12/30/2013
I Met the **** Hater

Have you ever seen someone so beautiful
that you felt like crying?
Have you ever felt so utterly Disgusted by someone
that you wished they were dying?

Do you think I feel gay guts and gayness in my genes?
Or did society manufacture me - one of their gay liberal machines.
I'm not sure which is better,
Either  way you'll make me a martyr.
But I'll be your Hester Prynne baby
with my Big Gay Letter.

I cannot erase
that look on his face.
when he told me **** ****, Go Away.
I'll punch you in the face just for being Gay.

A separation of message and mind.
Hateful judgment is not hard to find.
When I stand in the shower,
or sit down on a park bench,
I'm a **** to him clear as gay.
It's like he thinks I ate some magic flower.
My girlfriends don't fare much better - to him called a bar *****.
This guy is the part of society that makes being gay scary to say.

He thinks Gays making out in public can't be allowed.
He thinks Legalized gay marriages should be disavowed.
He thinks Animal ***, *******, and ****** are because of gays.
He thinks Gay **** between two women might be more okay.
He thinks *** should **** more gay people.
He thinks Criminalizing ****** would make things more equal.
He thinks Adam's choice of Eve or Steve is all that matters.
He doesn't care about myself, or your heart's fragile rathers.

This man is the **** Hater.
Not a rare breed at all.
He could be your waiter,
or your teacher,
maybe even your sales assistant at the mall.

I Met the **** Hater,
while I made out with a guy at the bar.
The **** Hater was kinda old, yet strong and tall.
But I didn't fall
down.
or become dehumanized.
When I caught a glimpse of his face
and saw that utter look of Disgust
that I just cannot erase.
I saw it in his face - the **** Hater's
'**** Hate.'

of course the age of scientific positivism
was glorious,
the hopes for curing the lamentable ivory cavity
the hopes for anaesthesia in surgery,
it was all there, with all the great minds...
but then our age came along with humanism’s negativism,
and i mean that sincerely...
if you take a concept, like god, and give it to science,
the best it can do in its parameters is take 1...
divide it by the nth term and say something like
0.000000000000000000000000000000000000000001
in relation to something else, which its a part of...
i wish i was deeply religious on this point,
but a catholic school education reminding me
to start early with ethics minding only one ethical decision,
i.e. abortion brought feminism with it...
but as one orthodox christian girl said: even without
legal rights between us... you must accept!
eh... why?
god does not belong to science, science deals with numbers
and a few words...
imagine the book of genesis: and in the beginning was a number...
any random number... let’s say six... and six correlated
with aries, taurus, gemini, cancer, leo, libra...
well that’s half missing...
this argument is starting to make me look silly...
this whole word word word... let’s quantify vocabulary for quality assurance...
it’s the q. and q. relativity, the q-q in terms of saying
(that's the coordinate parallelism between science
and human-ism, where the former states
two essentials - space & time - the latter states
its two essentials - quantity & quality;
now imagine einstein working in the humanistic medium,
it would sound something like... 'hmm
of a french novelist's output i can say as much
as: eat your j. keats and have him too):
the closest i came in comparing the greeks with the jews
is to claim that the students of the kabbalah are like the greek philosophers
in the vein of democritus... who took to a, b, c... x, y, z equivalent to atoms...
albeit phonetic atoms that gave us BIG physics of the planets
and meteros and newtonian linear(s)... and little physics... quantum stuff...
like why the romans wrote el... the greeks lambda and the hebrews lamed...
ah you know trivial stuff.
all i’m saying is that scientific atheism, in terms of using words
is, too coherent... if you want real atheism, you have to turn to the humanities,
james joyce is perfect... we don’t live in an age of scientific positivism,
we live in an age of humanistic negativism...
all this talk of extinction and nuclear weaponry,
it’s almost like a scare tactic to allow certain professions mechanisation
by robotics... i know it’s real... would the newsstand sell insensible newspapers?
again... if you deny something you’ll only end up doubting it later,
so with sartre trying to escape the cartesian dialectic if a complete and utter failure,
by denying something it’s hardly possible to erase it, make it extinct,
the faculty of memory does not allow this to happen,
so doubt re-enters and the doubting thought process revs up,
the negating thought process is only momentary, a nano-second if you will,
doubting takes aeons to consider itself un-doubted;
so i ask... coming from a scientific background, why would we
care to push scientific positivism further, given all the discoveries and
ease-of-life assurances when there’s this bulging and growing
humanistic negativism, entitled: we are the 99%! hmm?
science will not make economic strategies go away,
nor will humanism... but with humanism, at least there’s a human face
saying something... rather than science itemising everything
to fit 0 next to 1 with a dot between and call it: a tenth of a metre.

p.s. there's only one doubt of denial and it's unconscious,
because denial is a safety mechanism that automates
to provide a blockage against the world events:
*******, ******... war...
denial is automation... doubt is nurturing...
regret... well... that's natural concerning choice
in events not engaged with; honestly, there are people
who have regrets not engaging within the napoleonic wars,
thus they idolise napoleon... a bit like the neo-nazis
and the third ***** scenario... they can deny certain
aspects of the third ***** mechanisation didn't happen,
but they can't doubt it, because doubt-in-itself
is a sort of thrill
(that's covered by a blatant truism in argumentation,
which is denial, which technically robs it
of the doubt cherished for the thrill)...
'****! it happened! it really really happened!'
and then regret comes in and says: 'but you weren't there.'
then nostalgia kicks in... and that line from w. burroughs
about how you got to be an ss-man in a concentration camp:
gauge the cat's eyes out... yes, the one you petted for a month,
fed and gave affection to: gauge... the... cat's... eyes... out!
dass ist ein anführer befehl!

To the person who's sexually attracted to children
but has never acted upon that attraction:
Thank you
it's not always easy doing the right thing
and I understand the stigmatization you face
in a society where advocating killing you is socially encouraged
for the forced productions in the privacy of your mind
usually stemming from traumatic childhood abuse
but don't let them stop you from getting help
for the misery and frustration associated with
constantly denying one's ****** urges
for the sake of others.

Nobody is born an angel or a demon
walking along we pick up horns or halos midstride
often confusing one for the other
often trading one for the other
often naming one for the other
until heavenly hellspawns
attack with horned halos.

To the person who perpetuates the stigma against those people
through edgy internet posts and comments
like it's some sort of controversial sentiment
that isolates those people until they crack
usually just so you can virtue signal militancy
so you can feel good about yourself through persecuting others:
*******.

