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Tommy Johnson Dec 2013
You can hear the voices of our peers being silenced, ignored, shunned and distorted.
Staggering out of their bedroom doorways to the street corner to score a dime bag.
Bright, insightful millennials freezing in search of warmth from something to believe in that will encourage them to look forward to see another day.
Where our economy has made financial prudence clear when talking about education, yet price tags of university tuition's skyrocket.
The refused, the ones with hope but no money or scholarships; tread the streets with the echoes of electro house pulsing in their skulls.
Those who strip themselves down and shred their own morals to scraps just to find themselves and to see their own limitations.
Searching for answers to the unknown, to ascertain what they are, who they are and why.
Timid in high school, pushed along with nothing and no one to put their creative vigor into.
The squeakiest wheels that were never even considered to be given a good greasing.
Faculties giving them lethargic hellos on the first day of school, bestowing celebrated goodbyes to them on graduation day, diplomas in hand.
Now are the ones slumped over in a lackadaisical position contemplating how they can afford an education.
They work eight to ten at seven twenty five an hour Monday to Friday; and weekends staying in as not to blow their earnings.
Those who commute to university and balance a job with it, I applaud you.
The bewilderment of adulthood, the overabundance of pressure and responsibility.
Awakened from nightmares of lost opportunities, missed trains and lost contacts.
To step out of bed and splash water onto a severely distressed face and staring into a mirror with a despairing look.
Then hoping a bus to Garfield to bring back weight for all the embryonic smokers not yet at the point of make or break, just save up enough to pave my own way.
Gazing at the town on a roof top, chugging down the tenth…no…twelfth beer of the night wondering how this all happened.
Wild sensations of kissing an attractive stranger, the rush of touching on things never felt, tasting pleasures only the lucky have known.
The passionate, yet dissolute yearning for that ever eluding ******* adrenaline. Pounding, Pounding, Pounding until the culmination of energy has come.
Flip sided to those dizzying, tear jerking thoughts of suicide, annihilation of ones being, the contradictions of their faith in themselves and the people around them.
Unexplainable waves of anxiety crashing onto the shore of a diminutive island of optimism
Striving to look past the panic, the gloominess and fury that may or may not be present. But to remain composed and press forward to what awaits them.
Coffee keeps them going. Cup after cup, late night cramming every bit they can; into their caffeine driven psyches until the indisputable crash and failure.
Packs and packs of menthol cigarettes to calm their rattling nerves but at the same time killing them slowly. Their lives will seem shorter than the time it took to finish one bogey when death is near.
Marijuana induced ventures to run down burger shacks, laughing hysterical in the car ride, eyes heavy with a most ridiculous elastic grin extending from ear to ear. While inside millions of thoughts and realizations of consciously simple speculations and troubles become clear and unproblematic. So the joy is mirrored outside in.
LSD trips in Petruska dancing and singing in the rain! Making music, making love; playing pretend and creating art. Becoming a family while kicking back under the warmth of an illuminated tree on a cool fall night.
MDMA streaming through the body, everything is as it should be
Beautiful, lovely to touch, wondrous to stroke, marvelous to move.
To contact and connect, converse and converge with the dwelling desire to share what you feel with everyone for it would be selfish and unpleasant to keep it in.
Mushrooms oh the emotional overflow I need not say more but ****.
Then there are over the counter candies, Oxycontin, ******, Adderall and Xanax, painkillers and antidepressants. Ups, downs, side ways and backwards.
Selling addiction and dependency legally to kids. Making heroine, ******* and speed easily obtainable to them. Changing the names and giving out prescriptions so the parents can feel like they're actually helping their children but are subconsciously making it easier on themselves because they cannot handle the way their offsprings actually are. Some parents a feel it is the only way, I wish it wasn't so. Becoming zombies, mindless addicts before they even start to mature into puberty. I've seen it, firsthand front row.
Oh, the monotonous, mundane rituals and agendas of our lives. School, work, sleep eat, the sluggish schedules and repetitions of yesterday's conversations and redundancy of itineraries we had plotted months prior.
Same people, the constant faces of boredom that groan in apathy and hold the fear of complacency.
We talk about how hum drum out lives have become and what we could to put some color in our world but don’t.
We speak of how unfair the system is but ultimately confuse ourselves and everyone else due to lack or organization and dedication so nothing is changed.
We speak of breath taking women we want to share ****** fantasies with but can’t even muster enough courage to send a trivial friend request.
Texting away for hours trying to court those who now occupy our minds and possess our hearts hoping they may allow us to acquire their attention and affection. Calling them only to receive futile dial tones and know we are being evaded.
Weeping on and on for seemingly endless time frames of a dilapidated relationship that was so strained that a miniscule breeze could cause it to collapse but still clinging to every memory as if they were vital hieroglyphics depicting your very essence.
Brilliant theories blurted out in a drunken stupor.
Ingenious hypothesis shrouded in marijuana smoked out room.
Remembrance of friends long gone.
The marines, the navy.
The casualties of drug addiction.
The conquerors or their afflictions.
The scholars.
The insane locked away on the flight deck never to be seen again.
Teenage mothers unsure of themselves, abandoned by their families for they believe that they brought fictional shame upon the family’s name. The fate of the child is unclear but the mother’s everlasting love shines through any obscurities in its way.
Dear mother of the new born winter’s moon may the aura of life protect you and your baby.
The father gone without a trace.
He will never know his daughter.
And it will haunt him forever.
Parents bringing up their kids with values and morals, The Holy Bible, mantras and meditation, the Holy Quran, The Bhagavad Gita, and Upanishads. Islamic anecdotes and Jewish parables.
The names all different
The message the same
The stories unlike
Goals equivalent
Kabala, Scientology and Wicca
Amish and Mormons
All separate paths that intertwine and runoff each other then pool into the plateau of eternal life.
But do we have faith in our country, our government?
They do not have faith in us. Cameras on every street corner, FBI agents stalking social media, recordings of our personal lives and police brutality. 4th amendment where have you gone?
We say farewell to Oresko the last veteran of the last great war. And revisit the Arab spring, Al-Assad’s soldiers opening fire on innocent protesters, one hundred fifteen thousand lay dead. Bin laden dead, Hussein hanged, Gaddafi receiving every ounce of his comeuppance. War, terrorism, the fear of being attacked or is it an excuse to secure our nation's investments across the sea? Throwing trillions of dollars to keep the ****** machine cranking away, taxes, pensions, credit scores, insurance and annuities all cogs in the convoluted contraptions plight.
My dear friend contemplates this every night laying in bed, fetal position; the anxiety if having to be a part of this.
