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Johnny Zhivago Mar 2012
I n   t h e   m o r n i n g ,   i   j u m p   o u t   o f   b e d
i t s   a   f u n n y   t i m e   f o r   m e
b r e a k   t h e   b r a n d   n e w   d a y   a c r o s s   m y   c h e s t
j i n g l e   t h e   b e l l   f o r   a   c u p   o f   t e a

i   l a y   b a c k   a n d   r e a d   s o m e   o f   a   b o o k
t u r n   t h e   p a g e s   l a z i l y
l i s t e n   t o   t h e   s o n g   i   w a n t   t o   h e a r
g o   a b o u t   m y   t e a   w i t h   c a r e

b y   t h e   l u n c h   h o u r   i   h a v e   s a t   a r o u n d
l i t t l e   j o u r n e y s   h e r e   a n d   t h e r e
f o o d   i s   m a d e   w i t h   p l e n t y   l e f t   t o   s h a r e
w i n e   a n d   o t h e r   g o o d   t h i n g s   t o o

w h a t   a   p l e a s a n t   t i m e   o f   y e a r ,   b y   j o v e
t h e   s k y   i s   s i n g i n g   o u t   f o r   j o y
t h u n d e r i n g   t y p h o o n s

l i t t l e   m a r b l e s   r o l l i n g   o n   t h e   f l o o r
w e   a r e   l o o s i n g   t h e m   w i t h   g l e e

o h   w h a t   a   l o v e l y   d a y
w h a t   a   l o v e l y   d a y   i t   i s   t o d a y


o h   w h a t   a   l o v e l y   w a r
w h a t   a   l o v e l y   w a r   t o d a y
w h a t   a   l o v e l y   s m e l l
s m e l l   o f   f i r e c r a c k e r s   i n   t h e   h a y
Brandon Sep 2011
(insert generic death metal song title here one)

Human blood bath
Soak in ******* and human waste
Got a taste for the diseased human race
Acid melting face
Drink from the spewing flesh
Gurgle and gargle to the dying beat
Of a victims last gulp of tarnished breath

(insert generic death metal song title here two)

Skull cracked and bleeding
Blood **** filled wounds seeping
Immaculate Christ unjaded
Aborted abortion
Born and bathed in afterbirth
Blown and constipated in foreign ***** matter
Torn from arms of zombie flesh
Decaying in the hot summer sun
Baked in the hot summer sun

(insert generic death metal song title here three)

Trash my intended victim with nothing better to do
Than torture **** **** and torture some more
Death does not last in the flesh
Emancipated from life
Just a breath away from dying
Hang on to the threads of the noose
Strangulating the frustrating last gasp of air
Torture **** **** and torture some more
Out of boredom and out of time
Boredom kills
You better watch out
I’m coming for you

(insert generic death metal song title here four)

Hollow eye sockets
Wretched
Reeking
Filthy ****
Plastered on crimson caked hands
****** dirt beneath the fingernails
Scratches scraped in the walls
From bodies dragged thru the hall
Down the stairs to the killing room
Meat hook art show of disembodied
And disemboweled corpses
Dismembered in some horrorshow freakshow
Bowl of human remains cooked on the stove
For this years All-You-Can-Eat chili fest
Lick savory lips with salted tongue
Hunger pains from cannibalistic urges
The brain tastes best when paired with a good wine
Eat, drink, and be merry
Tomorrow you’re on the menu
Saul Makabim Mar 2015
If even for one second
you understood
what you've seen
standing
right in front of you
you wouldn't scream
or pinch yourself
like a subconscious pilot
trying to eject from your dreams
Leave upon leaf peeled back
like the paint that coats the walls
of this mostly silent building
that surrounds you
like a grafitti covered
**** stained nightmare
of petting
and favor games
The digital ******
horrorshow stage
Lights, action,
put some tape
over your camera
Set your microphone in flames
It's impossible to track
the truth
even though it died
bound and naked
but they forgot
where they buried it
You've seen it
just like me
I know you have
Don't worry
that pervasive feeling
of sickening intoxication
wears off in a year or twenty.
Wack Tastic Nov 2013
Earthen desires,
these are diamonds,
that shield our veiled eyes,
trance like sheathed sward,
hidden in the mantle,
a top the mountain,
creatures lurk atop,
Deviled in the mist,
splattered in Lumios,
The crone and spit;
they really are a horrorshow,
Straggling around,
hovering,
hurtling toward,
**Unknown Territory!
Camilla Peeters Sep 2018
i often have to search not long but
very hard to find a little integrity left
in my body
and when i wake up i am completely confused because
evening and morning are two loose ends of
the same black hole

every night i lose the feeling in my legs
washed up jelly legs
every morning i wake up all solidified
it takes me over five hours to seal my sheets