This has been over-said, I know
But it seems as though some people
Aren't listening
How can homosexuality be a choice?
Why would someone choose that life-style
Of pain, rejection, fear, and no acceptance?
Why would two boys choose
To have a relationship they had to keep hidden?
A relationship many people would not accept?
Why would they choose to be separated in public
To not even look at each other for fear of rumors
Who dare compare love to *******,
How dare they say it's comparable to loving a car
These are people, and this is real love
How dare they say that those two girls
Holding hands, looking into each others eyes
Love each other any less than the boy and girl
Please, I urge anyone out there doubting
That these people don't choose to live that way
It's your responsibility to create a world
Where it's no longer un-accepted,
Where those boys can show the world they
Do like kissing, they do like holding hands
It's our responsibility to change for the better
Anyone who says it's a choice, obviously
Has never fallen helplessly in love before

a conscious translation of the ego into the id is only automated thinking; that’s the content of the id, pluralism of thinking, it’s all automation, the id is the ego although plural due to automation understood easier because the id is the unconscious ego thought about, hence the excess of psychological theorisation; the freudian stance simple says of the cartesian inquiry: it thinks. the limbo of lost identity! the queueing of card shuffles and the bigger fear other than death in man, the fear of crow and pigeon conformity to repeat inanimate exactness for the narcissus to embody himself; for consciously we say ‘i think,’ there’s identity in that, unconsciously we say ‘it thinks’ ending up a statement of technicality never realised. pluralism and automation is the order in a reckless dream of a charles manson given the neon and example to refer to or imitate. the gods don’t give oral ***, hence their pristine vocabulary that’s less vulture like less and less unlike man’s.*

i don’t have a lot to say, feeling wise? a lot,
hence i write more words than take photographs;
it’s the ultimate antidote to seeing tree, stone, pavement,
when i get to use r and e to write about yellowish sunsets.
because using letter on blanks nurtured me
to stress less of seeing contorting threes with
the face that gaped a silent shout teary eyed to craft chaos.
i was about to be shakespeare but
the my regina interrupted,
i was going to say things like:
animals and children like me,
i gave my pinky away to a toddler
on a bench before i put on sweet sixteen’s heart-shaped lenses
to allow the sun its 3pm in autumn,
i gave a toddler my pinky.
cats are content while dogs are just happy,
i gave my pinky away
like michelangelo painting the two indexes touching
in the ghetto crib of two ******* brawling hello for the revised modern.
toddler took it with an apple in the other hand.
i almost said that the best song of rage against the machine
wasn’t: born of a broken man.
i’m vietnam in the american vanity!
hollywood considered abduction and retirement
with my statement.
you’re a good man when animals and children like  you
but women dislike you,
but with christ the children loved him too much and he said so
touchy feely with the armageddon kids behind a priest’s collar
leashing *******;
the animals? the animals were too eager on the donkey to architecture golgotha.
i’m less irish and even less catholic it would seem,
but when i write and weep, articulate the satanic:
tell one lie and learn many truths -
i'm almost satisfied to join a pilgrimage like a moth
attracted to a lightbulb from the shadows of knees.

THE SECRET RITUAL:
Irrespective of the wonderful *** you might have with others, or any ideals you may have about who, when, and where to engage sexually, sometimes the *** that you have with yourself gives you something impossible to achieve with another.

To be specific: what I’m speaking of are the internal mental constructs of performative ****** acts that are unrestricted in the imaginative world, and that one would never be able to consider in real time. Those masturbatory shadows of the deep and deeply ****** that few are able to acknowledge about themselves, and certainly remain unwilling to talk about with someone they maybe intimate with, for fear of its destructive impact on the relationship.

A shape of language
for the secrets of the body
for the secrets of the mind
in the flow of matter
physical and etheric
cyber chronicles of ambulated hunger
the cult of the body.

YOUR SEXULITY IS SACRED TO YOU, NOT SACRED FROM YOU:

Obviously moral sensibilities and the limits of temporal life dictate what we may do. We may be imaginative, bizarre, freaky and incredibly *****, but we are not crazy, at least not all of us, yet that doesn’t mean those shadowy ****** denizens of the deep don’t bathe in the great fathoms of our respective subconscious abyss.

My darkest desires
bloodletting streams
are a kind of ******
fetishy cognitive inventory
malformed denizens
of the subconscious.

THE PARAPHILIAS:
“Paraphilia is the experience of intense ****** arousal to atypical objects, situations, fantasies, behaviors, or individuals.”
Current data supports that about one out of every 6 people, irrespective of gender or ****** preference, experience some kind of paraphilia.
Here is a list of paraphilias that is a focus of ****** interest:

Andromimetophilia: Trans men.
Anililagnia: Attraction by young men to older women.
Anthropophagolagnia: ****** and then cannibalizing another person.

