I feel cold in every tiny vein!
In every second, every part of me is deprived from life!
As if the Hope I had with Love being euthanize!
I won't feel the warmth anymore!
                           I won't feel Myself or My Heart anymore!
                                      I've been discharged from....
                                                       Life!

The only patience we had for belibers was spent in a quick game of operation and listening to the music their god produced, who may I mention is the age of *******. Let me be clear Justin Beiber the death of your belibers was no accident actually it was a genocide. Our purpose was to take out your dooncoff belibers and believe us it worked since your here to see them go 6 feet under beneath us. Don't get jealous cause you're next, yes this is a eulogy but low key this is a meeting on taking you out. First we take out the army now we moving onto the commander slash general. we're going to assassinate you, my bad that implies you're famous, we're going to euthanize you put you down like a dog but its not going to be a one and done shot, naw, ima have more arms on stand by like a centipede using the 2nd admendment to the fullest extent of the law , my bullets will be hitting on you so much that you will think they was flirting with you just like start of your euthanized dooncoff belibers club.

According to my mom and dad, when I was little, I used to say that I wanted to be a garbage truck driver. Yeah, I know — literally dumping trash and pumping gas isn’t something a typical four-year-old girl wishes to grow up to do. It impressed me how the men rode, clinging onto the back end of the truck, pushing buttons to crush the unwanted goods to dust. Although I am sure it would have been more appropriate for a young lady to look up to Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, I looked up to those men because they appeared fearless and strong. I never really liked the “girly” things my parents and sisters gave to me. In fact, when Barbie smiled at me through a plastic window, I took her out, tore her head off and threw her body to the dog. I should have loved the color pink and liked the smell of daisies; I didn’t. I was ridiculed for hating both and told I shouldn’t be so different.
When I turned six, my grandpa gave me a book about prehistoric beasts. I couldn’t read well, but I liked the pictures and the long words with plenty of strange letter combinations. Words like “pterodactyl” and “brachytrachelopan” fascinated me, and made me feel exceptionally intellectual just to know how to pronounce them (even if I did so poorly).  When asked, I proudly responded, “I want to be a paleontologist when I grow up!” Adults praised me for being so intelligent at such a young age, and I felt special. But one day, I learned that bone diggers don’t make much money. So, I changed for a few extra thousand dollars a year.
By the age of eight, I decided I wanted to become a veterinarian because that’s what my best friend wanted to be. She loved animals and said we should help them because they can’t help themselves. I took a bite of the pie graph, “Occupations Wanted By Children.” It tasted bland and watered down but it made me normal to want that for myself—even if it wasn’t my own dream. My friends and I babbled about having every species imaginable for pets and loving them more than Romeo loved Juliet. But when my mom told me that I might have to  euthanize animals, the pie tasted a lot more ****** going down. I decided I should search for another job.
Around twelve, I started writing a journal. I named it “Joyful” because that’s what I felt the best emotion was and wrote in it occasionally during my sixth grade year. The pages were cluttered with names of boys I had crushes on and i’s dotted with hearts. I modeled my naivety through my entries but it was motivating how I could see my style and thoughts developing over time. My entries went from “I love the sky!” to “When a cloud drifts just in the right position next to the sun and makes that golden ray, I feel as if God’s finger is pointing down to a specific thing he created and saying to us on Earth, ‘Hey, see that thing over there? Yeah, I made that and it’s beautiful. It deserves respect.’”  I have smashed windows in the writing process and let in drafts of fresh ink. I am aware that being a writer in most cases makes a person financially deprived, but that won‘t affect my aspirations. Writing has been my dream since sixth grade and even now I know I’m not perfect but at least I’m pushing myself to be better. I’m changing for me.
No matter how adamantly I’ve tried or how much I realize that writing is sometimes harder than brain surgery, I don’t seem to slice it out of my life. Societal success is measured in dollars but if dreams had monetary value and salary was how badly a person wanted to make that dream come true, I would be paid more green than the Earth has blades of grass. I shouldn’t have to explain to people why I don’t want to be a garbage man or a paleontologist or a veterinarian, or why I don’t want to live by their popular choices. For all I know, I could be the best waste manager that ever had the pleasure to take away last week’s paper. I could strike it rich by discovering a billion-year-old algae. I might save the next Lassie or Winn Dixie. It isn’t up to other people to decide what I want to be when I grow up (if I ever decide to). Instead, I’ll write in spite of everyone else — for the ones that didn’t follow their dreams and strived for physical wealth. If I am to be paid in blades of grass, I will live. And I will die knowing I am one of the few to see a such a gorgeous, glistening, green meadow.