Falling apart on the inside but on the outside, an Adonis, *******, Casanova wanna be. Who worshiped the almighty dollar, gripping it so tightly until it made change, drank until he had his fill falling face first into the snow. The guy who lead on legions of clueless girls wearing their hearts on their sleeves not knowing he had a girlfriend the entire time. Arranging secret meetings in hidden gardens, streaking into the early morning. Driving to Ewing in his yellow Mustang to woo a sado masochistic girl. The chains and whips do nothing to him he is already numbed by the thrill. Then he comes home, lays in bed until one, with no job and having people pay for his meals.
He knows what he does and who he is wrong. He recites and regurgitates excuses endlessly. He cries because he knows he is weak, he knows he must fix himself. I sit on the edge of myself with my fingers crossed hoping maybe, maybe he will set himself straight.
My chum who can talk his way out of any confrontation and into a woman’s *******. Multitudes of amorous affairs in backrooms, backseats, front rows of movies theaters. Selfish, boastful and ignorant, yet woman fling themselves at him like catapulted boulders over a medieval battle field just to say hello. These girls blind to see what going on, for their eyes were taken by low self esteem. A need to be accepted, to feel wanted even only for fifteen minutes. Poor self image, daddy issues, anorexic razor blade slicing sirens screaming on about counted calories and social status. Their uncontrollable mental breakdowns and emotional collapse. Their uncles who ***** them, their parents who split up and confusing their definition of love and loyalty for the rest of their lives. Broken homes, domestic abuse and raised voices, sending jolts of fright into the young girl’s fragile minds. I send my sorrows to you ladies, to see such beautiful creatures suffer then be used and thrown away with the ****** that was just ****** deep into their *****.
Then I see women and men of marvelous stature, romantic in the streets holding everyone and everything in high regards. Finding beauty in anything and anyone. Enjoying every second as if the rapture was over head eating exotic foods from unheard of countries and cultures. Bouncing to the sound of whimsical , reverb ricochets and sense stimulating music. Huffing inspiration to create something out of thin air. Dancing to retired jazz and swing albums as if no time had past since their conception. Wearing bold colors and patterns, thrifty leather shoes or suede.
Dawning pre-owned blazers because why spend hundreds of dollars on new clothes just to look good but feel uncomfortable with a hole in your pocket. Dressing up but dressing down, so class yet urban I love it, chinos, pea coats and flannels so simple but chic.
At night they go to underground dens, sweaty bodies, loud music and freedom. Expressive manifestations glowing fueled with MDMA and other substances to further their enjoyment of the dark glorious occasion. Kandi kids sporting colorful bracelets, not watches for time is of no concern to them, they have all eternity they know that.
Going to book stores, coffee shops just to have some peace of mind and a moment of silence to themselves so that can weave the tapestry of imaginative innovation. Writing their own versions of the same story, endless doors of perception, reading news papers and taking it with a grain of salt. Watching the news on TV with a hand full of salt. Searching for the real story so they can know if the world they all live in is actually safe.
She who made her own way breaking hearts, rolling blunts and making deals. The flower child of the modern age, left the rainy days in search of radiant sunshine, idealistic. Reality was subjective, purple dyed hair, multicolored sweater with sandals on her feet. A ten inch bowl with bud from California packed in tightly. Coming from Dumont to Bergenfeild then on to Philly to Mount Vernon. Off to Astoria and the Heights. Now to Sweden laying in the grassy plains below the mountains. Good for you my friend whom I have loved, may fortunes of unsullied joy come to you and all you meet.
Since you’ve left I have encountered drunken burly firemen just trying to have a good time. Pounding down Pabst Blue Ribbon as if it were water; as if it were good tasting beer. But heroes none the less.
EMT's, young eighteen years old high school graduates, saving lives reviving people who are a mere inch close to death.
Sport stars getting scholarships thanks to their superior skills and strength.
Striking beauty school students who are into making the people of this world a little bit more beautiful on the outside.
All these people, successful, doing things. Departing to their desired destinations. I see inside them, they carry baggage, loneliness and insecurities. I can feel their guilt slowing them down. All have their loads but it’s the way they carry them that shows who they really are. And to me their all gems.
Not far in Paterson I watch the junkies limping across busy winding street, perusing a severely needed fix. “Diesel!” they shout beneath flickering streetlights, asking for spare change and if bold enough a ride to some shady sketchy place. I give them a dollar and politely decline. They’ll die without it. Vomiting up bile and blood, twitches and shivers are all you feel when it’s not in you. They cannot stop, they need help. Why not help them instead of “assisting” those who are homosexual? Cleansing so they can be granted entry to the kingdom of God. Looking down on people who have found love and understanding and a deep attraction to others who just so happen to share alike genitals.
Narrow minded uproars about the spread of AIDS, nonsense! The puritanical onslaught of those who want nothing more than the rest of us, love. "Gay", "****", "******", "queer", how about "kind", "funny", "genuine human being"? The right to be married and divorced should be an option for everyone to enjoy. The strains and hardships of matrimony are yours if you want them. If you don’t agree don’t hate or harm just allow them to be peacefully. Same goes for anything for that matter, Jehovah's going door to door, Mormons from Burbank. New ideas are never a bad thing, they’re not a waste of time. On average you have about eighty years to mull over your options.
Some people don’t live long enough to do so, cancer is rampant, blood diseases, ****** diseases, natural disasters coming right out of left field and blindsiding the innocent bystanders of both hemispheres. Some go through life handicapped, autism is apparent these days. Schizophrenia, Asperburgers, ADD and ADHD. Some lose their golden memories of their many valuable years walking down Alzheimer's Lane, not being able to remember whatever transpired only a few moments ago but revisiting gold nuggets from from fifty-some-odd years ago with ease. Some go through life delusional or bipolar. Some can't even sleep at night but they still carry on. And if assistance is needed it is our job as a race to help our brothers and sisters, no one deserves to be excluded from the gala of life. Or be denied by society and pumped with brightly colored pills from doctors promising a cure but prescribing a crutch.
Finding solace in sincerity.
The serendipity of it all hasn’t been uncovered and that keeps me going.
“Radiate boundless love towards the entire world above, below and across. Unhindered without ill will without enmity.” Oh Buddha the truth as it ever was.
Who is he who keeps these thoughts from the conscious minds of the population?
Who is it that distracts us from the humbling beauty and overwhelming devastation of this place of existence we’re in?
It’s they who do under the table parlor trick behind our backs.
Those who broadcast mind numbing so called reality TV shows without an underlying value or meaning.
Those who produce music, proclaiming extravagance to be the end all be all gluttonous goal we all should aim to achieve.
And those who turn noble causes into money making scams and defile pure ideas.
And of course those who give false promises of easily obtained  bright futures, those who don’t care, those who steal, ****, curse, bad mouth and lie. But still manage to get elected into positions that more or less decide out fates. Monsters, demons, banshees howling inconsequential worries and leaving us deaf to hear the real issues.
Jonny Buttcheeks Mar 2015
Jon and Garfield sit at the same living room table in complete silence. Jon struggles to keep the weak smile plastered to his face.