Anthropophagy: Ingesting human flesh.
Apotemnophilia: Being an amputee.
Asphyxiophilia: Being asphyxiated or strangled.
Attraction to disability: People with one or more physical disabilities.
Autagonistophilia: Being on stage or on camera.
Autassassinophilia: Being in life-threatening situations.
******* asphyxiation: Self-induced asphyxiation, sometimes to the point of near unconsciousness.
Autogynephilia: ****** arousal of a biological male in response to the image of himself as female.
Auto-haemofetishism: Bleeding oneself (does not involve ingestion of blood). Type of autovampirism. [contradictory]
Autonepiophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of an infant.
Autopedophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of a child.
Autoplushophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of a plush or anthropomorphized animal.
Autovampirism/Vampirism: The image of one’s self in the form of a vampire. Involves ingesting or seeing one’s own blood.
Autozoophilia: The image of one’s self in the form of an animal or anthropomorphized animal.
Biastophilia/Raptophilia: ****** a person, possibly consensual **** fantasy.
Capnolagnia: Smoking.
Chremastistophilia: Being robbed or held up.
Chronophilia: Partners of a widely differing chronological age.
*******: Feces; also known as ****, scatophilia or fecophilia.
Coulrophilia: Clowns, jesters, and mimes.
Crurophilia: Legs.
Dacryphilia: Tears or crying.
Diaper fetishism: Diapers; considerable overlap with paraphilic infantilism.
*******: Trees.
Emetophilia: *****.
Eproctophilia: Flatulence.
****** asphyxiation: Asphyxia of oneself or others.
Erotophonophilia: ******, often of strangers (also known as dacnolagnomania).
Exhibitionism: Exposing one’s genitals to unsuspecting and nonconsenting others.
Feederism: Eating, feeding, and weight gain.
Formicophilia: Being crawled on by insects.
Forniphilia: Turning a human being into a piece of furniture.
Frotteurism: Rubbing against a non-consenting person.
Gerontophilia: Elderly people.
Gynandromorphophilia, Gynemimetophilia: Transgender women.
Hematolagnia: Drinking or looking at blood.
Heterophilia: Idealization of heterosexuality and/or people who are “straight-acting”, especially by non-heterosexual people.
Hoplophilia: Firearms, guns.
Hybristophilia: Criminals, particularly those who committed cruel or outrageous crimes.
Infantophilia: ******* with a focus on children less than five years old; a recently suggested term that is not in general use.
Kleptophilia: Stealing; also known as kleptolagnia.
Klismaphilia: Enemas, arousal and enjoyment in receiving, administering, or both.
Lactophilia: Breast milk.
Liquidophilia: Immersing genitals in liquids.
Macrophilia: Giant beings; the imagined growth of beings.
Maschalagnia: Armpits.
Mazophilia: Female *******.
Masochism: Suffering or humiliation; being beaten, bound or otherwise abused.
Maiesiophilia: Pregnant women.
Mechanophilia: Cars or other machines; also “mechaphilia.”
Melolagnia: Music.
Menophilia: *******.
Metrophilia: Poetry.
Microphilia: Very small people or small body parts.
Morphophilia: Particular body shapes or sizes.
Mucophilia: Mucus.
Mysophilia: Dirtiness, soiled or decaying things.
Narratophilia: Obscene words.
Nasophilia: Noses.
Navel fetishism: Navel.
Necrophilia: Corpses.
Objectophilia: Specific inanimate objects.
Oculophilia: Eyes and activities directly relating to and/or involving the eyes. Voyeurism does not meet classification for this term.
Odaxelagnia: Biting or being bitten.
Olfactophilia: Smells and odors emanating from the body, especially the ****** areas (as from breath, *****, feces, flatulence, etc.).
*******: Arousal from having a full bladder and/or wetting oneself, or from seeing someone else experiencing a full bladder and/or wetting themself.
Paraphilic infantilism: Dressing or being treated like a baby, also known as autonepiophilia or “adult baby syndrome”; considerable overlap with diaper fetishism.
Partialism: Specific, non-genital body parts.
*******: Prepubescent children, also spelled paedophilia.
Peodeiktophilia: Exposing one’s *****.
Pedovestism: Dressing like a child.
Podophilia: Feet.
Pictophilia: ******* or ****** art, particularly pictures.
Piquerism: Piercing the flesh of another person, most commonly by stabbing or cutting the body with sharp objects.
Plushophilia: Stuffed toy animals (“plushies”).
Pygophilia: Buttocks.
Salirophilia: Soiling or dirtying others.
****** fetishism: Non-living objects.
****** sadism: Inflicting pain on others.
Shoe fetishism: Shoes, such as high heels.
Somnophilia: Sleeping or unconscious people.
Sophophilia: Learning.
Sthenolagnia: Muscles and displays of strength.
Stigmatophilia: Body piercings and tattoos.
Symphorophilia: Witnessing or staging disasters such as car accidents.

