You ***** need to stop I'm sorry for hurting your feelings I'm not the one that usually disrespects humans faith and love for something that doesn't even exist - I mean that I believe doesn't exist but you can still live you've got your feelings hurt but thousands of us can not longer hold on or have stopped living - 68 percent of us to be precise have met you speakers telling beautiful stories about saving and love but let your eyes meet ours and you'll have a cemetery party with champagne and cake for my people that unfortunatly met you - so called followers of everything that's right too many of us asked for acceptance nobody wants acceptance anymore after you've hurt people over some old book pushing things on us we're not just don't be ignorant it makes your mind look so small for a person with such a big mouth that normally shouts leviticus twenty:thirdteen those are the numbers numbers we already read, heard have screamed while overdosing on pain,blood and touch by you pedophiles that treat us like some dust trust me too many of us know  and won't come back so bring them back climb your way to your heaven and ask like the angel you are -father is killing your youth right?
~.V.~

Im not a good poet but I want to get this off my chest.
Maybe this is too much of a blog. If so, I am sorry.
Nobody has to read it!
I don't mean to misuse this service or to make anyone mad.
I am just not good at poetry
But I believe my words have a rhythm to them.

This is a long and boring post.
Making this post is part of my healing
Even if nobody reads it.

I met a psychopath, I don't use that term lightly
He had been in prison for ****** against his 7 year old daughter
A monster and what most people often call a baby ******.

What was wrong with me, that I did not bolt away like a wild horse?
What made me stay? Is it my Tao to be in their spell forever?
I mean the pedophiles that abused me now forty years ago?

How could I have blocked out his crime?
Where was my outrage for the victim?

He is in Seattle, I am in Minneapolis
But we played cards for 7 months
When he showed me his hand,
I suddenly realized who and what he was.
And I was struck with a sense of horror.

Psychopaths are always charming, at first.
They fool a lot of people. He fooled me.
And I can't get over it.

I broke free, galloped away, but had irreversible damage.
I could not eat or sleep. I was on edge.
I felt polluted, I felt ashamed, I felt gullible
It is why I have the diagnosis of PTSD
because my entire childhood was filled
To the rafters with abuse and this psychopath
Touched upon that in a major way.
They call it a "Trigger" in psychology.

I thought I had burned that house down
But my naïveté and poor boundaries led me
From the paradise of my home
To this psychopath's perverse thinking.
What a sick *******.
I can't even describe
how perverse it got towards the end
So I won't even bother.
Why dwell on a psychopaths sick mind?

I was very sick and in a crisis for ten days
When I broke it off with him.

My last email to him was that,
God is real and that he is going to Hell.
He excuses his behavior with
Bible verses.
That's not going to help him
On judgement day.
He also will suffer karma until
He learns his lesson.
Prison was not enough to teach him

Im starting to sit back and take in the lesson
I've decided that for my own safety
I need to get a lot more paranoid because
Baby rapists and evil people do exist
And I have no radar and no set of boundaries.
Because I was abused so much as a child.

I downloaded an App that lists all
The ****** predators near your home
There are a lot of them and some look like
Your average guy, like the pedophiles who abused me.
Nobody next store but in Osceola, 5 minutes away.

And what about Jared Fogel? Is everyone a pervert?
Why do adult ( mostly men ) need to sexualize children?

I am restricting my easy going temperament
He took what was left of my innocence.
My heart is healing and I have vowed
Not to let him or his sickness
To ruin my good temperament.
Nor my Peace of Mind.

Lastly, I realize that it was by the Grace of God
That I found a loving husband
A man who truly cares, truly loves
In a way I never felt as a child.

As an abuse survivor, the statistics
For me to find a suitable relationship
were slim.
But my mother always told me
To respect myself.

But here we are, 31 years together
Or what my science mind calls
60% of our lives. We are 53.

I don't know how I found "the one"
A broken heart is so visceral and
With so much angst that I feel fortunate
That I've been spared that experience.

We met in Martial Arts class
I had met him at age 19 and he asked me out
I took him up on that offer when we were 22
I worked for my black belt in Tae Kwon Do
He was working on his 2nd degree blackbelt
We trained together for many hours
We hung out.
Ha ha, our first date was to see
The Karate Kid! Also plenty of Bruce Lee!
My husband began martial arts because
Of Bruce Lee.
I started martial arts for self defense
Having been abused by so many men
Made me want to never happen again.

Nice trip down memory lane
Back to the psychopath.
I don't have children and
I am not around any children.

I went to the State Fair, and saw some girls
Only 7 years old, like the psychopath's daughter
When he started his predation on her.  
I felt physically ill that a child of that age
Would have to deal with a grown man
And her father, on too of that.
It is beyond imagination.
I was abused at age 11 and 7 seems
Awfully young. Poor girl.

I felt a sense of nausea when looking at these little girls
That I had befriended a ****** perpetrator
Entirely negating his victims experience.
What was I thinking?

I feel almost like I am guilty because I associated with him.
I feel horrible that I had any relationship
With such a dark and bleak soul.

God bless his daughter out there somewhere
She is now in her 20s
His children are in their 20s and I think
When he has grandchildren he might re offend
I need to stop this and have decided
To contact CPS, and write a letter of concern
Every six months until he has grandchildren

It's the very least I can do.
I've taken a personal interest and
I vow to protect his future grandchildren
From ******, a crime he is not sorry about
He has no remorse, he does not repent
And in that way he can reoffend

Let me go back to my life now
It is almost Fall
And the trees will be brilliant
Thank God, that I realize
I need to out much tighter boundaries
Around myself because being gullible
Is going to get me killed

Thankfully I am not being stalked
Thankfully my life is not in danger
Thankfully we live half a continent away

Let me hold my husband's hand
Let me remember what's important
Let me remember that Im safe
Let me recover from the emotions
Of horror and dread, that have kept me
From eating and sleeping.

Im a bit of a yogini
And I do yoga Nidra
I do meditation
I take refuge in Buddha
I have a faith in Christ
These things all help.

Let the heavens forgive me
For ever getting involved
With a psychopath and for not
Giving his daughter's abuse
A second thought.

This has altered my personality
I am now an activist for victims
Of childhood violence.

I will hear their voices in a way
That is healthy and safe.

Safe. A good place to be!

If you've made it to the end of
This post, I give you my sincere
Thanks and if you did not read my post
I also give you thanks.

