Warning: Use dis list in context.*

You decide on which side you fall.

disappear
disregard
disaster
displace
disqualify
disrepair­
disturb
dissipate
disability
dispose
dismal
distribute
distrust
­disturb
discriminate
discuss
disdain
disguise
dishearten
disinher­it
disown
disparage
disagree
disgruntle
disclose
discolour
disput­e
disarm
discover
disassemble
disadvantage
disallow
dispossess
di­scontent
discontinue
disrespect
disincline
discomfort
disrepute
d­ishonest
disillusion
dishonor
dismiss
disobey
disjoin
disappoint
­discipline
discord
discern
discrete
disfigure
disconnect
disappro­ve
discharge
disbar
disease
discord
disfavor
disengage
disassocia­te
discipline
discount
disembody
displace
dissaray
disembowel
dis­combobulate
discredit
discourse
disentangle
disenfranchise
disemb­ark
discard
disburse
disbelief
discover
disable
disagree
disinteg­rate
dismay
dispense
dislodge
disclaimer
disapprove
dissatisfy
di­srupt
dispel
dislike
dismantle
disloyal
disbatch
disrobe
disperse­
display
disaprove
disciple
disavow
disconcert
disinfect
disorder­
dismal
dismember
displease
dissemble
disunity
dislocate
distort
­distrust
distress
dissolute
disassociate
distill
discect (?)
distemper
distain
distasteful
distraught
dissolve
dissonant
d­issuade

And dis isn't de end.

Sitting in the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
What guts are

Wondering does anybody
Fight for anything
Anymore?

Cause I don't see it

I see people walking past
Opportunity
Walking away from things
With ease
Cold feet
Treading cautiously
Feeding doubts fire
Going about Life so passively

But Hold up let's join a cause!

Direct our anger
Politically, racially,
at poverty and inequality
Donate some money
Rant constantly about
Overturning regimes
Then retreat back to apathy
Woe is me!

Bleeding hearts in their masses
Floating past me
In the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
what guts are...
And hearts
Cause no one has heart anymore

Where is the love?
Where is the passion?
The courage and the loyalty?
All Going about life so Half heartedly
And what can you do with half a heart?

Give it to Me

Cause as I'm sat here
Reading entrails like some gypsy
Passing judgement on you
A poor reflection on me

It seems I lost mine

So I embrace the pain
that migrates from
an empty chest to
A swelling stomach

Lift myself up from that gutter
And feel what guts are
Take half that heart
And see how far it'll take me...

**To make it whole

I think I'm okay.
My eyes are wide awake,
  as I lay in the place in which I chose to end my yesterday.

I feel as if I should be anxious,
  but I'm not, 'cause if I stop long enough to worry
  I may just leap from the ledge of this apartment building.

It sounds sorta thrilling...
  but I bet a million that my blood, and my teeth, and my bones on the street,
  are all very far from filling...
And if I made it alive,
  I wouldn't survive the outlandish hospital billing.

They keep telling me that everything will be alright.
I just wish that all rights didn't eventually turn into a left,
  because I'm sick of leaving things behind.

My two-sided mind is always changing.
I'm constantly re-arranging the furniture that is my thought process,
  and the room's a manic mess.

I have a pack of letters,
I have a pack of memories.
I could cut out the eyes of both.
I could wear them like a patchwork apron.
I could stick them in the washer, the drier,
and maybe some of the pain would float off like dirt?
Perhaps down the disposal I could grind up the loss.
Besides -- what a bargain -- no expensive phone calls.
No lengthy trips on planes in the fog.
No manicky laughter or blessing from an odd-lot priest.
That priest is probably still floating on a fog pillow.
Blessing us. Blessing us.