Telephone scatologia: Obscene phone calls, particularly to strangers; also known as telephonicophilia and scatophiliac.
Teratophilia: Deformed or monstrous people. The term is also sometimes used in a more literal sense (from ancient Greek τέρας, teras, meaning monster) for attraction to monstrous mythical and fictional creatures such as werewolves.
Toucherism: Touching an unsuspecting, non-consenting person with the hand.
Toxophilia: Archery.
Transvestic fetishism: Wearing clothes associated with the opposite ***; also known as transvestism.
Transvestophilia: A transvestic ****** partner.
Trichophilia: Hair.
Troilism: Observing one’s partner engaged in ****** activities with another person.
Urolagnia: Urination, particularly in public, on others, and/or being urinated on. Also referred to as “water sports”.
*******: The idea of one person or creature eating or being eaten by another; usually swallowed whole, in one piece; also known as vore.
Voyeurism: Watching others while naked or having ***, generally without their knowledge; also known as scopophilia or scoptophilia.
Wet and messy fetishism: Messy situations, including, but not limited to, being pied, slimed or covered in mud.
*******: Animals.
Zoosadism: Inflicting pain on animals, or seeing animals in pain.
~~~~~
A REAL-LIFE PROFILE OF A WOMAN ACUTELY AWARE OF HER DARK FETISHY SIDE
Primary Fantasy: Dehumanization, objectification. I love the idea of being kidnapped and converted into meat.
(Fantasy obviously!!)
I also enjoy preservation, taxidermy, dollification, weird stuff like that!
Other Fetish Interests:
Hucow
Medical
Lab scenes
Necro
Morgue
Hanging
Lethal injection

MAKE THE UNCONSCIOUS CONSCIOUS:
There is much written in-depth psychology about ****** pathologies caused by repressed or shadowy disowned parts of ourselves and how those neglected forces may determine unwanted fate. Shame and self-deception is not our friend. Know yourself.

Pleasure is so close to ruinous waste
nakedness wrecks decency
degradation feeds the bonfire of hunger
and the wound of desire bleeds away within

leave nothing
but the bleeding edge
ruin me she said.
~
Beyond hearts mastery
hullabaloo crime scenes
like night jungles
of tooth and claw
in corridors of neuron ghosts
while **** licking succubae
*** livid pornographic hieroglyphs
fed by the dreaded
excesses of testosterone
towards some ruined
blood spotted
hanky-panky *******
just to remind me of you
and how it hurt just so
and how you loved me for it
whoever you are.
....
https://medium.com/@4zebra2u/the-secret-***-life-we-keep-from-our-selves-7f227dbc6c4a

Your Instagram tinted daydream solo self-help projects
are naught compared to the many faces of my Ketamine addled
multi-faceted bed-ridden wasted ****** aesthetic
Bring me my poppers while I can smell them
or get off my ******* rocket ship
These are the bed sores of regret
tinged in tingly jingle-jangle garage rock twattish twee twaddle
Smoke my tea drink my plants, Kratom of the smack recovery
cat come cat-call **** all to be done
the ladders lead to the plateau that the Meat Puppets sang about
Some say I've been away, some that I've been dead
dada said daddy in the monotone voice, slippin' mickeys and mandys in the drinks of the boys and girls for spoils of war
and causalities of the political system
I hope the vote for your preferred pederast is enough to stop *******
or in fact let us turn to your queen so the monarchs can reward the patriarchs that beat the matriarchs and maybe we can sleep a little better tonight
Truth is these four walls are enough of a prison within the prison that I feel free in slavery
Words too imprison the soul, so I stopped using them
implicit in silence
explicit in message
call on your horses
kneel before the great *** of democracy
these are truly the end of days
and her natural milk shall flow through our veins
until the new dawn awakens from solemn slumber
and your faux-intellectual ******* returns to witch doctor ritual seance ******* matador squeaky clean record having gutter-troll reprobate sunshine easy listening solipsist elite country club golf retreat in the hills where you **** the carcass of the empire with your dysfunctioning penises and praise your zionist overlords that mock your ****** hospitality through gritted teeth as they push you over the edge onto the wailing crowds of peasants below where your alien bones crumble to dust and your stagnant coagulated blood oozes into the Earth where it burns like gallons of acidic chemicals and the world rejoices at the sight of fallen greed and toppled regime until the next time it happens again

I tried making these
Carmel Apple Martinis
They ended up being these sort of milkshake type sickly drunk making frankendrinks
Which I suppose is appropriate for Halloween
My roommate and I walk around the neighborhood drinking
And checking out the kids in their costumes
We make self-aware ******* jokes
But we really just miss being kids

Our friend picks us up in her car
She is wearing a shirt with stars on it
She says she is dressed as space
My shirt is blue so I say I am a wave

We get to a mutual friend's apartment that he has decorated
Him and his not girlfriend anymore (are they *******?) are sitting
On the couch drinking *** and coke
And eating cookies
They offer us ****
I don't want any
My roommate eats an edible
I can't stop making jokes
I'm having a hard time
Entering into real conversation
His not girlfriend anymore (are they *******?) is dressed up like a unicorn
She is dressed up like a unicorn but looks like an eighties gym mom who farts streamers and found
A funny hat to show her unenthusiastic teenage son
I tell his not girlfriend anymore (are they *******?) this but
Although she laughs
I don't think she thinks
It
Or me
Is funny
She is probably a little hurt
In a childlike confused way
As if I reached into the secret womb
Where she hides her fetal self
And gave her the finger

We end up at this bar where my face drifts perilously close to this drunk girl i'd met before's face
This drunk girl I'd met before keeps showing everyone her right breast and giggling
But then she frowns and says her friends abandoned her and looks like she might cry
Then her face lights up and she says there's this special place she wants to take us
But I don't want to go and she frowns again and wonders how she is going to get home
I tell her that this is the second time I've met her and also the second time I've seen her ****
This drunk girl I'd met before doesn't seem to hear me and moves on to my friend's face

My roommate wants to leave because the edible he ate is making him pale
And afraid to talk to people
So we take a lift home and I'm vaguely annoyed with the evening
And I feel kind of sad like I'm missing something that I never really had
Or like there was a moment in my life once where I could've really been happy
And I was distracted or something and totally missed that opportunity
And I was never ever gonna get that chance again because everything had changed course now
And this feeling is nagging at me and my roommate isn't talking
He's just looking sad and scared out the window hoping he stops being high soon
Because he's got work in the morning
And I wanted to watch The Silence Of The Lambs when I got home but I'm starting to feel tired
And now I'm annoyed with myself for feeling ****** because I'd just been talking
The day before about how happy I'd become

This is not for substance
Depth, not pragmatic at all
emotional ******* when mentally I'm Lance Armstrong, wit blue ball

But wit *****,I mean thoughts, as I Tom Cruz through life, so an apology
Id owe myself if not against my policy
Cuz "I'm sorry" like Scientology

Don't make sense so astrology
Can try to map out my stars
I just hope Lady Luck shows up Before Chris brown, and she sees stars

What can I say, I can really charm