Jon begins sobbing uncontrollably. Garfield stares. He says nothing.

PANEL 3:**
Jon continues sobbing. Garfield eats a lasagna.
I wanted to make a Garfield mini-comic once with a couple of strips like this. The cover was gonna be Garfield sitting on a throne made of corpses of other Garfields.

I regret not seeing it through.
Anna Martinez Mar 2012
When did Wishes become as commonplace as pennies in Fountains?
When did Unicorns stop dreaming?
In a place where Unicorns can Dream
And Stars are Paths
And Fat Orange Cats are Sullen Irish Dancing Potatoes
With Biscuit Legs and Waterfall Eyes
With an Everything complex
Due to feeling the Absence of all
Whilst having felt an overwhelming Nothing
And Ant ****'s full of Honey and Air
Pirouette and bend their slim Amber eyed head backwards
To see such hopeless Unicorns Dreaming of
Trollops and Almosts who don't know what Mermaids are
Mermaids that only Sing Underwater
And watch Sullen Irish Dancing Potato Boy
With Biscuit Legs and Waterfall Eyes
And an Everything complex
Because Garfield can't figure out
If Fat Orange Cat is okay with loving Selfish Harlot Mermaid
Or not

Maybe we should all just stay Honey-Eyed Harlots
And Hero Twin Flames
Maybe the penny can be a Wish
And the Star's dust pathways
And Unicorns can see black instead of Dreams.
And it would do you much as well
To leave well enough alone.
Toxic yeti Mar 2019
There on a
Wing of a Boeing
Was Garfield
A cat
Walking on the wing
At 30,000ft in the air.  
Am I hallucinating
Or dreaming
Or is the reality??!!
Kiagen McGinnis Jul 2011
is how i justify whiskey shots on the front porch with adults
singing drunken renditions of Wish You Were Here
it's tender and when our disharmonic voices pierce the quiet street
we all cry a little.

Kimmy puts her arm around me and tells me i am
maybe it's the alcohol burning up my throat
or something in the light

Donall Dempsey Aug 2018

She believed that
deep deep inside her

the flame of a femme fatale
burned brightly.

Could imagine herself stepping out of
some classic Film Noir.

Cultivated herself
to look like Marie Windsor

opposite the dangerously gorgeous
John Garfield.

But her life it seemed had her
stepping into an Edward Hopper.

The isolation and the paint
still wet.

The lonely lady
glimpsed in an hotel window

from a passing train
autumnal rain.

Still she acted always as if
she was in her own movie l

walking around  her tiny flat

except for red stilettos
red lipstick.

Making up her own snappy lines
to some imaginary leading man.

"Are you decent?"

"But you''re naked!"
"You only asked if I was decent!"

The mirror laughed
catching the reflection of who

she could have been
given half the chance.

She never
stood a chance.

She threw a cigarette up in the air
caught it between her lips

her one and only
party trick.

Lit or unlit.
Searching for middle C

on a battered piano
her mind off key

abandoning it
the piano's yellow smile.

She watched the sunlight
carve a block of time

out of the dividing wall.
fading the wallpaper roses.

The bed that was always
empty...always unmade.

She danced to Weill's
Youkali Tango.

Put it on again...again.
Scratching an already scratched record.

The needle gathering fluff.
The porcelain milkmaid...dust.

She disliked the way sweat
gathered under her *******.

They were always a little too large.
Hated men staring so hard.

Ahhhh the faded romance
a sunset heart attack.

Couldn't have wrote
herself a better script.

Staggering in her dance
gasping that all too unsubstantial

air as if trying to
catch time

the presentpastfuture
falling out of her hand.

The wooden acorn
of the tattered blind

tapping against
the ***** window pane.

Neon going green.
Then red.

Now blue.
And then green again.
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2016
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your ***, magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Woke up early,
Put on the work outfit
brushed my whites pearly,
Left my backpack at the stop,
Booked it back,
Found my pack,
Reached in my pocket to grab my pen,
Found it had exploded,
What then!?
Boss doesn't respond,
And I just need to be at a pond,
Not thinking about where I am going,
Not thinking about what I will sow,
A easy day would be nice,
To much to think, but does entice,
Just need to be at that lake,
Need to be at that parking garage,
But I am in traffic watching the clock,
What else can this day bring?
A ring on my phone and I'm not answerin,
Boss leaves a voicemail blarin,
Ignored it till I got there,
Walked in with a blank stare,
Wonderin' when life will be fair,
Changin' somethin,
Thinking aboot nothin',
Getting that carpal tunnel,
Then go to sleep,
Trying to shut my mind off to answers I know I can't seek,
Guess it's just another day in the week,
So I try to focus on the music and the beat,
I don't know what else to say,
Cept that it's only ******* Monday.
Written at three different times during three weeks, so i apologize if it's a little disjointed
Tommy Johnson Mar 2014
There’s a boarding  house off the main road

Right by the park

It’s called The Roach Motel
And that’s where we had quite a number of our infamous get togethers

When it was occupied with Latin dance music and the stomping of feet, it was like a pulsating tumor on that side of town