Release me from this hell hole
Of feelings not yet felt
Of words not yet said
Of people not yet met
Of relationships too soon set

Release me from this hell hole
I beg of you, please
I cannot sit here and listen
To the petty problems of
Society. Especially when they
Fall out of my mouth.
How could I be affected
By crap that has no meaning?
Why do I pretend that any of this
Will matter in the end?
Why am I so ignorant of
The life I should be living?
How could I take part in being
A normal teen, when that right
Was taken at birth?

There are issues and problems
And then there is my life.
The embodiment of disappointment,
My life serves the perfect example
Of what happens when cultures are
Mixed by the hands of inexperienced
Adults, that think they know best.

After My Little Black Dog Died of Melanoma.
After the Lumps on Her Small Brittle Body Slowly
Burned to a Pile of Ash in the Vet’s Office.  After My Step-Father
Drove in His Ostentatious Truck to Pick Up Her Remains.  After I Cried
in My Dorm Room and Tried Not to Wake My Roommate.  
Realization that My Loss Does Not Make Me Different.  There Are
Graveyards That Span For Miles and They Are Filled With More
Dead Bodies Than I Have Ever Seen.  There Are Hundreds of
Thousands of Children in the Foster Care System That Have
Never Met Their Parents or Maybe They Did and it Just Didn’t Work Out.
Kids Who Might Have Lived With Their Terminally Ill Parent(s) For Years
Not Just Days.  Kids Who Never Sat in the Opened Up Trunk of Their
Mother’s Black Nissan Pathfinder at the Drive-In Movies.  Kids Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Old Grandparents or Who Lived Too Far From Their Too Dead Grandparents.  Kids Who Were Never Told Not to Throw Snowballs Because There Might be Big Chunks of Ice in Them.  Kids Who
Never Had a Childhood Dog to Cry Over.  Kids Who
Don’t Like to Read Because They Were Never Read
Bedtime Stories When They Were Younger.  Kids Whose
Mothers Never Called Them Tweetie or Pumpkin or Honey or ***.  
Kids That Were Not Told to Just Go to the Bathroom When
Their Tummies Hurt Instead of the Health Room.  Kids Who Never
Listened to the Spice Girls’ Album Spice World on Cassette on the
Way to the Store.  Kids Who Never Got a Peach Drink Out of a Vending Machine at the Pick’N’Save on 27th  Street and Still Don’t Know
Exactly What 50¢ Peach Drink Their Mother Bought For Them.  
There Are Thousands of Dogs Euthanized Each Day Because of
How Sick They Are or Because They Were at a Shelter For Far Too Long
or Because They Are a Pitbull or a Rottweiler or Some Other
Irrationally Feared and Disliked Dog Breed.  We Didn’t Euthanize My
Stage-Four-Cancer-Stricken Dog or Even Get Her Treatment Beyond
Pain Medicine Because We Were Selfish.  We Do a Lot of Things Because
We Are Selfish.  We Waited Five Days to Pull the Plug on My Vegetable
Mother Because We Were Waiting For a Miracle That We Knew Would
Never Happen Because She Stopped Breathing the Moment the
Aneurysm Burst.  My Sister is Getting Married in June and My
Grandfather is Going to Walk Her Down the Aisle in My Mother’s
Place.  My Grandparents Had to Move In With My Sister After My
Grandmother Fell Down Too Many Times and Didn’t Take Her Health
Problems Serious Enough.  There Are Repercussions For Thinking
You Are Safe When You Are Really Not.

He left this place just so he'd never have to look into his own eyes again.
I'd leave this place just so I can look into his eyes again.

I remember being small
The adults were in charge
They knew what they were doing

If something made me sad
It was going to be okay
If I was mad
I got told to calm down

I was stubborn
I fought
I resisted
But I listened

It took becoming a parent
To understand
You don't know what the ******* are doing either
Even though you might know a little bit more

The worst day of my life back then
Was if my bike tire was flat
Or my videogame wouldn't work
If I didn't get my way,
I would selfishly act like a ****

Being a child and innocent
Slipped out of our fingers
At a speed we couldn't stop
Never seeing the picture for how big it really was

My first role in being an adult
Was having my first dog
And taking it for walks

You have to take a **** at 2AM?
Sure, why not?
I will take you out
Because you are my friend

The love I felt for this dog, and friend
Was put to the test
When it was hit by a cab
My choice to euthanize
My friend, her end

I joined the army
Only a year or so after
And became a father somewhere in the mix

I've always treated my son
Like a future man
Not telling him what he can't
But what he can

I understand the pain of being a parent now
But I accept this blessing as something true
I wouldn't trade it for the world
Would you?