Like lucky charms I march mellow
I like girls who still say&count; their chubby bunnys...no marsh mellows

If I lost u there ....just mellow
like yellow,pop songs whorin out hello
So of course forced ******* lately seems endorsed ...pudding pop, jello

Can't be trusted bad enough kids aren't safe anywhere ...gone
I even over react at subway when my sons asked if he wants a foot long

I already know this is foolish
But the rule is ...the real fool is
Those schooled by the useless
at least I know I'm stupid

Taking it out of context, no contest
Your honor....Honest
That was the first time I promise
I hardly ever try to hit on prom kids

Wit tight grips to poke a Bonnet
Off the bun from poccohontis
When findin the island of *****
Oops "He Broke her *******"

That blood soaks on a sausage
....Just another day at the office
Where we process the obnoxious
til the world is my Hospice

A no knowledge college for knowledge to abolish the need
To be correct politically&bree;;
seeds Thatll bleed to succeed

Sp our goal, of bringing awareness
To the shortages pendin
As extinction of bent bananas grow
Straight, it's time to help bendin

bananas, but whats bananas is
ignoring real issues latched
To Muslim hate talks,instigated
Infiltrated so u won't go snap

When they send more of our kids to war, so if u hate, like they ask
When propaganda props the jenga, NVM...wait..look! Kim kardashian ***

That needs a cardigan...plaid
"Drugs drugs drugs! which are bad"
Ask your mom who made u at prom
Or ask your alcoholic abusive dad

Who thinks Itampons a small iPad
Where Dark and red bleeds
quoted Moses"a wifes rags a bonus, So like me  "part the Red Sea"

Will need are secure like cures
the government assures us do not
Really Exist like seniors ****, that
firmly sits, and not hip drop

implying the governments got
secrets but dont ask me ****
Cause wit metaphors, I'm never sure  
Maybe the govt has saggy ****

Some dictions descriptions givin has restriction or depiction's
equivocal, so ones vision of religion
Is another's flashback circumcision  

To an unforgiven rabbis hasty snip
No one Asked "may we strip"
The turtle neck ******* on your slim
priest teasing baby ****

But written permission maybe fit
When a baby's **** and crazy ****
Is so uncivil to fiddle and whittle the little middle, above my skittles it sits

And the initial riddle is, riddle this
What Is sprinkled with ****
And Often tinkles to spit ..
Full of wrinkles, it tickles... The hint?

If she swallowed and followed the
nutrients that hallows out ....
Ud still have wrinkles but it helps to single out,who's single⁢'s about

Time2see my psychologist who yells I need help...(yells) I need help!"
She said her head, lead her to bed
And said her brains dead &melts;

And to blame for her frame of mind
Is the frame of mine, it's the kind
That very rarely has thoughts that carry any logic&scare;; me but I'm

Just daring and not caring but im
sharing the mind of jerry
Where clowns fill towns with slide whistle sounds&priests; that marry

Donald trump And Carrie
Whos news was very scary
as Carrie had to carry a Kanye west hilter hybrid and Arbitrary

Is how arbitrary and arm pit hair be
Armed with hairy Italian yarn
That they wear as bare, but armed
Is bare **** arms that like bear arms

Bears a bears hair where arms
Are usually bare but bears harmed
Is how the thick hair I wear, where it's layered, but not the ****

Hair that impairs where my palms  
Look like they grow two beards
But it's not like i would blow deers
maybe Bambi...who knows were

Not gettin hypothetical to go near
How endearing a dear is it's queer as for my hairy palms I wrote them
Ahem, Dear palms: be calm I'm here

And I'm so sorry u resemble the
Essential pieces that are detrimental
For trump hair that trump wears but
His is authentic ******* Assembled

By the youngest child laborer, paid
less than the condoms for rapin her
So embezzle on levels of unethical
Devils black *** ...and kettle...sure

Let's move on to...Ernie, hey it's Bert
I don't discriminate
Support abortion, or the portion
supportin orphans who's cure

Is particular and par with a ****
Who's testicular inhibitors
Make him a prematurely Shirley
So surely he's early in visitors

So to recap the crap hid in were
Child labour jokes great!
Abortion, psychotic neurotic topics
******* that'll fill in ya, all the hate

Oh wait wait wait...Can't forget ****
Or what I call a bill Cosby date
Afternoon delight? You'll sleep past moon and right to the drowsy awake

State... Wait.. are u a ****? Great!
I never ***** one of those
That's enough Cosby dialogue
It's dyin off, so I'm signin off vogue

Strike a pose, like a ****** my
***** bled all up my skirt in
My ****** like I was al bundy,
****** as a ted bundy surgeon

So uncomfortable like twerkin
When you see 12 yr old butts
That makes me want to be free of
tv, but it makes r Kelly want to ***

So go hug or **** a tree
He'll, **** two, have a treesome
this abuse of my speechs freedom
Must stand alone cause these dumb

Words.. This world.. needs none
cheeses of diseases...egregious,
The weedless, read this,&say; Jesus
Is he nuts? It's Needless,

deep pits, of pre-mixed, ***-*****
Three ****... Please fix
demons *****, from a **** bleedin
Fresh out yeast infected sheep *****

Where we sit&read; this,
praise Jesus Allah and people
Cause were all just quirky, evil
Good, obnoxious naive deceitful

******* with **** smells that equal
Even if not the same
We all bleed, breed and feel pain
And love a good line of *******

No wait , ****, sometimes my brain
Can't contain the stupid
Do models use the same fingers to ******* that use to puke wit?

I know.... I'm ****** useless
An abused ego bruised nuisance
Like **** pics sent to fit chicks
When they want rich pics, so do this

Take pics of a receipt that u slip
From the machine you use, if
You really wanna know, if they'll
Blow whats in the pic u send, do it

Cause she'll blow all that u fit
In the pic u send her I'm sure
And if your still reading this,
Im meanin this,u need help..a cure

Mental stability, tranquility, and
The ability, to stop the instability
Convoluted, polluted, and stupid
Literature, it can cause infertility

And psychotic, psychosomatic,
Psychosis, voodoo and neurosis
poetry roaches Eye halitosis,
To erode the road wit your soul if

You ****-inue, reading soulless
Ambivalence, so belligerent
That insolence so Insignificant
Is magnificent,

A Malignant indignant, piglet, in a
predicament, that approaches
As I ******* my immaculate *****
So swallow this osmosis

insufficient like what I've written  or Tuberculosis, and oh ****!
The oppositions mission is fixing
The risen conditions, to position

***** induced, goblin puke
Gobblin through, all of the usual
Til I'm suitable for cubicles made of pharmaceuticals ...indubitable

Now I'm awful like waffles, made in a
bra full, of a mucus' nostril
putrid puke with stomach fluids,, a used ****** u chew in brothel

It's a cross between a re-run
Of *******'delinquence&bee; dung
Don't think Im gd ppls than be one

And my wise parting words
Are not the rise of farting nerds
Or pretentious self righteousness
Of those dry and artsy jerks

I’m sitting in my mother’s
Friend’s
Driveway,
Trying not to look like a creep.
While my Honda civic
Is hardly reminiscent of
*******,
My nervous eyes
And shaking hands could be.

Finally, they arrive,
And I realize
I’m wearing no make-up, my hair is wet,
And there’s paint on my arms,
And I have a girlfriend.

Mother
emerges, smiles wide.
I meet her for a hug, notice
Her eyes straying to my left ear.
“Do you like it?”
Long pause.
“I’m indifferent,” she replies.

And I think, if she only knew
About the black, black ink
On my right hip,
She wouldn’t be indifferent.

We make awkward conversation,
About apartment details,
Cable,
Cable bills,
Moving,
Gas and electric,