The Roach Motel
Because you could drink till you blacked out and then spend the night on the floor as a guest with various multiple legged pests

Silverfish on the walls
***** dishes stacked well in the sink
Day old Chinese food in the table
And of course roaches weaving in and out of the crevices of the kitchen

Yet people always came back knowing of such dishevelment

Maybe it was the fully stocked refrigerator of at least four different kinds of ice cold beer

Or the vast array of liquors that were always present
And the sodas and juices to mix them with or use as chasers

It may very well be the delicious, calming tobacco that was stuffed into the alluring green hookah with two hoses
One red
One blue

I believe it’s simply the vibe of it all

When you’re at The Roach Motel you feel free, you feel like all your worries are gone
And there’s always a drink in your hand and you’re always among friends even in strange company

Whatever it was we always found ourselves going back

The Roach Motel was owned by Venezuelan mother of six children who allowed these festivities to commence

And when word got out that there would be a party soon to come everyone spread that word all over like a pat of Land O’ Lakes on a warm English muffin

Kids from Bergenfeild
From Dumont
From New Milford, Palisades and Garfield

Drinking the night away with bugs and good friends

The mangy scruffy rat looking dog running around the whole party avoiding being stepped on
Unidentifiable arthropods crawling out the sink

Laughing uncontrollably
Conversing incoherently
Then passing out and waking up with a horrible hangover

I remember the time four of our friend puked their guts out there

One in the toilet
One in the bath tub
On in the bedroom
And one on the living room floor…there was corn in it

Two hours of comforting and clean up

I remember our 420 party
Where the legendary Quincy Valero ate his very first bud brownie and went on a trip he still to this day cannot replicate

I recall setting off fireworks off in the back of The Roach Motel and in my drunken buffoonery knocking over a lit mortar and nearly blasting the neighbor’s fence down but it was averted thanks to Quincy’s rare swiftness

This place is a backdrop of so many hook ups, so many good times and of course insect infestation

Although a great party pad it was filthy and you would feel itchy whenever you thought about how gross it was
I would never sit on a couch or on a bed
I had the fear of picking up bed begs and bringing them home

But despite that The Roach Motel was our own little slice of Dionysian Utopian freedom

It mirror all our rundown rugged ***** souls that just needed a place to unwind and fall apart and float down the bourbon river and just lose it

With a joint or an electric cigarette being passed around
And electronic music being blasted
It was always another night full of future stories to tell
The Roach Motel
BS hunter Dec 2013
I work up to 60/70 hours per week and ***** around on F.B & Craigslist. We had weeks of debating the poor and how some leech off the state. Had people hollering leech to all poor people even the ones in cities like Detroit where they said blacks love living on welfare and they uneducated and they come from the planet ghetto *******. Not my words but they exist in my city with population 15 thousand. Poster on Craigslist challenged community to playact we were broke,
contact dhs and get info on how much a poor person with number of your own household gets per month along with food stamps.

To make it seem real, I took out the exact amount I would get if I was a poor person. Gave possession of check books and cash and my own house key to my dad and told him what i was doing. He said good luck son you wont make it on state aid. It was cheating but I did keep my car cause no way in hell am I waiting hours for a bus and walking on busy S. Airport and streets such as Garfield is dangerous. I rode that bus when my car was getting new tires and a tune up and it smelled bad like sweat funk.  

Funds are put on a bridge card, that's cash aid and food stamps here in Michigan. I thought with this small amount of cash how in the hell will i survive?

I discovered pretty ****** fast I could not afford rent and best I could afford was a nasty room in a place in downtown are where poor people rent rooms and no one should be living in. I wouldn't let my dog stay there and I felt like I should be packing a gun for protection. No minorities but whites who are down on their luck. Could not afford the small deposit even for that nasty dump. I cheated and bunked with a friend. That place is what you wont see come film festival or cherry festival time.

Forget having enough to buy healthy foods. I could afford bread and high carb fattening **** that nobody should have to live off. If I was poor I could not afford fresh produce I'd be eating cheap **** I could afford and if I had kids it would be far worse off.

I quit after a few days and would be hating life if I was poor.

Northern Michigan craigslist posters are notorious for flagging truth.
They flag and remove what they don't want to see on forum when it
don't agree with *** backward  views of our good citizens.
They run people off with ignorance and now some like me have come here
and now see some of the ignorant have followed and joined this site posing as poets.

Found this when I went to site from a person claiming to be on vacation in Florida
but keeps posting and posting on our Forum. Poster now claims he is in *******
that "drooling halfwit" always gives this one who changes locations away.

" red cross (*******)

Let me get this straight,you can afford the internet and a car but too poor to buy gas??Bet you wish that fake boycott worked stupid.You drive around looking for free handouts so you can drive around.This story is such *******,just like you.Get a job lazy drooling halfwit.
Location: *******"

Posters originally posted months ago but keeps renewing same post. This posted after someone  was refused gas by the red cross while red cross volunteers sat there eating their lunch. Person was driving around on fumes. You try telling this idiot people down don't stay broke forever and you get posts like this one from idiots.  

I did not rely on hear say, I made calls to red cross. Red cross does not provide gas money to walk ins and they provide help in unexpected disasters BUT not to poor people already homeless. They did build a luxury hotel on property bought using donations but I can't tell you why they built it.
coco soup May 2014
My sister-in-law gave birth to a new baby yesterday and all of my families are very happy. The new baby is very soft in body and released a smell of milk. We all like her very much. Some of my relatives who have known the new baby send us some gifts, such as soft carpet, baby clothes, foods and drinks, even a Garfield for new baby gift ( )! I believe my niece must like them very much.
Maple Mathers Mar 2016
From: Daniel Rodden

This notice is from Daniel Rodden who is currently residing in Garfield jail. This is an informational email to let you know of the different options available for communication with Daniel Rodden. Several services offered by the jail:
The following options are available at Inmate Canteen.
Deposit Funds
Purchase Phone Cards
Buy Canteen
Video Visitation*
E-mail an Inmate
Nat Lipstadt Apr 2018

~for Andrew Garfield~

how they march!

with studied

a riddle:

how many Angels,
in America,
can stand on the
head of a pin?


dressed in wine
stained colored uniforms,
how they advance!

with studied

how many?



this one woke me up,
fully formed,
asking only for a scribe to record it.  
saw Angels in America on 4/21/18.  
Neil Simon Theater , NYC
Hasan Aspahani Aug 2017
I a m hungry, therefore I am -  Garfield

IN prayer he will never utter
    it waits for the rain of milk,
       a heavy rain, because of him

the cat with thirsty tongue, see with
      its own eye, when mother was disappear.