Drown Cincinnati, drown!
We sang from the balcony,
Give up your blood and sweat and be cleansed!
And as they drowned below they called to me for help,
But I'm sorry brothers, I have looked in to the gaping jaws of Hell and I cannot go back!
Euthanize your idols, burn your high fashion statements!
Build a bonfire of your vanities!
Your ancestors ***** the Native American people and now you bear their graven image on your T-Shirt
Oh but how they were HOLY
Holy is the slogan sewed in to the denim
Holy is anarchist ideal held together by safety pins and hairspray
Nursing at the breast of punk's decrepit corpse,
You read the eulogy, screamed "Anarchy in the UK!"
In to the microphone
Although you never left American soil

This loveless shell
Has
no pulse,
Just an ache.
Has
no emotion,
Only time.
No more friends.
No desire.
Countless scars.
Left in howling night,
infinitive.
Stripped.
Anonymous.
Wanting.
I'm not
afraid to die.
But mercy terrifies.
Euthanize
this wounded beast.


I am a ghost in your wake.

Maybe we were meant to drift apart,
Maybe you were meant to taste something sweeter.
And maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to be all bitter.

Maybe I was meant to watch people fall,
Maybe I was meant to write it down.
Maybe I was meant to stay right here,
Maybe I was meant to feel so down.

And maybe it wasn't meant for me to touch love,
Or touch hearts, or veins.
Maybe it was meant for them,
So I could observe it and tell the difference.

Now it's all ****** up,
I was meant to grief for all that I've wasted.
I was meant to notice that there's no chance for me to win it,
I was meant to **** the person in the past full of happiness.
I was meant to be lonely.
Alone, Dark, Blue.
Whatever it is, I'm just sad
Or something more.

But maybe that's not it,
Maybe you're not the last.
Maybe I could still have a chance,
Maybe cupid still got his plans.
Maybe it was still the right decision,
Maybe the decision was for you to taste more,
To taste something better.
Maybe it was for you to evolve from a mud into a gold.
And maybe it was also for me,
For me to end what I've been destroying.

No!
It is not you who I've been trying to euthanize.
It was me all along,
You've received your freedom.
You've told me that I am forgiven.

Maybe,
Just maybe..
It's time for me to forgive myself,
And share my deepest ******* affection again.

April showers
bring with them atomic flowers,
strewn about Elena’s hair,
her forest painted
the colors of Red Square.
Children play in the fun zone
where radiation particles
are active and windblown,
forming flakes on rosy cheeks,
floating down toxic creeks.
The smell of graphite burning in a kiln
makes the nostrils flare,
what’s this metallic taste in the air?

Clouds drift over weddings
and Ferris wheels,
rain falls black and surreal.
Mother goes about her routine
humming dirges like a godless fiend.
36 hours to figure the science,
past time to evacuate
a city in brisk silence.
Brides scream and children cry,
from the fall-out they mummify.
Pripyat’s dying metropolis
they euthanize and lay to rest
in a sarcophagus.

And atop her shallow grave,
deep within the exclusion zone,
sit the sickened stems
and decaying fragrance
of nuclear flora over bone.
Here in the jackal's sanctum,
a capsule car on the lifeless
pleasure wheel
swings like a pendulum,
over a wooded lot with not a soul in sight,
only fresh morbid blooms
that glow in the night.

I'm tired of kicking this horse. Its already dead. It can't hear me yelling anymore. You all know I hate this horse because I kicked it to death. I kicked it to death because it refused to take me to the destination on my map. I realized that it couldn't take me anywhere because it had no eyes but it also had no will to follow my direction. My eyes are quite good and make up for the weaker parts of my body. So I jumped off and began kicking it. I kicked it for a long time but it would have died anyway on its own because it had no eyes and would have wandered off into the ocean and drowned eventually. In a way, this horse may have been already dead.

But like any good (very bad) story (?) it was all a dream.

I only fantasized about kicking my blind horse to death. When I fell asleep (dreaming about kicking my horse to death), it wandered off. I looked over to see it it standing in the water. The water was up to its neck. I think it must have fallen somehow. What kind of dumb horse would walk out into the water and keep going if they knew they were going to die. Thankfully I jumped off the horse before I fell asleep. My arms are weak and I cannot swim. I would have drowned beside that wretched beast. What an awful way to die. Death by association.