Avoiding anything evoking emotion.

As she walks away she turns,
Asks,
“Do you have money?”
I don’t say anything, taken aback.
“I wish I could have bought you dinner or something…”
“Mom. It’s fine.”
“No, no, no, here’s some money,
Tell Amanda hi.”

“Alright, I love you, mom.”
I say has her heels scrape away.
“Love you too."
She calls over her shoulder.

And she’s gone.

And I’m free to do as I please,
With ink, piercings and girlfriends.

But I wish she knew,
I wish she could love
The free me too.

only English has disgraced itself, as a language,
it didn't learn from it's other Latin
orthographers, whether french or german,
just didn't learn from them,
i mean, English, the language,
could have started improving its style,
its orthography, adding accents, here and there,
improving elocution, it's worth the
particulars in harbours, ironically it isn't
a universal language, there are no universal
instances in using it, there are plenty
of particular instance that do require stresses
and other such involvements,
but the six brothers dreamed up too much
technology prior, the Grand Father of the Empire
split the cabbage patch between the five brothers:
gave much to the American son,
much also to the Australian son,
much also to the Canadian,
the South Africa got a part of Europe from the 1940s,
the Caribbean son received a pretty sunset,
the English son got ****** in the ***:
and given what the newspapers are covering
i'm really sceptical while only children migrants
are welcomed... *******, the tournament
of who can shove an ice-cube into a teenagers
*** to make **** ******* seem cool?
really sceptical while the prime minister only
wants children... come, you following-up
the hot topics in british journalism?
but like i said, the one chance the English language
had to improve itself, to succumb to the
judgement of the preservation of the Latin via
a - z was to add diacritical marks, instead the internet
emerged and we simply got an Eaton mess...
look how mishandled English is among the young!
omni acronym omni short-script,
                                              omni dyslexia,
lazy lazy buggers... while the Germans are fiercely compounding,
Rindfleischetikettierungsueberwachungsau
(law delegating beef label monitoring) - now let's
do some syllable surgery on it to get a tennis ball
bouncing rhythm:
rind' fleische' tikettierung' sueber' wachungsau' -
or thereabouts in Pomerania - and the French
such hark rather than trill Rs and produce excess
spelling via tongue ties upon tongue ties
(every time i hear it i just hear bubbly blue
bubbly blue bue bue and Moulin Rouge cancan) -
English is shrapnel, empty pistachio shells in comparison,
and yet still the internet proved how ugly
things became... *** LOL (e.g.); and yet i'm
finding it the most effective language for volume.

I have been advised (“…now don’t take this the wrong way”)
That I
Am too RAW…

It was suggested (“…merely a suggestion”)
That I
Water down my art…
Dilute it…
Make it more palatable…
Sugar coat
What may be bitter…
Make what is not nice
Nicer…
For the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”

Don’t expound upon
Addiction or Anger or The Streets
Politics, Passion, ******* or Love Gone Bad
Don’t say
****… or ***… or Hell… or ****…
Bottom line…
In the name of Money… and
In an attempt to reach a wider suburban demographic
Tone it down… sweeten it up…
Sell out….

And you know…
He’s probably right…
Commerciality does sell…

My dilemma… if I took out the
Politics, Passion, Anger, and The Streets… the
Damns , *****, Hells and *****
I may as well be Doctor Seuss…and
A cute and flowery poet~  I am not

I am what I am (a woman fully grown)
I’ve done what I’ve done (some things only Me and God know)
I’ve seen what I’ve seen (I’ll tell you about it one day)
I write about life … and

Not only is life not always palatable
It can be quite bitter...

Not only is it sometimes not nice
It is sometimes not even
Sanitary...

And if the more…
“Delicate Audiences…”
Can’t get with it…
Then
**** their ***** to hell
Let ‘em watch a ******* TV

It’s December, it’s foggy and rainy, but that fits. Of course, a rainy Saturday means gathering in the common room with my roommates and watching either “The Hunger Games” or “Twilight.” Leong’s never seen Twilight, believe it or not, what are they DOing in China? We were explaining that It’s ok to talk through Twilight because it’s completely senseless. Yeah, good times.

We got back from Thanksgiving break, and we had to hit it - grinding to squeeze half a semester into 18 days. It’s a cornucopia of pressure. Yes, we’ve hit the books, but we’re still us.

Here’s a question: What’s the first season in December? “Spotify wrapped” season! EVERYONE has Spotify and once a year you get a summary of your listening habits. The reports came out this week and it’s all people are talking about. Comparing their lists, artists, tastes. Those lists say a lot about someone and it’s ok to not have taste, we should normalize it.

My top artist was Taylor Swift (duh) my top song was Taylor Swift’s “Renegade,” Spotify says I listened to it 285 times but that’s biased because more than once, when writing a paper, I put that song on a loop for 6 hours. My second most listened to song was “Champagne Problems” By Taylor. That song is so Rory, Gilmore Girls coded - like Rory saying, “you're on your own.” My other top artists are TV Girl, the backseat lovers and hypo campus. Yeah, I roll big.

Taylor’s also been in the conversation because Sophie has an ex-fem-friend (a freshman) who started seeing a 45-year-old guy. Let me ask you, what does a 45-year-old man have in common with an 18-year-old girl? We have Yale friends in their early 20s who consider themselves still teenagers and children and THEY are horrified. It’s naked fracking *******. (Sorry, that one foamed over.)

The whole situation is ripped from Taylor’s 2010 masterpiece “Dear John,” which is about her dating John Mayer when she was 19 and he was 30-something. Her friends warned her, but she wouldn’t hear. Taylor Swift can be corny, and I love the corn, but she can be topical too and even though I was 7 when she released “Dear John” (2010), it’s a timeless lesson.

by Kim Addonizio*

Address older people as Sir or Ma’am

unless they drift slowly into your lane

as you aim for the exit ramp.

Don’t call anyone *******, *******, or *******;

these terms are reserved for ex-boyfriends

or anyone you once let get past second base

and later wished would be ****** into a sinkhole.

Yelling obscenities at the TV is okay,

as long as sports are clearly visible on the screen,

but it’s rude to mutter at the cleaning products in Safeway.

Also rude: mentioning ****** functions.

Therefore, sentiments such as “I went ***** to the wall for her”

or “I have to **** like a chick with a pelvic disorder at a kegger contest”

are best left unexpressed.

Don’t’ say “chick,” which is demeaning

to the billions of sentient creatures

jammed in sheds, miserably pecking for millet.

Don’t talk about yourself. Ask questions

of others in order to show your interest.

How do you like my poem so far?

Do you think I’m pretty?

What would you give up to make me happy?

Don’t open your raincoat to display your nakedness.

Fondling a ***** in public

is problematic, though Botero’s black sculpture

of a fat man in the Time-Warner building

in New York, his ***-*** rubbed gold,

seems to be an exception.

Please lie to me about your *******

and the permafrost layer.

Stay in bed on bad hair days.

When the pulley of your childhood

unwinds the laundry line of your dysfunction,

here is a list of items to shove deep in the dryer:

disturbed brother’s T-shirt,

depressed mother’s socks and tennis racket,

tie worn by ****** father driving the kids home

from McDonald’s Raw Bar. If you refuse