~Arianna

He woke up
next to the empty spot
where Wonder Woman had been.
He puked in the toilet
slammed down a forty-ounce Miller High Life
and started putting the suit on.
boots
the gray and black tights
the gloves
the yellow utility belt
and the cape.
It was leather.
He put the cowl
under his arm and left his apartment.
It was a late start
nearly noon
by the time
the bus got him to
Mann's Chinese Theater.
He saw a lot of his
friends and colleges
as the bus went down to his stop.
It was a regular day
all the characters were
in their usual little groups.
Spider-Man & Captain America
two Mormon boys that had been
excommunicated from the church
they got caught **** *******
each other
now they were stuck in Hollywood
like everyone else.
The X-Men
or H-Men as most people called them
were a group of junkies.
One of them had a cousin at Fox
and they got four replica X-Men costumes.
So that's how they scored
their junk everyday
garnered pretty good tips from the tourists.
Cyclops, Jean-Grey, Storm, and Wolverine.
It was a good grift. **** good idea.
Then you had the impersonators
plastic surgery freaks
obsessed with Michael Jackson
creepy bald men dressed as Dr. Evil
and there was always
a lazy fat guy
that would do Elvis.
Not know any of the songs
and saying the catch phrases all wrong,
"Well, thank you Ma'am....thank you so much."
Those guys never lasted too long.
The cutesy cartoon characters
were almost always
pedophiles or ******* ladies.
The horror people were hands down
the most bat-**** insane of the lot.
They got into the most fights
they terrorized the kids
and they talked a lot of ****.
Would bate guys into fights.
Michael Myers would always start ****
with guys that had beautiful women with them.
It was ****** up.
The LAPD took away Freddy Kruger last month
for beating up a guy
right in front of his kids.
There was talk from the cops
about shutting down their whole thing down.
Making it illegal to dress up in costumes
and get tips.
'Panhandling' as the office had said.
But
Batman hung out with
Superman & Wonder Woman
while doing his thing.
The night before
Wonder Woman and him
had been drinking, smoking, and
they ****** once
before she asked him
what she needed to.
"We got two new guys starting tomorrow."
"What?"
"Yeah. They came up to me on the street today,
wanted to know if they could hang with us."
"Wha? What? Well...do they have costumes?"
"Yeah." She said, exhaling smoke, wrapped in the sheet on the bed.
"These guys got a Green Lantern and a Robin costume. Really good quality,
they showed me pictures. Hey, you finally got a Robin now! Isn't that great?"
"****...I don't know Diana...I was kinda liking our little *******.
"Oh come on, Bruce. It'll be good." She said, wrapping her arms around him
as he sat on the edge of the book, looking out the window.
"We can finally get the big, group tips. Like what the H-Men got going."
"Alright. That's fine."
And the next day
there they were,
Green Lantern & Robin.
Wonderful costumes, like she said
their hair color and overall appearance
spot on.
"Hey there!"
"Hello. Robin. Green Lantern."
Their gloved hands all shook.
They got acquainted and he couldnt help but like them.
Nice guys, musicians, Rockabilly guys, from Venice.
They went out into
the crowd of people
Superman's voice booming over the crowd
telling everyone that they're safe from
evil and wrong doers, blah, blah, blah,
the usual ******* that Superman always said.
Batman yelled to Robin over the enclosing crowd.
They were now fully entrenched by people
fat & sweaty
Batman's panic attack took over.
"COME ON!" He shouted over the rising crowd noise.
The dynamic duo
shoved & pushed
parting the sea of fat tourists
and breaking out onto the sidewalk.
"What's up, Batman?" Robin asked
looking up to him.
The size difference was just like in the comics
Robin was a little guy.
"I just needed to get outta there. Let's go take a lap
down Hollywood Boulevard...see what kinda cash we can grab."
"Okay, Batman."
They walked
up and down
the walk of fame
posing for a few pictures
making some kids day
with wide-eyed excitement
that will be with them forever.
They made forty bucks too.
"Alright, that's good for now. Let's grab a beer, Robin."
It was a small dive
on Hollywood Boulevard
they were two beers in
and Robin was learning a lot
about how Hollywood really was.
Some real talk from Batman to Robin.
"Yup. I moved out here in 1997. I saw that movie 'Swingers' and I thought...
I could do that, that could be my life, I want that."
"And what happened Bats?"
"Well...I came out here, went to film school, did everything I was told, and...
I still got ******." He said, taking a long pull from the bottle.
"Well what happened exactly?"
Robin's green glove, gripping the brown bottle
tilting it back, bubbles rising
"Well...ya see...when I was in film school, the instructors all told us...you either do your internship here in Hollywood or go to New York. Anywhere else and you won't be able to make it. That's what they said."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So I did my internship here in Hollywood and it was for nothing. The whole two years that I was at Faramount, I was never allowed to even touch any film equipment. Well, just to dust it off and clean it. But they didn't even try to teach me anything there. I just did food runs at lunch, got them their Starbucks in the morning, and took out the trash. Swept the parking lot, cleaned the toilets, I was a ******* janitor at that place. And you know what happened next?"
"Huh?"
"One day they just fired me. Just like that. After two years of being their ***** boy. So now I have $50,000 in student loans that I can't pay back, and a degree that got me nowhere."
"****." Robin said, finishing his beer.
"Yeah. So what do you do?"
"I'm in school for audio engineering."
"Ah...the music business eh?"
"Yeah, Batman."
"Hmm."
Batman grew silent then, just finishing his beer, and staring into the mirrored wall.
He wanted to say,
"I have 117 scripts sitting in a stack next to my t.v. That's eight screenplays a year. Robin, I've been at this for fourteen years and it doesn't get any better. I never stop trying and I keep at it, year after year. But I'm done. Get out while you
still can Robin. This city will eat you, **** you, **** you. If you still have a home, I suggest you go back to it."
Batman sat there, his beer finished, still staring straight ahead.
Robin pulled out a ten dollar bill, smiling, calling for the bartender
with that sparkle in his eye
of youth and hope.
He didn't want to say all that ****
crush that gleam in Robin's eye
like he once had.
Those were the best days
the great days
the glory days
to be young, handsome, poor, and hopeful
that you could make it
that it could happen.
So Batman didn't say another word about it.
Nope.
There were things
Robin would have to learn all on his own.

i guess in england i am marx... i spotted one victorian asset that leaves me gobsmacked... so if pedophiles are the lowest of the low in the crime pyramidal scheme... i can almost see it as those with melancholia and schizophrenia being like pedophiles... instead of proper treatment these people get the syringe filled with ridicule... the lowest of the low in the crime theatre are pedophiles while in medicine they’re the mentally ill. do you know how many marriages i’ve seen fail because of overcooked pasta?!*