What I didn’t tell you before was that I actually rode that horse for quite some time. Through the flat lands. You don’t need eyes if you begin your journey in the prairies. Just wander the right direction. You’ll get there. But as we worked our way diagonally across the hinterland I began smelling salt water. I knew we were getting too far off track and I got nervous. How could I trust a blind horse this close to the ocean. What if I fell asleep? I already told you that I can’t swim. I already told you that it won’t listen to me. I jumped off and began walking beside it. Thats when my mind drifted off and I began thinking about how nice it would be to kick this foolish thing to death.

The tide was rising. At first I left it alone. My mom always said “if you can’t say anything nice don’t say anything at all”. I looked around and realized that my fellow travellers were yelling out, encouraging it to keep walking. Coaching it along as if they were oblivious to the rising sea water. I kept silent. We walked like that for quite a while.

From time to time I would run over and try to guide it away from the water that was rising higher and higher up its legs. Every time I did it would kick me away. A little harder each time. It kept walking. Drifting off toward the ocean. By now the water was up to its neck and the waves were beginning to pick up momentum. My stubborn young horse was no longer walking. It was thrashing wildly against the waves that were beginning to pull it under. There was nothing I could do. How can one man save a full sized horse from drowning itself. Especially if it kind of wants to die?

I eventually allowed myself to cave to my surroundings and joined with my fellow travellers in cheery encouragement. “Keep it up! The best is yet to come!” we would shout. I fully realized that by shouting life into its bleak situation I was positively damning my horse to its watery grave. It was in up to its neck. Besides, it seemed to enjoy hearing the positive reenforcement. It was doing exactly what it needed to be doing, it just needed to keep on walking...further and further out into the ocean. It was nice but it was unhelpful.

I turned around and walked away. I left it standing in its grave. A blind horse isn't worth saving. Useless creatures like blind horses should be encouraged to wander off into the sea where they belong. Where terrible beasts prowl the dark at depths so bleak and depraved that innocent men cannot put images to the tales they’ve been told. Where the terrible waves of culture capsize well constructed personality cults full of innocent people and devour them whole. Where a man can be a fully actualized individual free to choose any and every path laid before him with no consequences or purpose.

Maybe we should euthanize blind horses so they don't hurt innocent riders. Maybe we should educate travellers about the dangers of stubborn, useless handicapped horses. I sure would dislike seeing any innocent soul perish because they jumped on the wrong horse.

gotta go and get a gun
put a bullet in it's head
squeeze that ******* trigger till I'm sure
it's good and dead
should have been done a long time ago
should have been done a long time

push a little button send it
back where it belongs
i ain't coming back until i
know it's good and gone
should have never been done, my friend
should have never been done

gotta put it down before it
blows up in my face
now i know there ain't no use
in trying to run away
don't know what I was thinking, girl
don't know what I was thinking

nothing left but trouble if I
don't act pretty fast
nothing is forever, mister
nothing ever lasts
gotta find a way to move on now
gotta find a way to move on

looked for it in the mirror but
all i see is me
and that ain't even who I am
what should i believe
gonna hang it on a tree tonight, son
gonna hang it on a tree tonight

euthanize then eulogize
won't be much love lost
do the crime and do the time
it's how we count the cost
nails and wood, that's all
nails and wood

I’m a performing circus bear
Traveling the world with my master
Who treats me as an equal
So we are comfortable companions
And make an amazing team
Performing spectacular shows for rabid audiences
Who don’t appreciate our effort
They try to antagonize and diminish us
But we remain stoic
Until today
A heckler grabs my ear
My feral nature gets the best of me
So I snap at them
I instantly realize my mistake
And so does my master
He shakes his head and walks away
Leaving me heartbroken
Without my only friend and protector
My overwhelming regret and sorrow make no difference
I’m reminded of where I stand with humans
As they euthanize me

You hooked my chest to drag me away,
And drag more lives away, to forcefully sleep
On beds made of thistles, just to hear us shriek
And maybe surrender to your realm of affliction.

Nonetheless I crawled out, and every night
I reach the brink where the line of woe
Seems to vanish and venture a trip to help me return…
Still, you wrench me back to euthanize my hope.

Your olive skin
is sinking

(when we were kids
you put black olives
on your fingers
and you grinned)

your fingers are worn
hands
cracked with age
from bearing the weight
of heavy things

(when we were kids
we were Greek gods
we were infinite
darling,
you gave me my wings)

and I can feel it
closing in

the way you can't
force yourself awake
when hard days
euthanize
you.