"under trees which are still bravely
competing against autumn"
there, i stole your sentence
what's it going to be then, eh?

****** anarchist
we live in a power house greater than this world
i crawl through a hidden door in the attic
little metal plate on my chest
two lightning chambers powered by dark energy
walls dripping smell
of fresh herbs

the window a post for reminiscing
restoration hour
Logan Feb 2014
I am a beginning and I am an end
I am a stream of consciousness and
I am my own lack of surprise
Manifested into a walking horrorshow wondering
where it went wrong.
Watching the birdwatchers checking for watches
They know no time with enough patience to share
Little smiles of knowing more than you
The ones who found what they were looking for
in the trees and canopies and little handbooks and scientific names
Flightless birds waiting to be classified
posting old crap
Jester Apr 2017
Little bit of bitter then add the sweet to take the sting away,
Life is, and no spoonful of medicine can lessen it;
Mary Poppins pills to make the pain go away now.

Self medicate and try to keep it down;
Barbie and Ken, with detachable black eye and whiskey bottle.

Another household horrorshow right outside my window but if it's not on the media, how can I tweet at ya, to show you how much I care and how much I support the police at least until it's the hounds released at me.

More bad news and the death rate increases but by a show of support I can get my heart rate down to walk by my ex;  jealous with his new "*****" or so I call her.

This is the new addiction, we're all showing we to care to care and an equal sign that means peace,
safety pin it to our shirts to show we're there.

The only safety I need is on my gun, now I got a box for my son because he shot his mother in the head, I should've stressed gun safety to him, he'll get the hang of it when he starts school next year. Now the boy is a soldier, fighting for peace, some love him, some hate him. I just want him alive, but if he dies, he'll die like a hero and if he washes out early- I have no son.

Intent doesn't matter, only actions show character. That's what I call a disgrace, which is why I wear a mask, to show my true face. Hiding in plain sight is the best kind of disguise, but you can tell a storied life from the depth of my eyes.

So Mary Poppins pills and it's just the way, a little bit of salt and sugar to start my day.
This is a poem from my Third book Out for Blood- on sale now on Amazon.com
ponny jo May 2014
I have too much compassion for all of this dark.
As if within the turmoil, someone's playing a harp.
Like Beethoven in the most horrorshow happenings.
I try to re-sort things but amidst the chaos, I can't help just laughing.

A person is a silly thing.

Burkowski had a bird, I think I may too. I feel my true smilings, it has to be true.
T R S Jul 2019
I'm so sorry
I know I'm a maniac.
I know I have a nervous disorder
and this is the most
bombastic
Asstastic stupid
******* horrorshow that I've allowed myself to be.


I can't see anymore.
I have self hate slime
gooeing up my eyes.

My life is a slovenly horror show lie
and it's breaking me into little pieces

What's my credit score?
It's all lies.
and I want to cry...
and shy away from everyone.

It's all lies.
everything dies
and I'm apart of it.

I thought life was lit.
but now I'm burning down.
Don't frown and cry for me.
Feel good. Eat food.
Live life.
Have fun.
Have dogs and go vacation.

The world is gonna blow up some day and all you'll have is memories.

It's something we all can see.
Make a day.
Please..... have fun.
For all of us....
Bobby Copeland Sep 2019
The news is not good news today--
Hide from the wind and run from rain,
A boat on fire, gut sick gun play.
All told, a litany of pain,
And I, perhaps I should feel worse,
Should give anxiety its due,
The medications being cursed.
And yet the sky outside is blue.
I claim no sense of innocence,
While holed up here--a sonneteer,
With lit incense and cupiscence
For that woke fear this craft can't queer,
This horrorshow, this pixeled glow--
Trade winds that blow where words won't go.
Jester Mar 2020
And so as the vicious street punks and the droog crews make merry in the modern cities of ultra fashion, so I dress to impress and clash in the streets.