your host’s offer of alcohol, it is best to say,

“I’m so hung over, the very thought of drinking

makes me feel like projectile vomiting,”

or, “No thank you, it interferes with my medications.”

Hold your liquor whenever it is fearful

and lonely, whenever it needs your love.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m battering.

Divorce your cell phone in a romantic restaurant.

Here is an example

of a proper thank-you card:

Thank you for not sharing with me

the extrusions of your vague creative impulse.

Thank you for not believing those lies

everyone spreads about me, and for opening

the door to the next terrifying moment,

and thank you especially for not opening your mouth

while I’m trying to digest my roast chicken.

WIKIPEDIA: Torture of Vietnamese citizens under the C.I.A.'s Operation Phoenix
Methods of torture used at the interrogation prisons included:
****, gang ****, **** using eels, snakes, or hard objects, and **** followed by ******; electric shock ('the Bell Telephone Hour') rendered by attaching wires to the genitals or other sensitive parts of the body, like the tongue; the 'water treatment'; the 'airplane' in which the prisoner's arms were tied behind the back, and the rope looped over a hook on the ceiling, suspending the prisoner in midair, after which he or she was beaten; beatings with rubber hoses and whips; the use of police dogs to maul prisoners. Military intelligence officer K. Milton Osborne witnessed the following use of torture: The use of the insertion of the 6-inch dowel into the canal of one of my prisoner's ears, and the tapping through the brain until dead. The starvation to death (in a cage), of a Vietnamese woman who was suspected of being part of the local political education cadre in one of the local villages. The use of electronic gear such as sealed telephones attached to both the women's vaginas and men's testicles [to] shock them into submission. According to one former C.I.A. officer few of the detainees who were interrogated survived—most of them were tortured to death, and those that survived the torture sessions were generally killed afterwards. The torture was usually carried out by South Vietnamese with the C.I.A. and special forces playing a supervisory role.

WEB ~ Homosexuals are over-represented in child *** offenses: Individuals from the 1 to 3 percent of the population that is sexually attracted to the same *** are committing up to one-third of the *** crimes against children.


Some homosexual activists defend the historic connection between homosexuality and *******: Such activists consider the defense of "boy-lovers" to be a legitimate gay rights issue.

******* themes abound in homosexual literary culture: Gay fiction as well as serious academic treatises promote "intergenerational intimacy."

MALE HOMOSEXUALS COMMIT A DISPROPORTIONATE NUMBER OF CHILD *** ABUSE CASES ~ Homosexual apologists admit that some homosexuals sexually ****** children, but they deny that homosexuals are more likely to commit such offenses. After all, they argue, the majority of child molestation cases are heterosexual in nature. While this is correct in terms of absolute numbers, this argument ignores the fact that homosexuals comprise only a very small percentage of the population.

The evidence indicates that homosexual men ****** boys at rates grossly disproportionate to the rates at which heterosexual men ****** girls. To demonstrate this it is necessary to connect several statistics related to the problem of child *** abuse: (1) men are almost always the perpetrator; (2) up to one-third or more of child *** abuse cases are committed against boys; (3) less than three percent of the population are homosexuals. Thus, a tiny percentage of the population (homosexual men), commit one-third or more of the cases of child ****** molestation.

Many pedophiles, in fact, consider themselves to be homosexual. A study of 229 convicted child molesters in Archives of ****** Behavior found that "eighty-six percent of offenders against males described themselves as homosexual or bisexual."

******* Themes Abound in Gay Literature ~ The late "beat" poet Allen Ginsberg illustrates the seamless connection between homosexuality and *******. Many know Ginsberg as an illustrious "out" homosexual poet: fewer are aware that he was also a *******.


Homosexual marriage isn't illegal anywhere. It never has been and it never will be. Homosexual marriage isn't legal anywhere. It never has been and it never will be. It's not marriage as it defies the definition of the word marriage. Marriage is the act of normal ****** *******: the goal of which is to ******* ***** into a lubricated ******. A normal couple can annul a marriage contract if it's attested that normal ****** ******* has not taken place; the marriage is voided if it has not been consummated. Introducing an apple up one's ****** is not illegal, nor is it legal. ****** apple insertion (R.A.I.) is not within the canon of law. The law doesn't specify this activity. The overwhelming majority of endeavors have yet to be codified. Here are several human activities that are simultaneously not legal nor illegal as they are beyond the consideration of law: calling you dog Kitty; shutting an eye during a foot massage; lending your sister a cowboy hat; scratching your elbow with a pencil...

You came from a distant country,
For a slice of paradise,
You gazed upon starry eyes,
While yours agaped with silent lies,
A young girl's dream adrift on innocence,
Without remorse you took a gift ,
And prayed upon the ignorance...
Of beautiful island girls with dreams,
Selling themselves short at only fourteen,
It's such a tragedy,
Yet and no they weren't ready,
To be children having children selling beauty because there's mouths to feed,
Working the "bar" hoping prince charming will save them from poverty,
Instead they get misused,
Naivlely chaising the DREAM,
Of one love, pure true love,
White weddings, homes that are steady,
But foreigners come to realize *******,
You come to this country & more and more races,
Keep traveling leaving mixed faces,
Spreading their seed,
Then up and leave,
Forcing children to be mother's,
Making children to be *******,
While you go invest in homes and boats,
Foreigner's seed spreads like wildfire,
Most children don't even know their own fathers,
All they know is poverty and hunger,
You come and go act like you don't know,
Half black, half German, half Irish philipino faces,
Young girls forced to sell their dignity for a dollar  & some clean water,
Beauty hides their pain and anguish,
They keep pushing so their kids aren't famished,
The foreigners gift..
Rose-colored promise,
Of a life better than this,
Where mother doesn't sleep with strangers,
Goes to bed hungry because she feeds her offspring,
In a paradise where ****** education is a myth,
Contraception & abortion is a sin,
But ******* is accepted leaving both children and women victims,
Of the Foreigner's lust and greed,
Yet everyday she walks with PRIDE,
Deep inside the scar of life,
But you came from a distant village....
Gazed upon those starry eyes,
Broke the girl AND the dream and this was the Foreigner's GiFT.

from The Blood You Don’t See Is Fake (poems, barton smock, September 2013)

[wilderness mantra]

sister Cain falls in love with me through her brother.  
     I physically blame her with both hands.  

she has left my brother’s lips  
on the lord.  

I try to kiss her at a baseball game
but am drunk
and kiss instead
my male
abuser.  

violence begins with me.  


[NICU]

in the story, a newborn is placed in a mailbox.  we know of no harm and the story itself is very casual.  an angel tells us the job of an angel is to fly in front of the master when the master is ****.  we try to hang on every word.  the mailbox is the only mailbox in heaven.  our questions turn our stomachs.  some of us become hormonal and some of us identify pedophiles by future rote.  we head home in a pack.  a siren behind us wails a moment before being joined.  