In prayer he never dared to ask
     it wants a fishy fish neck,
         the smell of a fisherman,

no care about salt salinity, or its own sweat.

In prayers he will never say
       it expected the lap, the fire on that stove
                warm, and maybe also sear.
I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna kiss you, like I wanna go down on you… Wait, sorry.
Hey, I like you like, I think you’re pretty, like I want us to get along, hey! I really like this song wanna dance? I like your tight pants, I don’t mean to stare it’s just kind of there like Wow, sorry that came out wrong, Hey I’m Esther, nice to meet you, cute shoes. Who knew converse would create this kind of tension. Do you watch Dr Who? You hate Moffat? Me too.
I’m sorry this is supposed to be a love poem and I’m blabbering,
Hey! I like you, like I think  your finger tips are spider webs the way you pull me in, Andrew Garfield, spider man, have you seen that one? I’m a huge fan.
Hey, I like you, like I think you’re cute, like I wanna  take you out on dates and hold your hand in parking lots and line ups, like your laugh is contagious and your eyes are outrageously beautiful.

You’re pretty, smiling eyes and nervous laughter, not quite caught up in the moment.
I’d sing you a love song; I’d walk ten thousand miles. I catch my breath when your lips part to smile.
Your eyes sparkle when you see something you love; I wonder what it feels like to be the subject of your stares? The object of your affection.
So, I think you’re adorable; it’s deplorable how much I wanna kiss you.
Hey Tight jeans! Was that rude? Because I can be crude, and kind of mean, in the sense that I say what I think and a lot of people say I’m forward…
Take me out tonight; the stars are just bright enough for me to see your features, I’d paint pictures of your hands if mine would just stop shaking. I’m afraid,
because you’re just a little bit older and more bold than I’d have expected you to be, but you see it’s not written in the stars that we should be together, here I see in your eyes that you’re excited because you don’t realize this poem is about you, you idiot.
See what I mean, I’m not cautious. Torturous really I couldn’t stand to see you saddened, because  you’re beautiful which is trivial, I mean a man who looks like you must know this right?
Do you like romantic? I could say your eyes are waterfalls and your temples are the gaps in the sidewalks where puddles huddle.
I want to get to know you, I want to hold you while it’s raining, straining to keep my eyes on the movie we’re watching but your face in the half light is ignited
Your nose is the bookmark in the middle of my favourite story, marking the points before the hero has to leave and after he’s realized he can’t stay.
I can feel your heart beating from where we’re dancing, every inch of your body, I’d memorize, your curves and lines like you were my times tables and I wasn’t ever able to get those down so I might have to go over them a few more times before you’re committed to memory.
But now, in the blissful morning after sunrise, you lie.
sleepily kiss my forehead and mumble “I have class”
and I spend the last few seconds before you leave my room admiring your a-
… eyes.
You know those questions that you get
Like why is the sky blue?
The ones you can not answer
But, try to pass off that you do

Well I got one the other day
My son came up and said
What with Jesus and with Christmas
I told him...go to bed!

It's only three o'clock he said
Well...then...go and ask your mom
Dad, I already asked her and
you're where she said to come

I thought, my god, she owes me now
So, I told him, grab a seat
I figured I'd go down in flames
But, I'd fight in my defeat

He said, all the Christmas specials
talk of Christmas and that stuff
But, Rudolph, Garfield, Frosty
well, I think I've watched enough

Some talk of baby Jesus
Others talk of shops and toys
Why is Jesus linked to Christmas
And I answered him.....with poise

Jesus Christ, the son of God
came to earth in all his Glory
Now, go and read you bible
The games the story

He trundled off, I thought I'd won
In an hour he returned
With that face, you know the one I mean
Dad...there's something that I learned

If Jesus Christ and Christmas
are tied together, as we see
Did they celebrate on Christmas Day
Before Christ turned thirty three?

I mean, was it Christmas for a reason
Or did it start once he was dead?
I thought, that's a good question
And it came from my boy's head

His mother brought hot chocolate
She still owed me, and she knew
that whatever payback I devised
would be multiplied by two

I said, son, the idea of true Christmas gifts
Dates to 313 A.D
Back to someone called Saint Nicholas
Santa Claus to you and m

The wise men came with presents
To celebrate the ****** birth
They celebrated the fact that God
had sent his son to earth

So, what does that have to do with snoopy
Rudolph, Jack Frost, my son said
I told him, read your bible
The story's there, no go to bed

He smiled and he hugged me
He said I think I know one part
It's that Christmas isn't presents
It's something you feel in your heart

It's a spirit of goodwill to man
And to all who you may meet
I said, yep...that's it
You've summed it up, maybe I should have a seat

So, Christmas isn't retail,
It can't be bought, it has no box
It's a feeling deep within you
though...this year I need some socks

It may have his name attached
But, true Christmas is defined
By our love for one another
and the love for all mankind
Sally A Bayan Dec 2013
after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i was unaware, i was entrapped
to the spirit, i succumbed
my knees, now numbed
one hits the cold wall
...u n c o n t r o l l a b l e...
then falls "ka-blag" on the other
feeling so light as a feather...
..............f a l l i n g............
my eyes are Garfield-ish
hands, like a mallet, heavy-ish ...
G O D !
my mind, ~~~d r i f t i n g ~~~
i need some black, brewing...
gotta have strong bitter coffee, dark
to take my slurry mind back the track.....

after the tall glass of wine, i was rapt,
i am now much aware, i must avoid being trapped...


Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Angel Moore Aug 2013
Look around and see, a lot of big topics:
Mostly media nonsense and a global no-fix.

Front Line.
"Natural" disasters

Government Theories.
Political conspiracy, you'll see.

We all claim to want "CHANGE"
For what?
10 Lanes, bigger planes, sky trains?

Is this the change you all are waiting for?
Hoping for?
Killing for?
Dying for.
This change has knocked us down to the floor.