it’s odd, the moment you realise the hebrew femininity
in stefan zweig’s biography of hölderlin,
it appears when scardanelli (pseudonym)
makes his gesture at the passing of napoleon,
schiller, beethoven, novalis, schubert and waiblinger...
its picturesque depiction of the ivory tower,
the piano the solace of solitude that eclipses
the solstice of congregational sanity so so animalistic
in the morse code platonism of s.o.s.
(what form is it? usually a sinking ship):
frequent flier requires company!
retired divorcee requires ping-pong partner!
oh the horror of such scenarios... never content
with one’s own company, are we?
too bad... i was about to write some satire...
i guess sarcasm will do...
zen buddhism is a perfect antidote for this:
stefan zweig laments the “loneliness” of the poet,
zen buddhism says: **** the world, let the lack of the world
fulfil you... isolationism tactic, purely pronoun related...
no dates to remember, no third party antics... no politics...
the voluntary beggar had more brains than the voluntary sacrifice,
it’s like: i can always go back to my honey abode
with the lineage of princes... or i can try and avoid crucifixion...
hmm... unbaked dough... what a lost will for choice!
no you see... zen buddhism makes this whole shunning the world
and interaction in it a positive...
on the no. 86 bus going to school i learned my first lesson
in non-constipated writing with a relative the sole eyes
of wounded pride avoided...
forget the world and let the world forget you.
works miracles... i live in a jamaican shanty town
and the whole ghetto is filled with me...
it’s the only world i desired and it desires me...
it’s not exactly tübingen...
the chance of an essex lad entering university
is quickly sentenced with the birmingham folk
at u.c.l. stating: we’ll crucify you for the accent!
the essex lad retorts: 'but that’s 200 miles from derbyshire -
what’s your point?!'
thank god i studied in edinburgh... i can keep an eye
on saxon politics from a stoic scot perspective without betting
on the winning horse...
if i went to london as “originally planned” i’d have dropped out
because the ******* are so pompous they hide their pomp
with protests: oh look... they brought the drums out with them too,
if i was serious about protesting about something i’d
look for knives and hammers... you know... the french reign of terror
democracy... forceful... i think they just read the memo
with a typo: bring ye conniving slogans and your cameras to lineage plot details
for social media outbursts!
you could never have proper statistics with television
programs... no we see them all the time...
the internet folk are really party-party orientated...
i can spot about 9 statisticians in a group of 10:
i.e. there's gucci trendy and there's pixxel trendy...
although in the latter sense you're cognitively naked...
and in the former sense you have to ask
someone for a deciphering specialisation
without flinging out the badge of honour that
reads: AUTHENTIC GUCCI TAILORED IN
SOMALIA BUT DESIGNED IN ITALY.

.and there are plenty of reasons why western Europe commemorates the end of the first world war, and while eastern Europe commemorates the end of the second world war... sure, they were Jews, but they were ****** citizens... and whatever ****-show the first world war was... it was a war within a family... wasn't Wilhelm II the grandchild of Queen Victoria? so... George V and Nicholas II... so basically a ****** fest manifest of inter-familial ties... the second world war i can understand, given the catalysts, like the treat of Versailles... Weimar Republicanism... whatever... but the first world war? no wonder Western Europe commemorates the first world war more, than than the second world war... the first world war was.... not the war to ends all wars... it was just the most pointless, ******-infested war of our time... oh... look... no Helen on the horizon! now let's shoot up some ground down poppy seeds... or bake us a poppy-seed cake... because this... i'm not into tattoos... my psyche is already tattooed with vague dates... 1914 or 1918 11:11:11 isn't one of them.

it always feels like a guilty pleasure,
being raised in England...
how the **** i learned the language
i will never know...
  thrown into the deep end of the pool...
i remember Ms. Jarvis
at St. Augustine's primary school
(halfway between Gants Hill
and Barkingside)
   giving me a folder with pictures
of objects and their names...
PAJAMAS...
      i remember that distinctly...
learned the language by myself,
learned to swim by myself...
being mute for most of the time
at the primary,
i used to spend lunch hours in toilet
cubicles, ashamed at being unable
to speak, or in the classroom book
section reading...
then one day: and there was light...
bilingualism is not much,
i'm not a polyglot...
but i know more than merely speaking
several languages...
i know how to think about them...
for example:
why does English, not apply diacritical
markers...
thinking it's the descendent
of Troy, and subsequently Rome?
- and why do the modern Greeks
overuse diacritical indicators?
the first English word i properly learned
was back in Poland...
i was told to write C L O W N
and then draw a picture of a clown...
then came the ambition...
to speak the native tongue than
the natives...
                          to become covert...
chameleon...
                    so... why cat?!
   and not... chatterer? or, rather:
care-taker?
       the linguistic diversity of
this tongue is unbecoming,
  it's exhausting,
paradoxically a universal language
in the form of the lingua franca...
but then the ******* Amazon of
biodiversity of unchallenged particulars...
and English is littered with
its set of particular...
                  how the English think
that English is a difficult language
is beyond me...
   the fact that it is a lawless language,
without any diacritical markers
indicating a clarity of syllable cuts
intra-verbum is one thing...
   and then... people just run along
with whatever is the new vogue...
                                                 CUL8ER...
a moral disintegration i can handle...
all the hedonism, i can handle that...
but when it comes to the orthodoxy
of language?
                        this, "neo cyber punk"
*******?
                            i don't want to get it...
it's the same ******* crap of
slang being the language of exclusivity...
sure... when you're trying to guard
yourself against rogue actors...
like pedophiles online...
             but i didn't learn this *******
language to respect its degeneracy into...
quasi-hieroglyphics...
     oh right, the original point...
it's so ******* weird writing about my
history, having been subjected
to the English historical perspective...
like...
            Rome never made it...
the northern crusades...
                      Mongols...
        weeee'ird;
 ­         like... should this be even mentioned
using this tongue?
or should it be spoken in
the native?
                       and like the new
continent of H'america...
back in Europe... there's no concept
of Hispanic...
                   there is just the: Spaniards,
and their Barcelona,
  and their Madrid...
and their Lisbon...
and their own unique pride,
Hispanic sounds like...
what, a bunch of mongrels?
i'm a psyche mongrel...
                    basically **** up when
listening to the H'americans.

What
Do You
Call
A Man
Who
Goes After
A Teenager?

I'm a poet, beatboxer,
Gamer, Expert procrastinator
Hated
Loved
But not loved by you apparently.

You
Who sits behind the screen like a little *****,
Makes your profile private
So I can't respond to things like
"Exactly what I'd expect a 16 year old little ***** to say"
You only make me mad by your nature
Probably a 50 year-old ******* and troll
Who gets off by taunting younger ones
Because he's too much of a **** to pick on someone
His own size and age,
Having no friends or relatives that love him
Nobody that respects the ******* he is
Probably does drugs
Dropped out of school the year he learnt the word "****"
Didn't follow much of a lifestyle
Blew kids off for twenty bucks
I mean, money is money
Shares his mothers basement with twelve cousins,
Male and female,
That he ***** on the daily
The only action he really gets
And when they aren't there
Climbs out of his trollhole
To **** with the wrong people

They call me Phoenix
Because I roast beats
And pedophiles
Like yourselves

You got a reaction
Question is,
Was it what you expected?