~

from father, footrace, fistfight (poems, barton smock, June 2014)


[object permanence]

rabbit
named
vertigo


[my son the ******]

online I find instructions on how to make my own scarecrow. I wake my sister and have her put on her pajamas while I take the overcoat my father is using for a blanket. when we’re an error of a mile from home I have to push the ATV with my sister on it. she is crying about flooding and I’m telling her what the scarecrow will look like. she wants it to have a cape. because my son isn’t born yet, there’s not much to like.


[orison]

gaze upon our father
create a woman
and suddenly

know
to leave us


[collapse]

how
on a clear day  
my father
is the face
of absence.

how what I mean
cuts the finger

my mother
sips.

how porch blood
is not the same blood
the body
faints with.

how copperhead, how rattlesnake, how lisp

says I myth
my sister
who is still

vanishing
to shoplift
god

from the thunderstorm
we gave her.

~

from The Women You Take From Your Brother (poems, barton smock, August 2014)


[weaponry]

after passing many dogs
with more skin
than fur, that seem to be
the starving men
of my dreams
if the starving men
of my dreams
had been brought
to the same place
to die
if that place
were me,

the man who sold
my brother
a gun

goes

as a father
praying over
a solitary
son

to his knees
in front
of a larger cage
and I see
the smallest elephant
and I keep
seeing it
as if I’m the only
one who can
though I know
it’s there, the sound it makes

like nothing sick, nothing animal-

I am not the brother
I’m the size of.


[spoils]

a distraction that doesn’t explode. I’d say children but nostalgia is still a child. head, I need a volunteer. god’s reply in the form of a sext. a brick taken for a sponge by a bout of sleepwalking in someone I can shower.


[flatfoot]

the missing man’s yo yo
between the hours
of this and that a.m.
was no doubt cared for
by meadow mice
our estimate would be
by all of them
what a service
they’ve provided
we would advise

forget the tree, the tire swing, and with these mice

forget the man

~

from Misreckon (poems, barton smock, December 2014)


[end psalm]

god had an earache and I heard thunder. I learned to shrink into the smallness of my brain. I associated money with my father’s funny bone. my mother with the dual church of hide and seek. I went on to have a son with special needs. he cried once. cried milk.


[form psalm]

I find the boy’s name on a list in another boy’s diary. a gun goes off in a dream I don’t have anymore. the animal gets between my son and my son’s imaginary friend. the root of its insomnia is not man but the fear of personification. god’s gone when the story starts. to war, to war.


[inquiry psalm]

when it comes to humoring
me
by name
my memories
draw a blank.

I had a daughter
and three
sons.

my hands
could’ve been
the hands
of an umpire.

in the untouched church
of suicide
was the untouched
church
of *******.

it’s like seeing
a television
on tv. the comedians
and their failed
sisters.

do your thoughts
still take
the temperature
of god?

~

from Eating the Animal Back to Life (poems, barton smock, July 2015)


[sandbox]

even with her fingers in her ears, she can hear the toy horse whipped. if we don’t have food, we can’t pray. my father was hired for his quickness, his hands

to salt
the rain. grief is a guard dog from the permanent circus.


[sightings]  

****, kid, your poems.  I took a page from your father’s thesaurus and played scrabble with god.  I came back knowing your name as code for omission.  your mother didn’t break a chair over my back because the chair didn’t break.  I worked it off in a building from the wrong twin city.  after that, my homeless jailer became your brother’s landlord.  your brother he played citizen’s parole to my arrest.  borrowed my hat on account it wasn’t full of money.  like most men, we were in love.  he had a note he’d written that would appear before a big fight it said don’t let my suicide beat you to death.


[ones]

the book is a mourning vessel for what its reader stands to lose. I have a father for every type of silence.

I did a double take,
it doesn't have to
be that way.

I goofed, ****** up,
my nasty habits were on display.

I have had a hard life,
I'd rather that than
one that's flaccid

I saw and heard things out of
the ordinary, kinda like I was
doing acid.

To each his own,
I can tell you that.
Some things are not for everybody.

At moments I'm bursting with joy,
that's in between bouts of melancholy.

I can be on a plateau
for a bit of a stretch
right before I turn a corner.

Then I'm just shot into space,
I guess you could say that I'm a foreigner

If you wanna have some whiskey
by all means feel free,
it's just not my cup of tea.

I'd rather a blunt and something sweet,
just hangin' out, taking it easy.

If you want to converse
I'll go along for the ride
but there is a limit to what I'll discuss.

Most every thing is fair game
Though an open mind is a must.
But we can't tackle *******
no, that would be a touchy subject.

sixteen sweaty sixty-something's
sitting around the sauna humming
mind numbing conversation
clever quips about the weather
whether it's just a trend
or an odd coincidence
tethered to a wheelchair
waiting to die
wondering why
amongst all these sweaty guys
not a single set of sinking eyes
not set sorely on teenage thighs
only mine, wide open and hoping
for something to **** this moment
of *******
no, phil, i don't *feel ya

Who is it
That lit the first flame,
On the darkest night,
Of our final day?

Who is it
That committed a heinous sin-
As the destruction of our humanity
Laid curse to all our kin.

What might become of us
As we walk blindly into darkness?

Will we redeem our begotten souls,
Or leave our redemption to the tales of old?

What burdens shall we carry?
How many millenniums will it take?
Will we succumb to our suffrage-
Or fulfill our forgotten fate?

They say it was long ago
That we crafted the glory of the gods
Stripped souls built their thrones
As we lay hollow, and broke

Dante traveled through the echelons of the afterlife
And returned with tragic tales of our irrefutable eternity
Whether we lay to waste in the River Styx
Or exist solemnly in our blissful ignorance

We conceived poetry, and literature
The likes of which the world had never seen
We told stories of prophets and fiends
All to detail our enigmatic intrigue


Unbeknownst to us we betrayed ourselves
Separate stories became separate beliefs
Bearing swords, we wrought bloodshed
Payment for prejudice, collected by grief

We led crusades, and jihads
As death of men reeked in the fields
Children were taught love, and affection
Years later, we sent them armed to the battlefields

Prophets practiced *******
Politicians purged families for power
The poor became mindless and meek
The covetous grew stronger,
as they overpowered the weak

The tales of our dreaded destiny disappeared
As our humanity crumbled before us
Our dilapidated divinity was lost to the ages
And heaven and hell, left quietly at a cusp

Perhaps we should pray, just one final time
And reach out to the heavens
For our humanity is dying...

Our beloved father, are’t thou still in heaven?
Might we still utter thy hallowed name?
Might thy kingdom come-
And your will be done?

The forsaken are many
And the gates of hell are unleashed
The oceans have turned to acid
And the earth crumbles beneath our feet

Will you forgive us our lord?
For the sins we have made?
Are we still redeemable?
Or will we succumb to the shade?

All remained quiet, for so long, we waited on his word
But the stories were stories,
and I suppose that’s all they really were.