Hammer and Brass knuckle, chains and living by the switchblade life.

Speeding lights and Burgess printed the method.

Savage young punks.

Sword duel for honor long gone out the window now, guns are for the classless, if you have a hate-on for someone, fist to fist or blade to blade, bat to bat and blood to blood. Look em the eye if you want to shed some flesh.

Bowler hats and commando boots, canes, bats, bruises and blood.

Real flash horrorshow, savage young punks, the dreams of youth wasted on the violence of wide eyed children, children of the digital era who grew up as latchkey kids, who grew up feeling isolated and had no healthy outlet for that anger.

Anger is an energy, the birth of the atomic bomb.

The homegrown domestic terrorist.

Suddenly violence seems less romantic and street gang fights for respect and turf turn to stray bullets raining down across the nation, homes and schools, churches and weddings.

We still love our violence.
Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch
Bang in the first measure
Came the congenital seizure
Skewing the first invention from scratch.
The campfire skied its sparks
Into the ghost-ridden void,
The skittish tchotchkes
Of paradox and entropy
Quirks and tics as dumb as bricks
Until a headstrong mongoloid
Started groping for rhythm
In the quavering spasms.

Oh, but it was a jawdropper
A bang-up tour-de-force
A horrorshow time-warper
Of Luke and Kirk and spice,
The good apple ran the table
Till the old goat hacked the matrix
And the young hawks did their mind-tricks
Of a tessellated cat’s cradle...
And paparazzi made the odyssey
From planets Claire to Z
To dish how cosmic *******
Trysted protomolecule
As the major ghosted ground control...
In all, a very large array
Of bingeworthy groundhog days.
Lukewarm confabulation
Of the smoking embers
From the essential tremor
Ceaseless oscillation
Between good cop and bad copper.

And the girl scouts chorus
With cheeks full of S’mores
“For all of your fables
Of hobbits and hubbles
And sabering at windmills
You will never untie the volition
Riddled into the convulsion,
Nor how the campfire kindles
Nor be one of us.
You will always ***** the pooch
Halfway to the paw-paw patch.”

Nurse Dipso-Etheromaniac
And Dr. Thorazine-Brainiac
Shoved their two-part invention
Cold turkey into the clockworks,
Cleft lip
Fetal eyes
Flipper-fingered
Riddled with the shakes
Cold-shouldered him to another dimension
Where muggles punk ETs,
And their whiskey wizards
Serve up mock elixirs
Not some hair of the dog to undistemper
The secondhand DTs,
His doggo superpower.

Bill Grogan’s goat
(Bam bam bam bam!)
Was feeling frisky
(Bam bam bam BAM!)
Chased three red skirts
Across the galaxy...
“I knew you were one of the ***** boys
But why do your hands shake like that?
They flipper and gibbet all over the keys”
The sour-smelling teacher spat.

And the mean girls echoed
With tongues of acid
“See how they lurch and squirm!
You will never get to the paw-paw patch
You will never find dear little Susie
She will never teach you to hulu
And you will never two-step
With dear old Johnny
With fists of wiggle worms.”

He touched off the fireworks
Torching all your pomp and cirque
In some skullduggery
Of **** and villainy.
I, Dropout
Outcast
Clonetrooper
Mutineer
Hitched a ride north of the watchtower
Where imperial walkers with hooves of ice
Stomped the land flat, and late-blooming
Summer never shakes the phantom menace
Of the winter that is always coming.

Somewhere in the interstellar distances
Of Kantian prairie perturbed by auroras
Like those night-blooming skyflowers
I glimmered back into existence.
I drank with wildings dropped with the dead
And vaped the contrails of the mad rocketeers
(Kid Rambo, Def Louie, Jedi Freddy and Manny
Steampunk Sal and Wig Out Johnny)
But never found sweeter ******
Than the next bridge to burn.
I, callow flamethrower
Of Shiva, the destroyer.

