for rebels and racketeers,
Where drinks are served to outlaws and mutineers,
Where the pianist plays for pirates and privateers,
Where the wicked and the wayward can be served,
And are respected however undeserved.

It’s a rag-tag bunch of outlaws and anarchists,
A cavalcade of rough revolutionists,
So come on in my dear insurrectionist,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

Come and join our banished battalion,
Join our cause, oh revered rapscallion,
So calling out to nature’s abominations,
We’ve got bourbon, bombshells and indignation,
Come and wait for imminent and sure damnation,
No matter what your deviance may be,
Come and join the drunken reverie.

It’s a monument to lost souls and deviants,
A shrine to every small disobedience,
A riotous, cathartic experience,
Where radicals are safe from reprimand,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

Welcome back, my worshipped renegade,
To the place where freedom’s sweet as lemonade,
Where skanks and outlaws, sing so intoxicated,
The anthem of the unkempt and agitated,
The mantra of the evil and of the hated,
Laughing as they sing their merry tune,
Unified by their impending doom.

It’s a testament to chaos and anarchy,
A haven for the worst of humanity,
A house of lawlessness and profanity,
Welcome to our lawless little band,
Welcome to the Tavern of the ******.

I talk deviant to the deviants
and the deviants don’t like it

they like their unifroms pressed
they like their hums made of silence
and drunk was the wine of the iris

even their licks flee in patience from it all

shadows move low
where nothing collects

the face
behind it
where holograms go into the future

they came
slurred and darkened
angry and
with a tinge of indigence  
let me see those clothes
i pointed to the pile
on the quilt that the ex made
dig through it
i murmured
and i sank
deep within myself
though 20's era deviants kept me
above the "sunk" place

on her side
completely silent
on mine raucous
but i can identify with donning
the drab of a different era
he said as he wrote
and looked at his phone

there is nothing about us static
nothing that keeps us from
killing ourselves only to be revived
in a brand new era
or moment of slight significance

i perform this act in times legion
dressing to impress
or to convey honest slovenliness
or power
or amorousness

this task
these efforts
can never be realized
attempting transubstantiation fails
and its motive with it

with jeans and a white tee
i am this one
lonely
lost
lingering
limitless

by all means
take all my clothes
ties and suspenders too
i have what im wearing

I want to find those liars
That call themselves statesmen
And smack their faces
And take by the country’s *****
Because they have stolen
The innocence of every one of us
And pushed us off a cliff
In their ******* conservative bus.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

It’s the work of the devil
To behave the way they do.
Doesn’t seem to be an end
To the crap they put us through.
They are minions of evil
Paid to make our lives worse.
I would push the magic button
And make it happen in reverse.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

There is something wrong
That they outgrew any conscience.
They point the finger at gays
But really, they are the deviants.
They re-wrote the holy books
So they come out the winner
And the rest of our country
Ends up as the dog’s dinner.

Tap, tap, slap, slap
Kick them in the ****.
Tap them, slap them
I will tell you what.
Beat them, cheat them
Show them how it feels.
Bounce them, trounce them
Knock them off their wheels.

Malign Shadows Lurk in Darkness
Sanctioned Souls Condemned and Heartless
Deviants of the UnHoly
Destroyers of Light
Cursed Phantom Death hunting DayLight
Slaves of Perdition, Martyr and Chaos reigns High
Trapped and Cursed to Consume Light
Wicked and Lustful Users of Darkness
Satan Consumer of Souls Hungry for Holy Light
Abandoned Souls seeking Forgiveness
Relentless Spirits Confined in Emptiness
Soulless Harlots Lost in Darkness
Seeking Petition from Your Royal Highness...

Free. Not free
Our speech taken
Lies upon lies
Deviants, narcissists , mentally unstable

Make a decision or don't
Be fair
Don't rob the poor
This working class hero, tattered forlorn

With ya big flashy car
And ya stupid big house

Greedy, unflumoxed with no sense of guilt

Robber.  Thief.  Politician !