Am I to bless the lost you,
sitting here with my clumsy soul?
Propaganda time is over.
I sit here on the spike of truth.
No one to hate except the slim fish of memory
that slides in and out of my brain.
No one to hate except the acute feel of my nightgown
brushing my body like a light that has gone out.
It recalls the kiss we invented, tongues like poems,
meeting, returning, inviting, causing a fever of need.
Laughter, maps, cassettes, touch singing its path -
all to be broken and laid away in a tight strongbox.
The monotonous dead clog me up and there is only
black done in black that oozes from the strongbox.
I must disembowel it and then set the heart, the legs,
of two who were one upon a large woodpile
and ignite, as I was once ignited, and let it whirl
into flame, reaching the sky
making it dangerous with its red.

Decapitate, disembowel, tear and mutilate!
Schizophrenic!Psychedelic twisted mind!
Expedite, liberate, Alienate then recreate
Masonic!Prolific piece of mind!

Sabotage, besiege, flank to infiltrate!
Victorious!Strategic tyrannic mind!
Crucify, liquify, impale bleed them dry!
Torturous!Barbaric, sadistic mind!

Derange, insane, crazy and mental!
Hallucinating!Polysyllabic demented mind!
Disturbed, diabolic, vile and fatal!
Parasitic!Infected infested mind!

Rabbit, Rabbit, worn and weary at my parlor door
Come inside, sit by the fire, we’ll let tea spirits pour
They listen as we sip, they’ve never heard a rabbit howl.
But you’ve loved a wolf, and the wolf loved you
A rabbit who was on the prowl

Your lover wore the beast they made, of comets, dirt and fur
You drove fast cars
You fell through stars
You think it would all become a blur

Oh the places you two ran, the places you two crashed
A rabbit who danced through constellations
You two birthed solar systems when you clashed
You tell me of what you saw, the gods and their creations
The secrets that you made together, the heights you did ascend
And how this journey came and went to find its timely end

Because you lived an urban fantasy, in a world like a dream
Fantastic creatures in it teemed
Fantastic deeds and fantastic feats
Fantastic, eerie, dark lit streets.
For all its wonder, much like your lover,
It had as many teeth

And this is where a rabbit learned to growl
Grew sharp claws to disembowel
And on each other you left your marks
Be it lovely or be it ******
Both felt trepidation at the threat of sparks

So Howl, rabbit, who offered up your beating heart
Howl rabbit, who loved the prowling bard!
Tell your stories, weep into your cup
Nostalgia rocks you in her arms
Howl at those old once blazed skies
Howl about all of those pretty lies
Howl, divine heart break of harsh goodbyes

A thousand suns set on that day
The dream is done, or so you say
The things you crave, the things you made
These things you’ve done will never fade
The fauns of man have made their war
In the ballad of a love that is no more...

But you’re not a rabbit, and they weren’t a wolf
This was not a dream
I was there, and it was despair,
The story wasn’t as pretty as you made it seem
I’m glad it’s done, that you’re both free
I hope you did enjoy the tea
But make no mistake, I know your habit
They weren’t a wolf, and you’re not a rabbit

I don’t believe you.
There’s no way you could have
fended off those velociraptors
and their inter-dimensional captors
with a spork and a water gun.

No, you didn’t go into the matrix,
or find an heirloom of the Norse,
or find a cure for when your throat gets hoarse.

You most certainly did not bring forth
Satan with a glass-blown tuning fork
and those pictures you have are photoshopped.

A seismograph cannot detect a pulse
from that distance, you would have to be close,
so it did not help you defeat the devil,
which you’re undoubtedly making up as well.

You cannot throw marshmallows
into black holes, you would be crushed
by the gravity, far sooner than pushed
within marshmallowing range.

You did not ****, nor disembowel
a mutant roll of paper towel
nor did you invent the interrobang.

I wish you would just please quit trying
to convince me that you came back from dying
especially after you weren’t mauled by a bobcat.

You did not inject yourself with nanobots,
or anonymously author a Times Best-Seller
about the struggling wife of a poor bank teller.

Stop deluding yourself, Johnny, it was only a dream.
Son, go back to sleep.