.comes the floundering over foul language, like it's a sin to speak with a cascade of oath taken words, to: never mind the beat and rhythm, that will continue, as long, as long you play the solo... never you mind keeping-up-appearances, why be distracted, better yet: why talk during ***? isn't that worse than saying ****, casually, in a conversation of: pardon my french? i will tell you, it's far worse dragging "god" (words) into the "satanic" pit of actual procreation, than it is to say **** and let it be treated as a conjunction, akin to: and... since what words are sacrificed on the altar of *****-*****? bad, boy, who's your yummy, mummy... who's your daddy... i tell you: **** in between some jane austin snippets, and those prunes would be on, fire, should any words be uttered from their mouths having been staged completely ****... no... foul language is free language with all the chanel and gucci to attire you with away from furr-skins... but talking, uttering words, while procreating? that's just plain scandalous! i bet those prim goodie-two-shoes care more for: pardon my french during conversation, yet they probably squeal like about to be castrated pigs in a slaughterhouse come the synagogue of ******... ******* never wish to accomplish syllables or vowel cubism with contorted mouths during ***... but they say: brush your teeth while speaking... if hey-zeus saw hypocrisy in the jewish sects... full circle... who are the modern day pharisees? somewhere in h'america... beastly contortions... if not pedophiles, then at least the sort of pedantic hypocrites that could share the same tier of Dante's inferno... why talk, during ***? why not eat the ****** during the zenith? wow, don't you think? because bukowski might call me a star-gazer... well... if you look up and see what i see? you too would be looking up... but just in order for you to get a feel of what i feel? three song summary when i look up at night at the sky:
   penta - come in,
     gloOMy PhAntOM - only the beginning,
Matutero - pure evil...
             hell... a fourth song: matutero - exorcist...
i'm no ******* copernicus...
   or a galileo...
                              still: to keep one's mouth clean
is to not utter god: words during the wedding
of "satan" to his shadow...
                                 to keep one's mouth clean
is to not speak during *******,
     *****-stars know the deal...
   tell me what you want, and i will not give it...
don't tell me what i want: and i will surprise you...
even after the act, she said...
'this has only happened to me once'...
when she was paid,
   and didn't expect to reach ******...
                    2nd man in...
  1st man with a hydra in his mouth for paying
an extra 10 quid to perform oral ***
on a *******...
                      good... evil...
well: good is as good as it gets,
but good can also imply: the purity of evil...
evil of the highest quality is in a position
to move down an incremental path toward
good: as spectator...
       as a tease of what is itching the incremental
path toward evil: the omniscient, omnipotent etc.
god...
      oh sure... night sky *******, romance my this
that and whatever *** looks more like:
pork chop cleopatra meets
   cherry 16 tight trim of milk and quicksilver
reflection teasing...
                      you'd be gagging for the goosebumps
and the prickled tiny hairs... performing...
what plant-speciments do with their...
   phototropism...
                                    against all: stereotypes...
            this, lunar base of imagining, not otherwise.
so this is to be my antithesis Golgotha?
for who stands on Har Megiddo
certainly not the skull-baron of the crucifixion...
   blitzkrieg imagery: and suddenly...
   the words... become...
   s               a
h             r                                       l
                   p                   e
                           n      
simply?
      for the supposed foul language used
as barrier between flow and conjunction
necessity... a rhetorical tool of the modern use
of language: no one is standing in any
oratory pulpit speaking to the "masses"...
      but... if i could invent an inverted niqab
for the tongues of christians during ***?
reduce them to moans, groans,
exfoliations of an onomatopoeia...
               less daddy please, who's the naughty boy
*****-***** *** tantrums of:
having ****** so much, the next ****
acts like an anaesthetic to numb what's already
become a numbed pain / pleasure non-differential...
well!
                like i really might need to venture
into the dark-web...
   i'll just bring myself to the party on the "safe" web...
and some poo'em i wrote once,
which doesn't even compliment what i just,
just now: pulled out from my bowels...
again: there's zero-net-worth of feeling in the heart...
emotions? bowels...
   the heart is too preoccupied with rhythm...
akin to how:
    the brain was a metaphor for the soul,
even though the soul is a sigma,
of all known organs and its preoccupation with them,
or not...
    given the current explanation of the brain?
coordination and what not?
evidently the soul is, equivalent to a metaphysical
and biological definition of an *****,
given: the brain doesn't entertain the existence
of thought...
       so... if the brain is not responsible for
thinking, then nothing else in the body is...
                  so soul, or the sigma "conundrum" /
is a metaphysical *****, or whatever you want it to be...
brain = fatty sponge... that can die...
when attacked by killer proteins in the light
of Alzheimer's... like a sort of inverted anorexia...
weird... starvation? fat goes first,
then the carbohydrates... no, wait...
carbohydrates first, fats second...
and then... proteins cannibalise themselves...
that's starvation... in Alzheimer's?
the proteins attack the brain sponge-fatty-blob...
so the brain is not involved in thinking...
so... well, mein gott: god i guess...
   some external source of "inspiration"...
motivation, will... oddly enough?
that coincides with both the + and the - of
such a source of thinking...
             both sides: theistic and atheistic have it
covered... right now? chosing the middle ground
is the only sensible posit to succumb to...

what's the difference between
a polyamorous society
and a polygamous society?
  well... there's not much
of a difference...
   i've been a subject to the former,
and the "covert" latter...
suddenly prostitutes are
above priests and psychiatrists...
well...
  either being sold the body,
or being bribed with
prayer or the pharmacological cocktail...
only because:
i was...
         "being uncomfortable"
for the rest of society...
    polyamorous societies
descend into make-shift
polygamous societies...
             the whole incel problem...
that's really representative
of a polygamous society....
  20% of men get 80%...
    sure... lesbian frolicking
in a harem,
    strap-on-******...
     and eunuchs are missing...
but...
akin to a manic street preachers'
song:
   the walking abortions...
   in all honesty...
the top-down influence
of a polygamous society has crept in
and created
the polyamorous society buffer zone,
so shy right up to now,
but:
before the **** hits the fan
   waiting game...
and how much
of the madonna-***** complex
is currently true,
and how much of ******* dysfunction
is due to...
  being pulverißed
by overtly sexualißed material
exposure?
                 hell...
  if i'm always going to be stitched
into a frankenstein hard-on
potential...
when it comes to the actual deed?
why wouldn't the answer suffice
mostly associated with a *******
and not a woman on her third date?
because i'm pretty sure
that erectile dysfunction isn't
a problem with my experience
of prostitutes...
    but it is... with "free" women...
given that i'm no psychopath...
  and when *** is staged,
it follows that there's a case for relationship,
intimacy...
           a ******* hard-on
is an objective fact...
which is why prostitutes rarely
fail to "conjure" it...
         the violence is simmering...
it's... titillating, nibbling at the toes
of Venus like some
sado-******* fetishist...
        **** me...
   the nazis dropped less bombs
on London via the world war I
zeppelin raids than
how many ****** insinuations
leave me quasi-limp-**** / ******...
   well... not so much ******...
***** just keep bulging with
goosebumps,
   i sometimes forget the ******...
which isn't even associated with
the actual *******...
   it's neurologically associated
with tingling sensation
            of the shaft...
    ***** has nothing to do with it...
    should have asked
me when i was 8...
                  "self-harm",
or...
                 what others rarely see...
no wonder i gravitated to
reading marquis de sade in my early teens...
but like chuck rhodes
said in billions...
             truth...
            if it's not comfortable,
and if its not a wager...
a shadow compensation...
  if its not the intellectuals'
demise of truth being treated
  as a fluctuation,
  a perpetual change,
   bias one minute,
        critique another,
                         a noumenon,
                                  then... what is it?

oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

i don't even want to begin thinking
that man,
was the pinnacle of all lifeforms
on earth...
   notably in this region of "debate"...
because there's no "debate"...
is there?
     not with the elevated mating
norms of... say...
swans... how you actually can...
find widows and widowers
in the swan populace...

          with man having evolved
from monkey:
  well no surprises...
swans have devolved from
dinosaurs...
   the feathers are the fake...
but like lizards...
  born from an egg...
no?
                 swans understand
monogamy...
           humans?
    not so much...
         well... if you're lucky...

but i'm pretty sure:
oh i'm pretty sure
that the current society,
the current:
polyamorous society
is a direct consequence
of a polygamous society's influence...

am i, bothered?
clue me in...
    revolting *****' song: *****...
could a **** ****
a ****...
         without a strap-on?