It's sad but it's true
my buddy in Garfield said "Come Through,
meet me at the corner store
Angel, I need to tell you more."

He says, "The struggle is real,
the pain I feel
IT consumes us daily.
Lets all get away from this, maybe."

Even the girls in County
are all standing strong.
Saying, "What we did was wrong."

"I don't do things, I've done things."
Says one girl quietly.
21 years old,
lived her whole life in sobriety.

Tears in her eyes, twinkling
"I want change, we all do.
We see the change in you.
We hope you see it too."
Lonely Heart Apr 2019
What is fantasy?
False fantasy confession
Understanding by analogy
The fantasy of me
Counter brainwaves
With thought guns
Deceive me
I am a self agenda
Schools are found
In the background
School mask
Real me
Real mask
School me
Happy he should be
Look down
Straight Shot
Straight up
It's up
Fantasy is theater
Acting like a character
How many writers in a snare.
One by one making a dare
School of thought thought up
Subscribers indentured to strange
What a hollow soto
A thin man's polo
Stripped with dread
Woe on theater
Theater is the past
Back in history
****** get hit by disarray
This is a history made this way
Only character hits from these paypools
Not so obvious doc!
Try to be less conscious!
Tu lewai to LA FENESTRA
I'm playing the tropes
That I loathe and despire
Even I hide my own words
Get a thought recorder
Shipping and packaging is free for the day.
250 of the most popular
Words arranged in draft sentances
I am a fantasy! U play in.
Don't worry
I am an expert attorney
Trained in exquisite self fantasy
Proffessor of Future Fantasies
Or maybe Garfield the nat
"Sneekky rouououttttt. I know the truuttthh.
It's a parks and rec
Adventure sketch
I am declining
I've lost my health
This issssnnn'tttt FAIR
Director "CUT!"
How can you
From mys
Who buys it?
BSeuss Jul 2017
Welcome to gorilla garden.
King Lions roam like lone wolves,
Some wolves are crowned like the head of their pride.
Few bears are curios, like your common cat.
Some giant killer kats are kind,
Some giant kats aren't killers.
A bear can sound like a dog barking, a cat purring, or you might barely hear a crow craw before you're mauled for being far to close to the cubs.
There's ants the size of pizza pockets.
And garfield hates lasanga because he got his name from never leaving the
feild he was born in; such a stubborn
Gar; born in a pond in the middle of a field, refusing to be carried to freshwaters in America.

Welcome to Gorilla Garden.

In here, family is king.
Not pride, not packs, not flocks no colonies.
Snakes are welcome, as long as they don't cause twinge.
3 a.m Web of thought
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2019
****** the neo-feminist
   the comerady
for the hetrosexual male...
the thai-surprise
having encountered
a bisexual in the park...
sure... my
white maggoty ****
was nothing
to be envious of...
bue: miles davis'
                trumpet was...
i no longer belong to
the world that attempts
to make sense,
in the "world"
that would ever consecrate
itself upon
a necessity of: furthering
the scope of dialogue...
i, punk oblivion,
Korean neon
                   Asia fetish?
whenever i have a desire
to ****...
i start imagining teeth
on oysters...
i've ****** one with
tattoos on her body,
one will do...
thank you...
any more?
thank you, no.
being read "pedantic"
backward in finding a seat
in an opera house?
like it was...
something difficult to do?
you know what...
       how about trying
that pedantic lineage
argument in a football stadium?
how's that?

yeah: it's ******* dark...
do i look like
a ******* batman
or something?
           i came here to watch
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
not for some *******
english smurks...

******* scittle-half-crafts
of what deserves a
social-media frenzy...
and all of them women...

opera: yes...
and i was told by some
god-forbid russian
prized frenzy to stop leaning...
you're in the wrong seat...
and she was!
i was leaning into her
but she was sitting
in the wrong seat...
i thought everyone was
sorted in being primmed
when exposed
to such: "high" culture?

oh.. well...
no... see...
i like the opera,
i love the ballet...
but being told
that i haven't faced
my *** to coincide with
my face,
to sit in the allocate
of an put-into-place?

i become...
  by some...
that cannot stomach
killing someone,
a squat of pork
for a hungry cat...
at that point?
i become bothered...
i don't like being
the ******-splain
of sitting
allocation in an opera...

it's, *******, dark...
   next time:
stop bellowing at
the opera singer
like a *******
needing the ordeal
for the encore of senseless
or i'll ******* sling around
skinning you...

they can have their go...
but being...
           made scrutiny of...
in an opera house...
by social-climbers?

it's like.... an itch...
  i'm itching...
to bite, slap, stab the living's
worth of said, "unsaid"

               white-trash drama...

oh i don't fear...
the incarcerated and the obese
are never behind bars...

but that smirk remark
at the opera?
like i'm, somehow... "minor"?
i could **** for that...
mind you:
all the worth for the world's worth
of killing,
is a summary of
the most banal loss
of compnesation,
      being made a comparison of.

i could **** for that opera statement...
i was watching
the ******* bolshoi theatre...
what i was given...
was an antagonist...
something worth
a camel i'd pat on the head
for...  imitating:
poiting forward,
with its "oasis" of phlegm
to scoop, for a worth
of coordinate to scrap
the heaving breath
of, all life, from:
and subsequently regurgitate...

such a belittling scrutiny...
kick a ******* ball
toward an aria while you're at
a scissor-kick mid-air
via a baritone tone
beside the...

   ad capricio (capricious paedo:
****** the testicles,
grab and twist them...
but never cut them off,
or attempt ****)...

   or the piedmont: sanctity...
beatified: ad ****, und -ini...
always, counter culture cited,
the Iberian Muslim counter...
a harem of missing testicles
for no blacksmith...
a escape route worth
                            72 virgins...
but there are,
  who... do what
war implores of them...
to no end...
  for a predicament's
worth of peace...
yes... the Muslims were here,
the Muslims were there...
modern Muslims
in modern Kenya...
             a ******* giraffe
on the stripes
up a zebra's ***...
and i'm all, like:
a ******* clapping
coconut army...
because... Elvis Costello...
was... just as much
fun as Simon & Garfield...

      pop up:
all is for basic scrutiny...
   a few people
might remember
the championing
of coal miners...
in the form variety
of edvard gierek:
but me...
citing him?
am stupid steward...