Honey, I am vicious, I have teeth-sharp& and I foam at the mouth
sometimes my fingers shake too much when they lace with yours
(please, I hope you don't feel my claws grazing your palm)
and I spit fire into your mouth in a moment of osculation

you want me soft & pink with heaving *****,
but I am hard with serrated edges you'll disembowel yourself on
maybe I'll make a home in your guts, and burrow so deep
that I'll never be found, never ostracized again

& I will be sweet, sickly so like rotting fruit left out for weeks
but you will never smell the putrefaction
because honey masks vinegar, & I've caught so many flies
that I am a swarm of my own, engulfing you and every other man

and in the night, I will be at your doorstep, howling & panting;
a sirens call, feverishly waking you from your sleep
you will answer & let me warm your bed, coiling-a Lilith in heat
teeth will befriend flesh in the friendship of the century
&I; will let you take me fast&whining;, everything you desire,
girlish gasps meeting every bone bruising ******

you will never notice, as my flesh begins to split,
and I will still feel warm to the touch
      but it's only from your blood

I have discovered that my blocked nose
is not the reason I can’t smell roses.
The smell has been cut out of the genus
for the sanity of sensors on cargo airplanes.
What then, about my children and their’s,
when they discover old books for themselves
and ask questions about the smell of flowers?
About poetry, and the Nineteenth century?
How would I tell the tale of family Plantagenet,
with flags as dead as Lancaster and York?

This tragedy seems so terribly unfair when roses
are so much prettier than instruments on planes,
every petal a miniature piece of God’s own skin.

I need to walk down to the roadside florist if I can
get out of this sweaty blanket into this chilly weather
and find one of these ****** roses so I can dismember
its petals one by one. I must disembowel this litany if I can
she loves me, she loves me not, she wants me extinct
bred out of this world for convenience,
just like the forgotten smell of those roses.

The tragedy to be told is that women are not supposed
to be the main course in your life, the glorious bouquet of roses
that you set the table around. They are more like condiments
to an existence already charmed, but if the ketchup has gone rotten
it tends to put a damper on how everything tastes and everything smells,
I can’t smell the flowers and there are too many forks.

I wish I had a reason
to throw it in your face
          stab you to death with it
and put you in your place.

I wish you were filled with reason.
                         I would disembowel your thoughts,
            tear them to ******
                        oozing pieces,
but they’re already mush.

                      I wish there was a reason
you bashed me so with Nonsense,

             **** it— like cheating on your wife—
                                                           and say
                                                           by The Word,
that’s how I live my life.


I wish you’d see reason
             so I wouldn’t have to hack,
                                   smash and splatter,
cackle

rip and tear to get you back


to reality
waiting in the lobby.
A nice one, with magazines and plastic plants,
a fish tank filled with generous grants. A receptionist
with bleach blonde hair, a friend or two
who wouldn’t care that you’d gone crazy
and play it off, like you were joking.

this is worse than i thought it would be.this is harder than i thought.
i ******* know i should accept myself but its hard not to believe im broken
when the only model for happiness includes no room for me,
i don't want to be selfish.
sorry for forcing myself into a life never made for me.
i understand you don't care when i find it hard to breathe.
im choking to death and you just want me to hold your hand
while you breathe into a paper bag.
i'm not your friend, im your comfort object.
i want you to care that im in pain.you told me you love me.
you told me im too good to be true.
you like me the same way you like your coffee: sugared;
drowned in milk so you dont taste the bitter.
:it all feels so one-sided: you said,
:i tell you everything.why dont you ever tell me anything:
:i want to help you:
:like you help me, i feel so useless:
i cried and you pretended you didnt see.
you are a sorry excuse for a friend.you are selfish.if i told you i feel like im dissolving
youd ask if this means i love you.
youre corrosive.youre sulfuric acid and i never should have let you inside of me.
god ******* ******.im tired of writing about you.you make me feel unlovable and broken.
there are bones in the backyard of my childhood home.
there are eight rosebushes to choose from and i grew up
scratching myself ****** on the branches.
you like to disembowel anyone who makes me feel loved and when i try to fix myself you ask
why im abandoning you.
its always the same ******* thing.
its always the same thing.you're always crying and im always biting my cheek.
im always lonely and youre always kissing my neck.
its always the same.