.only last year i learned that my grandmother had an abortion... shocked? maybe, my great-grandmother was a very religious woman... unfortunately... my grandfather's dementia implies that he's paranoid about admitting that he was a communist party member, and that, like all the school-children... cried... when the olive-skinned Georgian, the grand-master of subverting the Russians, died; oops?

why did i go to an Irish Catholic School?
in Seven Kings?
we had this, "debate", about abortions
aged 15 / 16... taking out religious
studies GCSEs...
                 and the point of that, was?
sorry... no...
       maybe that's why i prefer to frequent
brothels...
   no concerns over STDs (since the prostitutes
confide in me that they get
regular medical checks, and, can you,
believe it! i believe them)
and no concerns for imposing marriage
proposals via stealth impregnation...
  what i should have said was:
can we extend this ****** thing with
you wearing a full-bodied latex suit?
  i'm feeling kinda *****...
  but NO! oh NO!
        ah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
i'm feeling, kinda *****...
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!
maybe i was, once upon a time,
the sort of suitcase material for women,
compliant, ordinate, whatever the ****
that means...
        certain a household busy body...
guess what?!
   what?
         NOT, ANY, MORE!
          half starved alcoholic and a heavy
smoker, orientated around filling
a pixel fail-safe space of a blank...
       about as much a father-figure in me,
as in a ******* donkey....
but the donkey is not being the carrot,
it knows the the stick...
             and a stick is a better analogy
to a double edged sword:
it goes, along, the lines, of:
a stick has two ends,
you can hold a stick,
  and hit someone with it,
or the stick can be yanked out of your hands,
and you can be hit with it...
ah... isn't that so much more...
clarifying?
       a debate about abortion...
with a child aged 15 / 16?
   only an Irish Catholic school...
sorry... NO!
                  that isn't a baby,
that is a *****...
           it's a baby outside of a woman...
so what? when i ******* into
a tissue and flush it down the toilet,
i'm supposedly committing, genocide?
i must be, self-evidently by
your counter argument...
         what idiot is supposed to expect
a child, out of uni, aged 21,
with a bride aged 19...
and the best thing, coming to him,
is to work with his father,
  doing industrial scaled roofing?
with a bride... too proud to move in with
her in-laws for a while?!
what, sort, of, schmuck, does that?!
oh no... i've done my mea culpa bull-****!
i'm done!
       just because it's inside a woman's
body, doesn't make it anything
more than what it is, in my body!
savvy?!
         i'll play my loser card
simultaneously with my joker card...
the Catholic Church can eat ****...
moralizing while it gravitates
  to a castrato soprano faggoting some
choir boy!
   *******!
              moralize my ***
telling me that taking a **** is a sin!
so where am i supposed to put it?!
corpus christi! eat that!
   thus?
let's begin...
  it is immoral for teenagers, aged 15 through to 16,
to be exposed to the ethical discussion
surrounding abortion... PERIOD...
have your religious education...
  after all... i was the only idiot
who did four A-levels, most people only did 3...
17 / 18...
      extra-curriculum activity...
ethics... oddly enough:
the schooling establishment a bit dry...
when it comes to the euthanasia
"debate"...
   can't exactly argue with someone who's
more than willing,
to exact the penal code...
    euthanasia is a non-win argument
for the Catholics...
        
but abortion? sway-prone...
   if you tell me,
that,
  just because my ***** is now
the ownership of a woman,
and i can't *******...
   if you tell me:
that, whatever "that" is... is "life"?

let's put a cherry on the top of this
mode of thinking,
seriously, ethical debate concerning
abortion, using teenagers?
the ones easily cloned?
(told you, religion predates
the concept of cloning,
prior to the scientific discovery
of d.n.a.) -
  
  let's put a cherry on top,
of this... "cheesecake"...
   what was it...
              hmm...
              you know... when rage
implodes, and you don't punch
anything...
an angry young man's anger...
well... that's different...
  but allocating a basin for
the collection of Berserk, rage?
you know when you,
write semi-blind, semi-conscious?
in a dream-like "reality"?
when a bull sees red?

hmm...
why did i attend an Irish Catholic school?
pedophiles about to dictate
the rules of, ethics on my ***?!

entertain me...
   i understand the ethics of:
when the pregnancy is too late,
when the ***** has morphed into
looking akin to what a baby looks
like outside of a woman:
i.e. a ******* man...

   but while it's inside a woman...
it's attache...
             and if n early abortion
is deemed, infanticide....
**** me...
   i commit genocide almost every
day, and flush it down, the,
******* toilet!

I hate ******,
I hate racist,
I hate narcissistic people,
I hate criminals,
I hate subliminal messages,
I hate werid fetishes,
I hate killers,
I hate murderers,
I hate child molesters,
I hate sodomizer,
I hate spiders,
I hate fear,
I hate my mirror,
I hate low battery,
I hate battery (crime)
I hate pedophiles
I hate crocodiles
I hate the sun,
I hate to run,
I hate sin,
I hate my sinister grin,
I hate villains,
I hate millions,
I hate billions,
I hate trillions,
I hate people who dont hate what I hate,
I hate everything,

Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the *******,
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***,
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.

One day... when the sun rose high in the sky... Gods will was said to have whipped the universe of sin for a single moment in time.
But it was the way that sin had been whipped, that will change everything about this story. This story does not have a happy ending. But This story also does not have a bad one either.

When the world was at it's worst, where rapists, killers, pedophiles and just about the worst of the worst would stroll around, like a fresh Sunday right after church ended and the bells would be a-ringin'...

Dressed in Black with a Red clerical collar, the Devil decided to take a walk on Gods green earth.

A lot of those see Lucifer as the darkest of darkness that dark could ever cast into a shadowy corner in the lowest of low pits in Hell. The King of Rebels. The ultimate Sinner. But on this day, just this once, He didn't seem to appear so dark.

With every step he took you could hear the whaling of a banshies cry in the distance. With a grin that crept on the peak of his filthy stature of a body.