but someone telling me
i'm not sitting in
the right place...
while trying to rummage
in the dark
for a "place of origin"...
being told
"it's not that hard" /
"anyone could
make such a mistake"...

and to think...
that so little became the basis
for the most horrendous
acts of man...
a man can be burdened
by a broken arm...
a hybrid of
an over-inflated
negation of ease...
but men...
when people become them...
when people become
or purposively
and not semi-acknowledging
in an exaggeration?

i too want to implenet

   since what remains,
leaves to remnant
of a redeemable
quality's worth
of either crux: or beyond
to say say:
i am no sadist,
to ingest a hard-on
from the moaning-&-groaning
of a person
on a plate of:
that most, tiresome ingestion
of... what...
should have never been
the circumstance
for the comparison
                  of caro: qua verbum.
Michael Kusi Nov 2017
Tony the Tiger can have his box.
Full of sugar.
I have my own sugar.
Take that, Tony.
Or should I say, Phony the Tiger
Garfield go in a corner and eat your lasagna.
I have a cane.
No I'm not crippled.
There is nothing wrong with my leg.
How dare you say that.
I have a candy cane!
Not to eat with.
No, no.
My plan is much grander than that.

I will use it as a weapon.
See how its so sharp and pointy.
Those who think it is not so sharp and pointy.
Better keep their opinions to themselves.
In other words, keep your mouth shut.
Bow in the presence of the cane.
The great cane.
Held by the great soldier.
Bow in the presence of a being greater than yourself.
Me, **** in Boots.

It goes with my outfit.
Dressed to **** never became more realer.
Than in my case.
Its Christmas Time.
Time for sleighing.
Or slaying, as I would put it.
My cane is worse than my claws.
Santa better go to Pennsylvania to get all the coal
Because he’s going to need it when I’m done.
Brandon Sep 2014
Jacob awoke early in the morning on Sunday and stretched out his limbs beneath the flannel sheets on his bed before carelessly tossing them to the side and off of his body. Jacob sat up and half yawned before catching a whiff of his own morning breath and cracked a slight smile and smacked his lips together in disgust. He stood up and after adjusting himself walked down the stairs to his kitchen where a *** of coffee was already brewing having been programmed to do the night before. When the coffee was done percolating, he poured himself a cup in a mug that a student who had graduated years ago had given to him for his help with her English Lit thesis. Jacob drank his coffee black and could not understand why anyone would ruin the taste by mixing it with sugars and cream. But again he thought that of he were truthful he didnt understand much about people at all anymore anyway. He was out of touch with the outside world after his wife had passed away a little less than a year ago. She always kept him up to date with current events and trends, always made sure to keep him social. And without her around he had become a hermit only leaving the house to occasionally show up for work or go on hunting or fishing trips alone.

Always alone.

Today Jacob decided that he would spend the better half of the morning catching up on the world around him as he walked to his front door and opened it wide letting a bright vast amount of sunshine in nearly blinding him before his eyes adjusted. On his front porch was a stack of newspapers from everyday for the past three weeks. Jacob took the top five off of the stack and went back inside to his kitchen table and sat down after making a second cup of coffee, this time adding a splash of Kentucky bourbon. He unfolded the top section of the first newspaper and skimmed the headlines trying to catch something that would hold his attention. There was war, casualties, politics; none of which he felt like stomaching on this early morning.

He flipped to the comics and scanned the panels, laughing a silent chuckle at Garfield and a few others but folded the paper back up in disgust and tossed it towards the pile of other papers when nothing caught his attention longer than a couple of seconds.

Jacob sipped his coffee and stared into the dark black liquid until he saw his reflection staring back at him. He was disheveled, could use a shave and a haircut. His eyes, always the brightest blue, now looked dull grey, bloodshot, and sunken slightly into his forehead causing his eyebrows to become a prominent feature on his face. He wondered when the last time he had seen himself was but could not recall. He stared at the reflection and did not recognize the man staring back at him so he started to talk to him like a lost friend that he had not seen since the early stages of childhood.

Jacob caught up with the black coffee version of himself, handling both sides of the conversation in slightly different voices discussing his life story since they had last parted. How he met his future wife early in high school and how they could not stand each other initially, went to college on a football scholarship but fell in love with the English department and academia as a whole, how his girlfriend became his fiancé when he proposed to her while on vacation in upper Vermont, how they were married on a sandy beach in Hawaii hours before a hurricane came and the island was evacuated. He told his reflection about his three children - two boys and a girl - and how they had grown up, how he had finally got tenure at his alma mater, how his wife had succumbed to the cancer that had plagued her for the last few years of her life...he stopped at this part of the conversation and stared once again at the coffee and past his reflection. The coffee rippled from a tear that had been welling up in his left eye before slowly falling down his cheek into the coffee. Jacob stood up with the cup in his hand and emptied it out in the sink.

He rested his hands along the linoleum countertops and peered out the kitchen window, watching the breeze make the small birch tree branches sway and dance gracefully. He thought to call his children and see how they were doing but remembered that it was still too early in the morning in their part of the country. The sun was now shining in the backyard and if he looked hard enough he could see birds landing in his grass to eat worms and insects before flying back off to where they came or to where they were going. Jacob wished silently that he could be a bird and just fly away.

"There's no sense in all this dwelling," he heard a voice say from out of nowhere. For a moment he stood very still and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he realized the voice was his own. He did not know he had spoken but knew that it had been said and tho he did not quite feel it, he knew it too be true as well. Jacob let a heavy sigh leave his body and felt a change come over him that started in his outer limbs before spreading inward. He felt a renewal of energy cling to his life.

Jacob went back upstairs to the bathroom and once again studied his face in the mirror. His beard was salt and pepper and he decided it looked rather good on him but needed a trim. He removed the beard trimmer from one of the cabinets and put on a number three guard, trimmed the hair, then replaced the guard with a number two and trimmed again. He looked at the beard and admired the length, color, and thickness and decided that it was how he wanted it.

Next he looked at his hair and tho he needed a haircut he decided to just brush it back and to the side holding the unruly pieces back with a small amount of pomade.

Jacob's grey eyes began to lighten to a sky blue.

He walked to his room and found the cleanest clothes he could find: a pair of blue jeans, fitted black tshirt, and a dark blue button down blazer. He addressed himself in the mirror hanging on the door after dressing and thought to himself that he looked quite respectable and felt very much like a gentleman.