I can feel mortality
pushing you down
(it's pushing me too)

maybe
I should pray more
than I do.

how could you be so cruel baby?
you took what you wanted and you've got it still
i don't even like you like that
but there's a barbed wire grip on me now
the tighter i pull the more it bleeds but yet i will

again and again the pages i write
practically a novel the story of my life
i told you before and i was telling the truth
and the chapters the passed with all my days
are all the same, the same dull story of strife

the pain you shared with me was all a lie
words dripped slow like honey, minutes passing by
same bittersweet honey that's filling me now, filling up each pore
when i realize it wasn't a fabrication, your story just as mine
except you write your happy endings, and all I can do is cry

i wish i was ready for you to make your move
a battle of heart, the prize a little piece of soul
you know you're not the first to checkmate
and the queen must protects the king
sacrifice leaves me angry just as it leaves a hole

it would be easier if you were a lover
by now i expect the familiar sting
we bared our cores, made even the score
but a friend who told me it was us vs them
should give love, not the backstab you had to bring

was that my only chance at a friend?
you ****** my hope dry i can't help but think maybe
you made a home in head, can't you see you're uninvited?
i euthanize each question quick but one still remains
how could you be so cruel baby?

flickering shells of streetlights
that glow that survives against
the long rainstorms
careening down valleys
that quickly euthanize themselves
in a false retreat towards life

                               (still, in the distance, there—
                                something that still seems so far away)

// Ce monde me réduit à rien. Cela me porte jusqu'au bout. Sans colère, il nie que j'existe. Et, acceptant ma défaite, je me dirige vers une sagesse où tout a déjà été conquis - sauf que les larmes me viennent aux yeux, et ce grand sanglot de poésie qui me gonfle le cœur me fait oublier la vérité du monde //

we exist in a black & white world
where they burn your flag & your pride
if you stray outside the confining outlines

loose cannon jazz leads to blue looks
for swimming upstream to birth cool
in a pace which rips through rule books

black sheep are shot for grazing at night
in a fight against driftwood wearing hoods
instead of uniform peaks, woven in lilywhite

snowflakes aim to form a synchronized shape
& euthanize, medicate & lobotomize
Houdini’s who break or partake in a chain escape

led by lego brick leaders
stacked thick in piles of dimes a dozen
fed stacks to build a kingdom for the one

throw your TV’s through the window of possibilities
& step outside the jars of clay
spinning in the hands of potters plotting a payday by foul-play

follow brave men down the road not taken
where the grass is greener & the air is cleaner
for the paved path ends at a kool-aid drinking fountain.

looking around looking in
through eyes cast left searching
my serpentine luxury has
envenomed my origin
when in me you find only proxy
look to digitized surrogates
starring back be only the husk
simply faded synapse a broken discord

we've aligned the margins
counted the drops
standardized the primal
resolved to the order are we
what docile agents we've become
servants to our own magistrate
who euthanize our inhibitions
freedom can't live in this ritual
freedom can't survive ordinance

I killed my own dreams for
I can't find free from these prosaic walls
hey hey I forgot how to imagine

"There are 55-gallon drums all over the place filled with the 'euthanized' carcasses of formerly-healthy young dogs & cats because dog pounds, animal 'shelters' & 'humane' societies have no choice (NO CHOICE I TELL YOU!!!) but to 'euthanize' them! Please, please, please (OH, FOR THE SAKE OF OUR DEAR MERCIFUL JEHOVAH GOD IN HEAVEN, PLEASE!!!) donate money 'cause them drums ain't free!"

I just want to **** my rage
Put two bullets in this age
But I can't find the keys to my cage
Got these needs chaining me with a wage
Emptiness in my eyes the void is a phage

It propagates from nothing
Springs from empty living
This police state is sickening
Its body is rotten and decaying
Can we euthanize the nation of slaving

I worry that progress is over
I worry that its now or never
And I worry that we will pick never
All while I clock in and work the levers

Living is so ******* incredible
It makes me ******* miserable
Always knowing I'm not on the level
I know its lame to be so cynical
But how am I supposed to be hopeful

Everything is buzzwords and clickbait pandering
I hope its not too foreword but we're all dying
And if words are stronger than swords then bloods flying
We know the times are trying and say bullets are coming
Viruses, diseases, and pathogens  all the same thing

Death cults on their side they fight so we all die
Ancient evils six decades old still grasping fading lives
They rule our feeble lands pervert our will as a nation fades
Some souls tremble and say this will be the end of days
Some souls shake and say they will ******* pay

Maybe I'm cynical by I say its just another day and they're gonna get paid
The critics will wax they will fade lives for cash thats always the trade
Tell me whats your wage you in the fields or the house do you have it made?
Just tell yourself atleast its not a third world like the ones we made
We get to feast while the poor are in famine now thats a trade