I will love you after-wars
I will love you before-wars
I will love you during-wars

7th grade: ESL class...
I thought afterwards was “after-wars”
it wasn't until I took English 101 that I learned the proper spelling/meaning of this word
meanwhile I constructed a whole theory as to the origin/definition of such word:

such word according to the carlito's little immigrant dictionary is used to describe that time in which one is fatigued by so many battles, fights, skirmishes, attacks, abuse... and begins to see and feel all things around in a slow but certain process of apacigüe
that very moment in which one feels the cool air caressing each wound, each bitter memory.
Like a teaspoon full of honey after coughing to the point of bleeding.
The moment in which the universe seems to have mercy of/on the oppressed: when grandma's hoarse singing and laughter suddenly emanated and filled our hearts with a sense of peace after-wars:

Guadalajara en un llano
Mexico en una laguna
me he de comer esa tuna
aunque me espine la mano

during-wars: our time, in the middle of societal scrutiny. See? They don't seem to care much at sight, yet their thoughts of exclusion tend to disembowel us, hang us in public and use us as examples of what can happen when you bend or brake the rules. Yet it is not hate but love that can save us... and them. You and I, by practicing this horrendous act of resistance called “amor” are in fact saving the world, or at least diminishing the painful moments.

And one day, I promise you we will touch the stars... after-wars.

Cats make me laugh, the selfish gits,
They prowl through life, not taking ****,
We humans are just staff, to them,
Our independent feline friends,
Standoffish, surly and downright rude,
Very fussy with their food,
They change their minds just like the wind,
Very often gourmet food is binned,
And then they stalk into 'their' house,
And disembowel some poor mouse,
There is one thing you must never oughta,
Try to wash your cat in soapy water,
The outraged cat will then go wild,
You will then know the devils child,
On the coldest the winter nights,
Cat approaches, purring, right?
Jumps on your lap with kneading paws,
But one false move, you'll feel their claws,
You can never ever own a cat,
They own you, now that's a fact,
Our intelligence they have surpassed,
They've worked out how to lick their ****,
One thing deserves a generous pardon,
They at least crap in neighbours gardens,
I cannot help respect these beings,
I'd never wish to hurt their feelings,
And so I for one will doff my hat,
Towards our Royal highnesses , the cat.

i am waiting for a lobotomizing love,
to disembowel my mind
to erode my bones
to scoop out my insides with shaking hands,
lifting them to the light, i will not be reborn

debilitating, primal instincts and i
am waiting for a lobotomizing love

we don't live in times
likened to a nearby 1cm off
renaissance painters
with patrons as noble as the popes,
we live in times where
free art flows, free art as free
among starving people,
as free as sea water, as free
as candlesticks among electric
shrapnel sparks, in a time
when no bothersome brine
of full-time takes the telescope
to see more stars that are plentiful
already to eden's sacrifice of nakedness
(sign-of-the-cross missing crucifix blaspheme
all authority);
we live in times where no complete
artist exists, instead artists with
full-time jobs tying them down
to originally stated profession for a
date (lawyer, surgeon, chemist, etc.)
& ****... art has become 2nd grade karaoke
if no worse hara-kiri would-be sway of
a forgotten decapitation - of a disembowel'ed satyr
when a martyr would do a due icon for the
urban and shrinking wheat field arable populace
kneeling;
in st. petersburg i was told to stand up
when listening to a choir,
once in catholic school i yawned during our father
and was held in detention for an hour,
then paddy came along and said: martin luther -
so i said sweden in suede and it became the origin
of quebec: came the rain of applause.