Jacob looked at the photo of his wife on the dresser and smiled at the memories that he cherished deeply of her and his hand drifted towards it and his fingers gently traced the outline of her cheek. He smiled again when he felt the tear roll down his cheek and he knew that he was okay and that everything was okay. It was the most alive he had felt in months.
Dedicated in part to B.
Allen Wilbert Oct 2013

Washington, Adams and Jefferson,
had *** with slaves just for fun.
Madison, Monroe and Adams,
I'm sure had secret madams.
Jackson, Van Buren and Harrison,
not sure how they ever won.
Tyler, Polk and Taylor,
before elected lived in a trailer.
Fillmore, Pierce and Buchanan,
should have been shot from a cannon.
Lincoln, Johnson and Grant,
each once had a cotton plant.
Hayes, Garfield and Arthur,
sinking fast with no life preserver.
Cleveland, Harrison and again Cleveland,
both of them killed at least one Indian.
McKinley, Roosevelt and Taft,
all too fat to float on a raft.
Wilson, Harding and Coolidge,
should have jumped from a bridge.
Hoover, Roosevelt and Truman,
wondering if they were even human.
Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson,
neither of them can still run.
Nixon, Ford and Carter,
not sure which one was smarter.
Reagan, Bush and Clinton,
shot, stupid and a Monica.
Bush and now Obama,
one was dumb,
and the other looks like a black llama.
BLitZeD Feb 2016
As I wonder, I conjure a monster with this wand and my honor.
I ponder how you can squander my genre, I'm lava.
Anacondas to lamas, venomous, I'm black mambas.
Garfield comma lasagna, that's pasta.
Comets comment on the trauma after I bombed ya.  
***** iguana after the ***** in the Bahamas.
In the cabana like Osama, hide and seek, trying to avoid the drama.
but my Pride hunts and peaks when I speak,
A void, this is the 3Y3 of the BLitZ3D SAGA.
Blunts of kief while I reap, hydroponic droid.
Quick like Raffekie but I lead like Mufassa.
I'm Scar to hyenas, and yes I am Luke's Father.
Hiatus, I'm too high, I am a Sky Walker.
Hydra made, I claim Dark Mage
Use 3's when I write, and spell magic with a K.
Your gana need to come harder.
This is Tree times 3 vs Special K.
Said **** it and versed myself 3 ways that one day.
It was MagiKal, see the intentional K?
Savage truth, My pills red.
Down the rabbit hole, I'm here to stay.
Reach out an ravage your ankle.
Pull you in, M.I.B. I'm Agent-K.
Mage In Black, Dark Arts,
Matrix word play, not an absurd grey.
Prometheus, I am Predator,
A.I., I-Robot, I Am Legend,
Will Smith, Independence Day.
Annunaki I am a descendant.
The First Demi they selected,
Earths representative that slays.
An entity,
When they spoke of god, what they meant was me.
The incarnation of uncertainty.
Hell bent on carnage, feeds on false beliefs.
"The Scripture", "Birthed from the streets."
A reputation you cant tarnish.
I don't expect relief.
Mercy is for the week.
I'll die standing before I ever drop to a knee.
The first to leap.
"A Lion, A Demon, A Creature Of Myth, An Alien Being"
Plasma is on the page but ET's not bleeding.
Thats just my pen leaking, Kracken ink can be misleading.
Submerged marines, Titanic icebergs, Atlantis reemerge on my command , sorcerer supreme, Gigantic knights Converge,
Looped in a green screen dream sequence scene theme,
"The Sheep Will Always Scream"
Eye of the storm, I am Dopamine
I am dope, I mean. Am I not dope man?
I am the dope man to the feigns
(To Be Continued...)
BLitZeD Feb 2016
As I wonder, I conjure a monster with this wand and my honor.
I ponder how you can squander my genre, I'm lava.
Anacondas to lamas, venomous, I'm black mambas.
Garfield comma lasagna, that's pasta.
Comets comment on the trauma after I bombed ya.  
***** iguana after the ***** in the Bahamas.
In the cabana like Osama, hide and seek, trying to avoid the drama.
but my Pride hunts and peaks when I speak,
A void, this is the 3Y3 of the BLitZ3D SAGA.
Blunts of kief while I reap, hydroponic droid.
Quick like Raffekie but I lead like Mufassa.
I'm Scar to hyenas, and yes I am Luke's Father.
Hiatus, I'm too high, I am a Sky Walker.
Hydra made, I claim Dark Mage
Use 3's when I write, and spell magic with a K.
Your gana need to come harder.
This is Tree times 3 vs Special K.
Said **** it and versed myself 3 ways that one day.
It was MagiKal, see the intentional K?
Savage truth, My pills red.
Down the rabbit hole, I'm here to stay.
Reach out an ravage your ankle.
Pull you in, M.I.B. I'm Agent-K.
Mage In Black, Dark Arts,
Matrix word play, not an absurd grey.
Prometheus, I am Predator,
A.I., I-Robot, I Am Legend,
Will Smith, Independence Day.
Annunaki I am a descendant.
The First Demi they selected,
Earths representative that slays.
An entity,
When they spoke of god, what they meant was me.
The incarnation of uncertainty.
Hell bent on carnage, feeds on false beliefs.
"The Scripture", "Birthed from the streets."
A reputation you cant tarnish.
I don't expect relief.
Mercy is for the weak.
I'll die standing before I ever drop to a knee.
The first to leap.
"A Lion, A Demon, A Creature Of Myth, An Alien Being"
Plasma is on the page but ET's not bleeding.
Thats just my pen leaking, Kracken ink can be misleading.
Submerged marines, Titanic icebergs, Atlantis reemerge on my command , sorcerer supreme, Gigantic knights Converge,
Looped in a green screen dream sequence scene theme,
"The Sheep Will Always Scream"
Eye of the storm, I am Dopamine
I am dope, I mean. Am I not dope man?
I am the dope man to the feigns
(To Be Continued...)
- See more at:
Sonny Jun 2014
ok **** it
i pooped on your door, **** it
you shot my dog, **** it
your manners are perfect **** it
we all have cancer **** it

but you know what?

garfield! yay

— The End —