What was it that made this being so Evil? Why was he seen as such a tragic accident? Lucifer is no Demon of any kind, but a fallen Angel. The darkest most hated of Angels to ever be known.

The Devil Walked into a Bar... This bar was called "The Cracked Loon-Addict" (But The Devil knew... he could read the words better than any mortals eyes could ever see. The words read on the Bars title, The Cracked Lunatic) Home and Refuge for the worlds most wanted and every living killer, ******, ******* and monster you could possible think up.

He ordered a shot of whisky and took a sip.

A ****** walked up, weak in her demeanor, She reeked of conviction and any form of self respect.  She spat in his face and laughed.

A man walked up to the Devil soon after the woman staggered off drunk, and said he ***** 4 children, 7 wives, murdered 6 men and tortured 17 families and sent each tape he recorded of the tortures to each families family, right before coming after them and killing them too.

The Devil looked into this mans eyes and saw nothing but the truth.

Soon after the man walked away another man walked up to the Devil. This man was skinny and his eyes peeled of death. The man had claimed he was a deluded psychopath with no reason for killing 117 people in the course of 4 days. He said he was just bored.  

Nearing the end of the day as the sun began setting, more and more people, men and women approached the Devil and confessed their sins. By the time the sun had set the Devil was on his way out the door and before leaving a man sitting at a table at the opposite, farthest end of the bar sat in a Pure White Robe. The Devil Stood at the entrance for a moment and then turned around and saw the man and noticed there was a broken halo above his head. The Devil grinned and walked out. The first step he took outside the bar was the Step of Judgement The Second Step was the Step of Eternal Damnation.

Every living being in the bar weather it's species was human animal or unknown, had obliterated into a dark mist. All accept that one single man in the white Robe. That ****** burned alive and his ashes left the mark of his broken wings into the floor boards as if it was to leave a tattoo.

Lucifer remembers. He remembered what the man in the pure white robe said right before the Devil walked out. He said, "I am an egotistical Homosexual who poses as an innocent white male who rapes the innocent and sheds hatred on those who love the same gender; All so I can get into the Kingdom of Heaven." The Devil laughed as he took his first step outside of the Bar and as he left Gods green earth.

But he did not do this for the faith of good or to help and serve the lives of the innocent. They did not even pose a threat to the Devil nor did they care about him.

The Devil did this because he found that the burning souls in hell didn't seem to burn bright enough. So he found some better ones to burn for the next eternity to come until he needs to refill his eternal Inferno.

Melting madness and shimmering isles
The bubble-gum boils in drug pedophiles
Let's teach the East to love Western style
We come in with strap-on's and pillage with smiles
The rest of the world watches their watches
People keep saying we're at hour eleven
We're changing the design on our gold lockets
From a heart to a blackjack, Seven Seven Seven!

The college boys assure you that they know the lyrics
And the meanings behind them for they've been enlightened
They swarm out like locusts and pretentiously parrot
Verbatim the textbooks they read when they're frightened
That they'll die with nothing to show for their efforts
They want everyone else in the world to remember
That they did exist on some scale of importance
Even though we're just spun yarn of grass, dirt and oceans

Intelligence streams the consciousness seeds and conscientious objectors it seems
So pardon me for the fallacy of pardoning tyrannical dictator queens
It seems these days to be discovered you need to cheat on your spouse or your lover
You'd think that with all the war crimes we've seen we would have hung at least one or the other
We've got two parties, so pick one or scram! (Look at them squirm as fast as they can!)
They're starting to think for themselves again! Quick, strangle the market and feed this man
Acid and bath salts and give him some tear gas and send him on in to disarm the smear traps
And **** everyone so we'll jump to conclusion with no where to turn, the final solution!

I'm drunk again and we're falling in, the shoreline is riddled with explosions
We don't speak of the war, we have no comment, we're almost out of original content
We're frantically searching for a brand new contest to prove that our nation is still the best
Whether you're China, Russia, Israel, Pakistan, the U.K., or India, the U.S. or Japan
Let's take all the gangbanging **** out of Oakland and drop them in to the Atlantic Ocean
Or better yet, set them loose in Uganda, let's see how long they last in Rwanda.
I'm done with religion and socialized medicine, this aristocracy of pull and deception
So for once in our lifetimes, let's seek a vision, because God knows people can't make ******* decisions.

well the left is dead, and the left turned into tartan, i guess the islanders
are gearing up to a male patriarch where ***** go free with jealousy
rather than queened freely;
i know the left died, but to have it third day resurrect
in scotland, i'd never think the tories flavoured
outside of plum plucked blue;
only when a politics is unappealing to quote no vote,
is a change of monarch at hand,
and then why such the left disappear almost completely?
it's one thing for tyranny to leave a listening airy cleft
where once thought reigned tyrannically un-dialectical,
but it's another cased scenario to suddenly
lever a man to contort into a female face on either
photograph or coin, so we leave the wonders of chillingly
easy rhymes of song from the 1960s to the 21st complex,
and we leave the reign almost feeding a reprimand
for the multi-cultural having no artistic endeavour
in a counter. multi-cultural will not provide a counter-culture,
given the scenario of tyranny to aggregate all into taxable citizens,
perhaps that's rome shrunk into the vatican for the alphabet to survive,
perhaps why latin is "dead" and perhaps why poetry is dead,
because the only walky talkies are women in retirement;
forget dialectics even, remind yourself of dialogue first!
in the end, like the pre-socratics, i'll be a snippet of words
to bruise myself on fame post-mortem;
of course i live in readied tyranny, no one votes
and the left of politics was taken my northern nationalists...
in the end, thank **** at least that happened!
the king wears a kilt!
and? better my youth be a foolery in the realm of vocabulary
than prancing in tutu and bra on a table in ibiza;
yes, i'll be courteously french while i age in the silent winery:
that place where you won't even hear a corkscrew.*

the politics is long, i'd rather live on nn the faroe islands,
but it reminded me of a charles in henry's nursery rhyme:
charles the first survived, slow motion:
beheaded, in ****, later did some philanthropy;
conspiracy almost ******, gaffed choking on a peanut peel, never married -
entered the nunnery via public opinion that'd never allow a scandal or a ****** birth.

intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's leave it to the pigs
or play dead among the dogs,
or levy it with questions in gushing recurrence;
intelligence is uncomfortable,
let's utilise it with someone saying:
i rather speak to someone 100 prior or 100 years after.

or as later proved: among the citizens an uncomfortable censor
was a woman, that's the thing:
misogyny and homosexuality are almost alike:
gays love to talk to women but loath to butter up a sour bread dough,
misogynists loath to talk to women but love to **** 'em;
where's the middle way buddha? where's the middle way?
socrates turning into a misogynist disguised in homosexual accents
in old age? the old man got away with acceptable norms in old age,
almost, they figured out his **** pure and minded his cranium crucible divergence
from: young boys readied for pedophiles spoke more flowers
than my wife while cooking compost of fruits!