****** castanets -
Floors sprinkled with shrapnel
Under the dancer's skirt -
A broken guitar
Holding a flaccid hand
Midstrum
In it's hollow mouth -
Scattered sheets of unedited poems
Stained with spattered flecks of brain -
Broken bottles
In puddles of Chartreuse and Campari
Congealing onto corpses
Slouching at the bar -
Jackboots kicking the viscera from their path -
Searching for a poet's mortal coil
So it can be shuffled
Into the pyre of ideologues and deviants
Protecting the oppression of this fleeting order.

On the top floor, outside the racket.
Slamming the wasted door.
Queue of men wanting more.
In the flat at the back one of two.
Where the air flowed dank and language blue.
Twelve feet by eighteen.
The ladies kept manacled in order to score.
Rustled from the bus in a hurry, after which, their dignity's left.
A super holiday, promised a gratis gift.
Collared and chained.
Shot up to the sky.
The ladies kept manacled in order to score.
By a friend, an imperious, imposer.
Not a cool guy.
Remuneration nothing for their suffering at the hands, of ****** deviants.
A slave to desire, captured in *******.
(C) Livvi

Deviants we are who gathered at this square table,
Dancing and cheering with the elixirs of intoxication,
I stopped and smelled the fresh air,
There was an abundance of it

A parade passed by for the eyes of the able,
A parade of beautiful shapes,
Surrounding a malady,
A deadly lady, the Bella Donna,
With her dilated pupils and seductive looks,

They witnessed a deadly parade,
Everyone met with the deadly nightshade,
And they kissed her for luck,
And plucked her ripe fruits,
And hallucinated with her,
This was a tale of the dead,
And they would never see daylight

Fools who consumed nature's toxic,
They met the lovely 'belladonna',
They were after all, consumers of nature,
And now She consumes them back.

So here we are gathered in the rectangle plot,
The mood is somber under dark grey clouds,
A parade of lost souls under an earth lot,
I couldn't scream no more, as sand filled up my mouth,
I stopped and smelled the foul air,
Whatever that remained of it.
- Vijaya Balan © 2016

I feel the strands push through my scalp for blue skies
Grow up, grow tall, then steeple palm to palm
Praise the sun! but where's the sun?

Legend says it's there to reach for men with means
If love, if happiness, then just take a grip
Praise the sun! but where's the sun?

Preach goodliness like you've the throat, the road to heaven
Preach to us like you'll sell deviants the verse

Raise the men! but what's a man?
Praise the sun! that never burned.

I'm over. I'm over.
Been over all along.

Lawmen oversee the old day's hanging's,
Exit signs designed only for those who wear worn out tennis shoes,
Conquered,
Overcrowding as if only cattle can fit through!!!!

No salt nor pepper to design creation meals of home,
Fall is near,
Plumbings far to clogged,
Days passeth night,
As night begins to freight!!!

Wolves on the outside trade fur's with ferrel dogs!!!

Clenching of teeth siren off as oven's they bake,
They brew,
Country town folk with rod and ungodly staff they overtaketh and rule!!!!

Crises of all temptation,
Bleeders to readers,
****** deviants get out to put down their own indignations!!!

Desire all thou wilt,
Desiree's,
Empathies,
Chalkers, scoffers , doctors of deaths pill!!!

Read on,
Read on uneducated pillar,
For thy hooks art thy scrolls,
Thy eyeglasses maketh thou gnomes of such readings to bring thou thrillers!!!!!!

Fragrant destiny resistant to all microbial force,
Accusation's humbling,

Sovereignty is a mystery to us mortals!!!!

Dragon's slayed to stature founder's ditches of war dug out of centurion portals,
Wreaking architecture drawn out of mapped whirlpools lies,
Some groweth deathly,
Sweet talkers are refusing to trust their own worried minds!!!!

Black coated tuxedoed hosts delighting their own escapes,
Some window's stay open,
Some stay closed in the fortress,
This inescapable place!!!!!!

Tis,
This human landfill,
Dump,
Waste!!!!