She is a bird in a cage that you keep,
whose songs you ravage and reap.

But she is a silent, catastrophic storm;
she will requite, and destroy your form.

Until your own ashes and dust you adorn,
and to your bones, your flesh is torn—

bare flesh, bearing every sin and desire,
and in her claws, these she will acquire.

The bird will abandon her feathers and skin:
she is the aethon, and she will soon begin to disembowel you and devour everything;
while you shriek, she will laugh and sing.

Against your empty vessel, each fiery kiss sears,
and her mocking cries echo in your hollow ears.

Your birds chant to the rhythm of your torment:
"For your stolen fire, you will atone and repent."

A perfect synapse to this ecology.
To this drone.
To this end game night.
When all tranquil hits at the same quantum.
This time piece of us is forever as we sit above skyline in the ether.
Clouds hold us like tombstones, in their clutch as earth.
I expose you to my inner bastion of thought and you accept. You agree to love.
The environments perfect for the crispness of night.
The crisp clarity of the night and shadow.
On this grave dug dirt, we set higher than any scraper of sky.
We are at the belly of the beast ready, to disembowel the tyrant.
We no longer are two but in sync and hold all power, beauty, and aesthetic measure.
The tide eats us into its stomach, where we protect fortune.
In the end it's that one person.
That one keepsake when we die.
Our last thought besides ourselves in our heart and mind.
Our final passion.
Now tell me that’s not dying together.

Ghoulish faces in the dark
trick or treat?
fireworks what a lark,
dogs that bark
cats that howl
the reaper comes to disembowel.

Halloween,
last year you should have seen what fun that some of us boys engineered, pumpkin eyes on scarecrows tied to roman candles, we flew them through the sky, ate the pumpkin pie, treats and sweets and tricks galore, we always wanted more and more.

But last year was the last year passed the point of shed a tear for trick no treat for me, she said, no more fun and games for you,
it's time to take responsibility for what you do,
I see, said I, no more pumpkin pie or eye or scarecrows flying through the sky,
I lie
of course I'm going trick and treating eating sweets and three sheets to the wind down at the dog and duck I'll pick up the pluck to phone her and with my fingers crossed and one more double whiskey tossed down deep
she'll answer and I'll keep it low, tell here where to go and then regret it instantly,
no more Halloween for me.

gather sins while your victims turn
above their grave
while sounds of slime emit from ******* grime
but recall
a sinister rabid entranced wind
is waiting over the horizon
and will not be hesitant
to disembowel your grinning ***
while you feast now on other living beings
and oh, you had your fun!
You will see once come
after your light turns out
the suffering
of eternal
heat.

she smiles a bit of me dies inside
she laughs
she cries
a bit of me still cries inside

tears don't shed
so i get tattoos of them on my face
from my eyelids where the water once bled
these inked drops now take their place

i hear to **** is bad
to detain
and disembowel
is a tad worse

for my mind is my greatest gift but it may
also be my most frantic curse.

I've pondered on whether or snot Sun Tzu
was psychopathic. Sun Tzu might've been a
good man and a bad man strange variant of serial killer/Apex Prime Exterminator within
his theories and experiments.
Every successful contemporary military, government, politician, global health advisory control panel, corporation, and CEO practices The Art of War.

Sun Tzu added a trident to each prong of
the pre-existing "Three-Pronged Approach". Instead of there being three main paths and results only, there were now many possible combinations and results, especially when
Dark Sun Tzu added a trident to each of the
expanded 9 prongs for 27 possible results,
then did that again for 72 possible results
that can be arrived at from many possible
combinations and pathways.

The fork is an often primal, psychoapathic thrusting force—a thrusting force of nature
on many levels of instinct, natural Earth laws
and universal laws, and sociopsychology—
the fork is code, icon, symbol, archetype,
metaphor, Meta, in parallel with the trident,
unsheathed sword, the thrusting ***** *****
and hypodermic needle:

Hypo dermis: beneath the skin:
Ancient Greek etymological root that moves
through Latin and Auld English, from deeper
symbology and metaphor, to the technocratic
medical and clinical, to a chrome or chrome
plated hypodermic needle.