ah! i live in a spicy tomorrow, gearing up to charles the third's
reign with talk of the amputated left limp either side of the diaphragm
equator, hence the scot nationalists,
whereby we have beauty anorexic strutting eager for a faint in a cabbage patch,
and we best test tube in pigmenting alkali,
writing songs about life, not poetry of that ideal: "from the cosmos"
of autobiographic detail of metaphysics to exclude evil from a humming choir;
or as i took to my father in sepia:
beauty in anorexia, language in bad grammar and even more a terrible spelling
that never experienced the lines of detention to conform,
and then all the moral freedoms to not think about
and when thought about, quickly attached to **** smear
girly literature;
but do i go around talking of my easily-read literature?
so why this italian pole girl ruining my diary of saved orientated ordination?
she jealous or just illiterate the she-troll of all?

misogynists are like homosexuals, although the prior have no politico thumb,
we love ******* the brains out, we hate being boyfriends
from magazines or the psychology sections of saturday newspapers editions;
plus we like our own company, which is hard to grasp;
i mean, we love women within the membrane of ****** temperatures twinning,
but that's hardly the right temperature for conversation akin to vishnu and lakshmi.

i took into a motel
on my way somewhere, to do something
the place was occupied by pedophiles, prostitutes and drunks
it had a "rent by the hour" option
outlaws, bikers and the occasional wannabe poet
on the run
on the hunt
we were all comfortable with America
half-heartedly chasing the Dream
i wanted to write a poem about jerking off
and getting *** all over myself
and having nothing to wipe it off with
so i decided (in the poem) to wait till it dried out
but then it never dried, so i laid there for days
until i got dizzy with hunger,
and had to get up (in the poem)
with the *** dripping down my body
leaving awful wet stains all over the room
on the drapes and sheets and remote control
"by god, it's everywhere!" i cried (in the poem)
but then i remembered that my mom reads my poems
so instead i wrote about these cows i saw
cows grazing on a pasture outside San Antonio
cows looking up at the sky
secretly dreaming of going to the moon

yea... i made a slight... . . punctuation error... like **** will i correct it... i was asking a question, that wasn't exactly a question... ooh... salt & vinegar chips... even with this added ***... yummy yummy, yummy...

.i ask a question, i don't ask a question, i ask a question... but don't use a question mark, which implies a subterfuge of rhetoric underlay, which subsequently implies: dialectics are in play; i expand punctuation marks where intended, to add to the emphasis... i turn horror... into a... romance... i give the shadow the strings, and leave the body... courtesan... but all the more... curious in fathoming automation; lucky that we've met! incy-wincy-spider... the 1960s... such curious years to us... Millennial folk... well yeah... thanks for... ******* up the internet! you're right up there with the pedophiles on my ****-list! bravo! bravo! right up there with the pedophiles.... what?! you think i'm going to shove my head into the entertainment of hitting the mall arcades?! L.... oh wait... i thought you knew what that stood for.... do i ******* look like a Loser... oh wait... right... you're going to rob me of a roof over my head... if you get to the age of a care home? find... luck... but you won't... all the luck i might wish you... find... luck.

the laughter...
dies with the clown.

p.s.
i guess misspelled
the word...
soft;

the existence of
shadows begs,
as man of god,
the existence of
mirrors;
my own,
the turbulent lakes,
and seas, and lakes
incubated...

marks my words...
into such depths....
aa heart might seek resolve...
but in such depths...
whatever heart is to be spoken of...
will not fulfill the shape...
or the original
grievance....

woman! what is there to forgive
is what i cannot forget?!
what is there to forgive?! what?!
what is there forgive?!
unless...
   you are endowed with
succumbing me to a lobotomy...
then...you want me to forgive...
i'll forgive...
but help me to forget...
by staging an instigation of
Alzheimer... perform a lobotomy...
then i'll forget...
by then... i'll not be able to either remember,
think, imagine, or remotely contemplate
the concept of memory...
nostalgia in tow.

there's no bitterness behind this...
just aa prehistoric rage...
a dumb gnashing of teeth...
      
           it will not rest,
and... hopelessly...
i don't want it to rest...
i'd die: uninhibited, restless....
   not this life, and the deaf assured...
overcome my leisure,
overcome my pain,
  overcome all life, and death,
but only overcome...
when this narrative dies...
yet another is born;
then... only then...
        will my justice in worship tame...
the self-proclaimed judge...
this generation or another...
i will, claim my voice...
        
why?!
         my contemporaries?!
i have contemporaries?! really?!
i thought i was the idiot among geniuses!
i was wrong?
  we were all idiots among idiots?
****...

            why did i even bother
to talk, when i could have bothered
to make emphasis of thought.

So I was walking down the street the other day,
smoking my cigarette,
and enjoying it,
and singing fake songs to myself,
and I walk past a small car,
and it made me stop,
because its strange to see a small car on my street.
Especially a small car painted in bright clown colors,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke,
and especially a small clown colored car filled with smoke and what looks to be clowns.
So I decided to investigate,
and I walked up,
and I tapped on the window,
and as soon as I did all I could hear was screaming and kicking.
I took a step back because
I mean
****,
what if it exploded?
And as the small colorful clown car door opened,
smoke poured out,
billowing and puffing,
very strange smelling smoke of all different colors,
and i began to wonder if it wasn't me who was tripping ball's,
as 1..
no 2..
no 12
huge bug eyed clowns crawled out.
Gawking and hissing and juggling crack pipes.
The first one asked my name.
I lied of course.
You never trust a cracked out clown,
not even with your name.
The second one asked me my age.
I lied of course,
because it's a well known fact crack clowns are pedophiles
and he might have tried to have his way with me
if I told him the truth about my tender young age.
The third asked me for a cigarette.
I gave it to him of course,
out of sheer terror that if I didn't
he might use his circus tricks
to pull a colorful rag out of his ***
and choke me to death with it
and I didn't want that.
The rest of them just kind of stared at me
or screamed
or sniffed my clothing and inspected me.
After a few minutes of all of this
I decided I'd had enough.
Talking with clowns is bad karma anyways,
and I started to walk away
waving politely
but no they weren't done with me yet.
They hog tide me
and covered me in clown make up
and adopted me as there new pet monkey
/clown driver
/lion tamer.
But of course,
when the police found me naked in a trash can at three in the morning a few hours later
still unable to complete whole sentences
they wouldn't believe ( or couldn't understand) a word of it
but I'll tell you,
if you ever see a smoke filled colorful clown car
just walk away.
We know the truth
its ugly, and juggles crack pipes.

I'm watching my life be spit back to me, through gods mouth, God threw me away into the swamps of the ugliest parts of Louisiana, where mosquitos don't dare lay their eggs. This is where the bodies of eagles rot and pedophiles and racists scrape up road **** for what it's worth and I am left searing on the road in the shimmering heat, waves from tar, crows circle in black masses, mass proceeds as the church burns, burn me with it, gracious god. I'm begging you to make my ashes worth something.