Young reader’s lit is a lucrative gig;
Feeds slop to learner like waste to a pig.
We love to get them reading.   Ah . . . but what?
Such open-minded offal as would shut
The hallowed sluice of Wisdom in a blink.
Grand waste of authorship, paper and ink
Noble trees pulped, and presses run—for this?
Distasteful tales and messages that miss
By so far they ought never have been told
Let alone color-printed, bound and sold.
Grotesqueries and morbid cultural rot
Raw ugliness (intentional or not)
Drips forth from this modern infantile lit
For any reasonable end unfit.
Behold P.C. fluffery, ethnic vibes
(Half of it scribed by lost Israelite tribes)
Global fables for our brave new deviants
Multi Kulti nonsense; non-experience:
Mafupe’s New Ungwa, Tano Means Five
Sho-Sho Goes the Wira-Wira.  Such jive . . .
My, such juvenile literary news
Serving to propagate progressive views:
Tia Fulana the Red Agitator
Grand Dad’s a Genderqueer Instigator . . .
Frida: Surrealist Queen of Misfit Art
Smelly Joe’s Super-Duper Stinky ****
Pages that dribble like a sneeze-filled rag
Well-pitched witchery, spelled out by some hag:
Diego the Dinosaur Reads Karl Marx
Trani the Modern Mixed-up Kitten Barks
Volume on volume of frivolous trash
All New York Times-reviewed (for kiddie cash):
Zombies Want Candy, Jimmy Has Three Moms
Snot-fest For Sassy Sue (Special Ed Bombs).
Manga mediocrity, attention-span killers:
Useless mind-wasting library-fillers.
Humpy and Fluffy Hunt for Chocolate Eggs
Barrels of froth (more like the tepid dregs ?)
Squirrel’s Fall Harvest Festival Goes Nuts
(Death by a thousand cutesy bookish cuts):
Useless reams of mindless marketed waste
With effete tribute paid to vilest taste
A globalist ghetto hype-o-rama
Party that starts and ends with Obama;
Covers flush with myriad fake awards
Encouraging our failing culture towards
The darkened depths. And who should bear the blame?
Publishers who mutually stroke for fame!
Such propaganda aimed at your child
After being mocked, ought to be reviled.
To hail such shameful writing as diverse
Actually serves to achieve the reverse;
Revisionists (more like demons than elves)
Have loaded your local library shelves.
The smoldering wick of so-called children’s lit,
Foolish lamp of decadent light, unfit
To illuminate or to froth about
Thus wavers, flickers faintly, and goes out.

blessed are the fools
who call themselves fools
for others will call them wise

blessed are those who cry out to the world with stammering tongues
crouching aching and sweating
over endless lines of gibberish that fall like drum beats from the tips of their frantic pens
for they will be called Earnest

blessed are the ones who suffer withdrawals
dope-sick
shaking and sweating
desperate for a drink or a fix
for I will make them High indeed!

blessed are the ****** “deviants”
cast away by the “holy” as unclean
for they know that no man or woman may call unclean
anything that God has declared clean

Blessed are those who shake their fists in rage
at the heavens, cursing them
for they will dance in the pouring rain

Ego Storm
by Ryan P. Kinney

Do you see it coming?
There! On the horizon…
A selfish **** storm of pretension and superficiality.
It’s inevitable.
So why fight it.
Welcome to the Ego Storm.
----------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------------------------

I say unto the non-believer.
I am Ryan.
You have never known one like me,
Nor will you ever

I burn, I shine,
I flash so bright.
With every color of the rainbow,
But I do not sparkle.

You can’t stop me,
Or help me.
I am a sickness.
I am average,
But, Oh so much more.
I NEED to be different.
No matter the cost.

My thoughts are perpetually incomplete,
Ever evolving,
Never to be understood.
Like an alchemist,
I will make the ridiculous a reality.
Anything is possible at any time for no reason at all
Hell, Even I don’t understand me.

I am constantly unsure of who I am
But always confident and cocky that I am.
I am an adult child,
Never fully grown,
And I refuse to mature.

I never control my emotions.
I channel them.
And express them with color
I bleed liquid color.

I attack everything with a sharp tongue and a soft heart,
Pushing boundaries and pushing buttons.
I am sorry,
But not really

I will turn everything into a *** joke,
Because life is one big sensual sense experience
It is meant to be felt,
Not thought.
Created,
Not forced.