Marshall Gunpowder Jehoshaphat Miller
The bad apple of the force
Hatchet-faced and porkpied
Dead by ****** suicide
Born again old-schooler,
Packing halitosis
From ossified canon
Skywalked me down.
Gospeled me like Luke
And knee-capped me with a curse
Shame; the oldest mind-trick in the book.
I served out my prodigality
In Ludovico therapy
Which for a half-life, somewhat took.

Headlong into retrograde
I crashed the zero-sum arcade
Fed a quarter into the supercollider
And with some crazy tic of the wrist
Spooked the ball’s trajectory
So it champagne supernovaed
And spat out the shabby ghost
Of a birthright lottery.
Thirteen golden statues.
But as the digits flipped
And the mission crept
As it does to one and all
Faster than a cannonball
I flashed back to renegade.

And the made girls chorused,
With cheeks full of Botox,
From their partial-view suites
And partner-track perks
Of bottomless cups
Of shut the **** up,
“You nearly made the grade, you!
But then you had to mouth off job-hop Hulk
Out, which finally betrayed you.
Now Security Guard Miller
Will escort you off the premises
For a reckoning with your nemesis
Regret, the silent killer.”

True, for a season I was a bluepilled moon
Marooned with space junk
And cypherpunk
Doomscrollers
Of deadend might-have beens,
Like the lunar sonata’s
Primal whisper of futility,
Until it tripolars
Into ultraviolent agitato
And hits escape velocity

Now loosed from orbit of the Goldilocks planet
I tumble through space in dumbstruck rapture
Of hurricaned stars and thundercloud nebula
I tremble in the thousand-parsec stare
Of the headless horde of dark riders
That stampede the stony hobbits,
Through the looking-glass of lightyears past
I see monstrous galaxies in ungainly copulation
Blushing Hiroshimas of atrocious release
And multi-sunned planets where misbegotten
Beings shudder into self-consciousness,

While I drift toward the event horizon
To be gobbled into the enigma
With a little gasp of gamma
Hammerstricken wires frisson.
Where the eleventh measure of the first invention
Counterclockwise corkscrews
Way down yonder in the paw-paw patch,
After a very long array of groundhog days
My skeleton crew bunch into alignment
Like that hunch of spooky entanglement
Or just possibly like that eternal dissonance
Quelled by a quanta of true arrogance,

In a clockwork grotto
Grows a chrysalis F-sharp
Where fingers at last Goldilock
Into queasy equilibrium,
To my dumb surprise
The dark sac butterflies
And there is Susie
A little tipsy
On hard compatibilism,
With hips of pulsars
And hands of auroras
She hulus like the time warp
Not spasm without rhythm
But otherworldly vibrato.
On the infinitely big and infinitesimally small, and deeply personal.
T R S Jul 2019
Glassiness is the debt I made in my eyes.
Money's overrated
and so is love.

Love is like a masterpiece
that you see in a show.

It's real nice to be by it
but it'll blow you up and know
just what it did.

Bidding for a fancy life
is a horrorshow
is exactly who I am
and it's all I'll ever know.
T R S Aug 2019
I held an hourglass against the sun to burn up all the bugs.
All of the little critter crawlers that buried under my skin.
They like me more at night, because I'm very warm.
So, they storm my hair hedges and burrow in my skin.

The ****** up part is that I let them in,
and allow me to be itchy all night,
all night in my dreams I sweat.
It's salty, saline regret.
And it steps inside me, over logs of happiness and hate.

I let them in to help me begin to be a better person.

And they let me know that the horrorshow is that I'm worse than ever happy memory I held and thought I still was.
T R S Sep 2019
Grazing in the hell hills,
I stumbled about a sticky situation.

Mumbling.
Making a mole hill out of ant barracks.

It's true.
I shouldn't stare at the sun.

So, instead
Let us run an artificial operation.

Maybe, let's mention
just how sterile of a horrorshow life showed, and should be what it should be.

Stumbling around...
Still.
Holding still in a coffee shop.

It's not what I hold.
And It's not what I have.
It's not even anchored in my soul,
but still I can NOT stop.

— The End —