God sings out "Dastardly bastardly catastrophe girl, downing whole pill bottle model girl, where are you?" You called? I'm sitting in a parking lot, thinking how the man in front of me lot drinks a lot. He thinks he should quit a lot for his wife and kids who he loves a lot. That man from the parking lot, he bought himself another bottle of liquor with his wife's credit card. Life spins around me and I don't have time to keep up. I see you in front of me. I think of that a lot.

Beast of skipping stones, slip over me like the snake you are, wait for that Saint to catch you, hit the nail on the head and let it crucify you.

December gray makes its way into your old house, the one which you know which walls you were slammed against. Your mom sits sipping coffee in a chair.

She whispers, "I could **** you with kindness but let's see what's laying around first."  She wants to make blood soup out of you. She'll tell you to quit whining as she wrings your crooked spine. She wants all survivor, no guilt.

Hey, I heard if you get high enough you can forgive yourself. I heard if you drink a lot you stop thinking. A mobs a mob all the same even if they're with you so let's make it like this, an army of drug addicts that sympathize with you. Holding needles and spoons and blunts and razor blades with you.

We sit under the stars and look at the sky a lot. Does the night sky ever look like it does in photographs?

I am hungry for infallible
Disastrous possession
Avoidant personalities
Violent narcissists
And angry pedophiles

I, narcissist
I have asked for this
Inattentive guardians
And half-baked characters

This willingness of mean
Wild and violent
Watch me fall asleep
And take out your mindlessness

If God is everywhere, he is in every pedophiles basement.

We are not pens, ourselves, red ink is not inside of us.
But we do have sensitive blood that is discolored, same as that utensil.
Difference is: it poisons us, gives us rashes and thoughts that we are not worthy to have. It wrecks our minds with ancient tools that were once unaccepted. Silly poppies can not
Ruin us like that. I know what can.
The things that worry us, teenagers and babies, parents and pedophiles;
Cease your worries. I pity you, teens.
"It is fun, it is fun." I know I know. But is it worth the risk?
Cease your worries parents. You don't need to stalk your own children.
They learn from their mistakes. They cry for a while and then get stronger.
Like I did, why I kept my mouth shut for so long,
I was better. Until you began to read. I couldn't go to you specifically for that reason,
Tightening your hold on me, mother. I am already a prisoner in my own mind.
I don't need another warden.
A century long breakthrough gave me something,an understanding that not all children accept
Their parents. I don't feel at home there.
It is not one. Just a house that I stay in, people I live with. They are family, by blood only.
****** ink: my savior. My hero, love, is you. You inspired me to digitalize, write with graphite.
But I am still contaminated, mind wandering,

History repeating, sounds piercing, a test is too much when I did not study.
Help me. The trials this has put me through are unfair. Give me my pen to sign a contract, but I
Poison myself instead. Only okay after after a needle enters my streams and takes it out.
A mechanical vampire, I prefer you to bit me instead of metal fangs.
And now I dream.
.
.
.
.
.

Or maybe I am not. We have lived as such long enough. But, still,
Write about it. Tell me how you feel. But be careful not to poison yourself.

I have experience with that. The pen has a hidden blade. It cuts you with every word you
Lay in front of you. May I be a word? Scratch my love into your skin?
I will not intoxicate you as it would. I will give you something else entirely.

But my dream ends. Reality steps on me and takes my breath from me, I am suffocating in this Hellhole. Give me a firehouse so I can put it out and drink away my parched lips.
They need to be soft so I can speak, but first... I need to
Sew my lips shut. If they are dry, they will rip and open. We don't want that.
Keep them shut, don't tear open and bleed; you would give ink poison to
Mockingbirds if you do. They mock me, copy me. They tell me they are jealous.

But why? They don't know they've been poisoned.
It is a cycle. Everyone will die of it in the end.

I'm watching my life be spit back to me, through God's mouth, God threw me away into the swamps of the ugliest parts of Louisiana, where mosquitoes don't dare lay their eggs. This is where the bodies of eagles rot and pedophiles and racists scrape up road **** for what it's worth and I am left searing on the road in the shimmering heat, waves from tar, crows circle in black masses, mass proceeds as the church burns, burn me with it, gracious God. I'm begging you to make my ashes worth something.

God sings out "Dastardly bastardly catastrophe girl, downing whole pill bottle model girl, where are you?" You called? I'm sitting in a parking lot, thinking how the man in front of ocean state job lot drinks a lot, I'm waiting for my mom and nothing in the world's more scary than waiting for what you call protection. The man drinks a lot. He thinks he should quit a lot for his wife and kids who he loves a lot. I knew a guy who smoked ***, quit because he used to do it a lot. That man from the parking lot, he bought himself another bottle of liquor with his wife's credit card. Life spins around me and I don't have time to keep up. I think of that a lot.

Beast of skipping stones, slip over me like the snake you are, wait for that Saint to catch you, hit the nail on the head and let it crucify you.

December gray makes its way into your old house, the one which you know which walls you were slammed against. Your mom sits sipping coffee in a chair.

She whispers, "I could **** you with kindness but let's see what's laying around first."  She wants to make blood soup out of you, she'll make it so you have a chipped spine, tell you to quit whining. She wants all survivor, no guilt.

Hey, I heard if you get high enough you can forgive yourself. I heard if you drink a lot you stop thinking. A mob's a mob all the same even if they're with you so let's make it like this, an army of drug addicts that sympathize with you. Holding needles and spoons and blunts and razor blades with you.

We sit under the stars and look at the sky a lot. Does the night sky ever look like it does in photographs?

Somebody
had thrown a cassette
of Therapy?'s "Troublegum"
its nicotine-hued tape
mangled like the innards of
a gutted fish, or
so many sprayed limbs
in a crowded car pile-up
-decorating the bare branches
of the winter-stricken trees
which lay beyond the barbed wire fence
that separated the state-supported
and architecturally sound
playground facade of the solitary concrete grounds
-with empty swings-
of our mixed gender primary school
of 200 plus students (whom were
referred to as "pupils"-which reminded me
too much of eyes, but children are all eyes, aren't they?
With golden-hued irises, who seem to remember
everything).

Who had thrown it there?
Smashing all the angst-sodden, ripped guitar reverberations
-the fruits of a few individuals hard grasp and compromise, toiled out through a probable number of significant years-
that had lurked inside?
Why that gesture and why in that place?
Perhaps it had been the jettisoned request
of some clandestine love affair
(ephemerality also lays claims to gifts, to its plural gesture)
or, maybe in a more obviously classical mode,
it was only the result
of a bored friend who cared little for the music
or the efforts behind its delivery?

Whatever the reason,
its one of a handful of memories
that have stayed with me
when my thoughts strayed back to that school
(mostly without an intended purpose).

Also, across the same wasteland
there were assembled corrugated shacks
lined in front of back-garden walls
strewn with illegible graffiti
anticipating the waning rave culture
where we supposed-and were frightened by the thought-
that were the hang-outs of Drug users (AIDS was still a topic then)
and Pedophiles.

But then again,
we never tried to find out.