I’m in love with a fantasy.
Obsessed with an ex,
Who dared to leave me.
Romance in a dream.
An unfulfilled, unrequited devotion to the imaginary

My memories are my scarlet letter,
A crimson “A” for *******.
Sure, I’m a bit of a *******.
Pain is preferable to feeling nothing,
Experience is superior to the void.

I’ve witnessed the birth of beauty
Where others only see trash
I’ve created it.
I’ve also watched it wither and die.

I survive on the decadence of our society.
Your **** is my sustenance.
I turn nothing into something.
Then give it sweet oblivion in the hell of my dreams.

I am plugged in,
But only on the original analog connection.
I prefer the nuisances that inconsistency provides,
And refuse to let the tech think for me.
It is a machine.
You control it.
It does not control you.

I befriend, commiserate, and comingle with the dredges of society
The downtrodden, broken, abused, freakish,
Overlooked and underappreciated,
Geeks and intolerated deviants.

I force the shy to rise up and speak out,
To slice the crippling fear of looking foolish.
To prove the biggest fool among us,
May be the most brilliant.

The unpopular are my cool.
I love the weak and pathetic,
Just like me.
Equality through adversity and diversity.

All of you are pieces in the art that is my life.
Some are darker,
Some are brighter.

I will get inside you,
Around you and through you.
I will **** that which pleases me,
And **** that which does not.
But nothing more than your mind,
The most brutal tenderness you have ever had forced on you.

I will swear with one hand on my “Bible,”
With the sweetest foul mouth you will ever hear.
I laugh at the stupid,
And weep at the unintelligent

I will force you to know me,
And force harder for you to know yourself
I will take your words,
Make them stronger than you ever could
I shall throw the full weight of my genius behind them.

I will question everything,
And make you question yourself.
I will annoy you with a thousand “y’s,”
And swear out every other vowel.

I will make you give till your hands bleed,
And on occasion your ******.
I will challenge you to succeed.

Your clock is ticking.
So do it,
Or do me.
Too many are lost.
Go find yourself.
Or go **** yourself.
-------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------
I think,
Therefore I am Ryan.
I am better than anyone I have ever known.
As the clouds begin to part in my mighty presence,
I can see the only one I have ever truly known
Is myself…

Curbside with a loose *****,    
Can't spot any itch, I brought my list,
Bloodshot eyes belong to the illicit,
And this ****** knows his ****!

Inject, snort or light,
Whatever takes to make the climb,
More of myth than vagrant,
I had an appetite but was far from fried,  

Of plight and the antichrist
Judith's accomplice,
I’ve bartered martyrs for fixes,

Never a thief, money always came to me,
Never dropped to my knees to please,
That doesn’t mean I am decent being,

A ****** on the rise,
In infancy I opened my eyes,  
In my youth I chose to ride in fictitious skies,
****** not fried,
A mind abused when a thirst thrived,

Curbside with the socially derived,
Deviants dwelling under lamplights,
  
The bloodshot eyes of paranoia’s plight,  
To escape I'd die, but miss the high,
Beelzebub's waiting for me to arrive,  
My toxic mentally,
Has this bloodshot belligerent,
Absent of Providence,
Lusting at the fingertips,
Indulging beneath hips,

Not fried but ****** prime,
Extorting my existence,
Curbside strolls,
To tighten a ***** I loosened.

Reality turned cartoon
By imaginative creeps
Lost in solitaried room
Collapsed in by beasts

****** deviants,
Art in under the sheets
Whilst fathers cheating again
Mother sippeth on hard ale
Both making Lovers with other men!!!

Some claim truth in prophecy
Preaching on mounted steps
But the real prophet's Cameth and left
Now only biggots we haveth at best!!

Biggots who speaketh of change is here
As they chant it out by signs
Making themselves
Seraphim
Their fallen angels in disguise!!!!

I seeith in the misty terrace
A meager man lost his abode
Sleepeth with the hitchhikers
Makes drunken bars his home

But I giveth him a lift to God
Just takes one slight hand
To reacheth out
When he's in doubt
(Brotherhood of men)

See,

Man hath lost his way again
He's consumed by mortal goods
Forgotten all the truthful words
Moses spoke and others heard

Man's to busy making technology
His amour' and his best friend
The conflagration awaiteth him,
It's bound for renewal
And end!!!