The most maniacal journey and result within Sun Tzu's expanded and multiplied "Three-Pronged Approach" is to use heavy
psychological direction to assist the enemy to disembowel itself before your feet while the enemy believes that you're reaching down as friend to help it. The enemy believes that
you're a saviour who is offering it a cure-all healing apple. The "apple" cuts through the enemy's belly. Now convulsing in pain on the ground, the enemy believes that you're a benevolent angel reaching down to help as the enemy pulls out its bowels onto the green grass, with greasy, slickened hands.

Trident. Forked Tongue. Snake in the grass.
Apple. Belly of the Beast. Snake bite: The
chrome fangs of the one-eyed technocratic
serpent on the Rod and on the Staff. That

was later adapted into Marxist, ****,
and Democratic medical practices on the national and corporate levels, and on international levels within foreign diplomatic agendas: Get the enemy to **** and/or sicken
itself within the belief that its actions are
saving itself, loved ones, and free society.
When Sun Tzu's momentum is used, an
intended target enemy can send Sun Tzu
orbiting back around in various forms and
forces that are usually far worse and forceful
than its previous forms and applications.

The enemy cries out for, begs on its knees for, the medicine.

"Ask and thou shalt receive."

The enemy dispenses the medicine to its offspring, enforces the absorption of the medicine, crawls back to its hive of maggots
to dispense the medicine

on its last dying breath.

Many people misunderstood the implications of "Flatten the curve". For how many more centuries will the cycle of not quite "normal" and not quite "novel" continue? Will the adults ever understand the fairy tales.
Vatican Witches and Federal Government
poison that need to be burned and purified
in their own fire. Good Cop/Bad Cop politics and The Welfare State breaks the family,
steals the bread crumbs, and the children
are lost in the woods again, hooked on candy and Federal Government endorsed dope.

It's amazing, aside from the miracle of Earth and life, I finally believe in miracles: A person can read a story 10,000 times and fail to apply it when needed most of all.

The blood lust, the parasite disembowel in me, is dying to
your every *****.
Incision of your inside
out with precision
will be my entropy.

Oh!! The bullets gone.
Now you will feel the pain.
I will wear a smile
as you go through
excruciating pain,
your screams will be music
to my ears.

Tie u to the wall,
cut off your tongue,
sew your charming eyes
stitch your ******* mouth
you *****, you'll be
deprived of sleep
pain will be your constant companion.
I loved u so much that you have left me with nothing
but a state, state of
walking dead
i hope your conscience eats you away.

What am i supposed to say, when the best part of me was Always you..

why didnt i **** me
when i had the chance
bottles upon bottles
of ****** weapons
to ruin a life
or take it all away
why didnt i **** me
when i had the chance

i hope these pills take it all away
one for you, one for me, the other 33
for all the words i couldn't say
here is my epilogue, i hope
you read it

maybe they should have put me in the hospital
when they had the chance
maybe i'm just meant to be a patient
sleeping in the morgue
disembowel me with your finest of tools
i'm not sure my organs
are quite worth it
anymore

I got revenge but it was a hollow victory.
Instead of getting pleasure, it horrified me.
Last year, a man ***** and murdered my little sister.
The pain is unbearable and I sure have missed her.
That punk got off because he was related to the Kennedys.
His underhanded lawyer convinced a jury to set him free.
When he came home last week, I used a knife to disembowel him.
I leapt out from behind some bushes and his death was grim.
I thought his death would make me feel really good.
But killing him didn't please me like I thought it would.
It shocked and horrified me, I feel even worse than I did before.
What I'm feeling on the inside is just too much for me to ignore.
I'm going to turn myself in no matter what punishment it brings.
I've learned the hard way that revenge isn't a good thing.