2002:
today i kicked the door
to history off it's hinges
my jealous frame:
still too proud to say a word
it seems my folks forgot
to pencil in growth marks
cause they thought their boy
would never grow out of small breath
******* dead, years now buried
and i bare his name
too many syllables
for my father to go back
fish & play football
to stand in the yard and play catch

1994:
my mom, the bombshell in retrospect
broke her back in her sleep
a thousand times
since the stairwell in 87'
she still sits for spills
post nuclear about settling
now from the couch
she's a weather report
spouting nonsense
that makes my father
grow grey, crack remotes
& slam doors to dark rooms
abandoning ship
for "cheers" & "scienfeld"
while my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets his place at the table
and my appetite is abducted
by family photos
my mother says things like
"go see your brother today"
-- Johnny's long gone
don't you remember?
we buried him
the day your smile died

2014:
you are inches from me
******* a stray hair
caught in the fabric of your coat
the last remnants of a dog
we laid to rest last week
and here we are
in the hospital again
people don't shake like dogs
finality is found
in the eyes of humans
passing archways
into shallow rooms
where plague and prayer
are the only songs sung
round the stagnant clocks
it makes me wonder
if the clipboards cry
over being the last thing
someone ever writes on
take a number, have a seat
stay a while
i am back, 7 years old
& there are different doors now
they buried the ones
you kicked in that night in '92
when my lungs
were filled with holy water
you never stopped smoking
*i never grew out of asthma

What a fix to be stuck on

A sea of remotes 
Controlling their channels
(Channels really know
How to pull people in.
But not me. I just watch news.)

Piles and piles and stacks 
Of remotes
Mangled up in cords 
Around the main event:
The TV.

Back to that pile of remotes -
All different kinds & controls
There's a pink one
With polka dots or chicken pox
There's a swampy soggy one
A grey tomb-stony one
Etc., and whatnots

What to do with all them?
Control the tube, of course,
But they all do that
A little bit differently.

"To hell with this white noise"

I ****** up a chrome looking remote
Soapstone it wasn't
But cold cold cold still
I pressed the red button near the front
Blinked it didn't 
But got stuck.
I just stared in frustration
For a long while, into that fuzzy screen.

And then
Out of the white noise
A gigantic chrome razor-hand
Came crashing through

Pulling me in.

I'll be here for infinity x infinity
A penchant for curves like cursives
I say it in my verses
Vocab too wide for curses
Don't like likes
Fingers to whoever dislike
Like a vlogger: share, comment, and like
Oh yeah, subscribe
Fun, I prescribe
Right on time
Better late than never
Man of the hour
Original with the flavour
Chocolate and Vanilla
Black and grey
If you're too slow to comprehend
No résumé
No references
DIY my title says
Fickle fools play 'Simon Says'
Press remotes don't change but
Batteries can be replaced all the same
God - like
Holier - than - thou; Pope's attitude, beg for mercy
Self - driven, self - motivated
Ministering like Osteen
Light and dark
Yin & Yang
Angel or demon I can be
High off life
Limitless, no pills
I'm probably ill
Well it's my will
To count millions in $100 bills
Like ice, I chill
That's me, trill
And that's that
Suh bill

LanceSkiies

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http://www.passwordmanagers.net/ Password Manager Windows 7

My Grandmother's Hands

My Grandmother's hands told many tales
Of scrubbing steps and broken nails
Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink
Red football socks turned white towels pink

When not baking cakes at the old gas stove
Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove
Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg
Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg

Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire
Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre
Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head
Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed

Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand
Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned
Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam,
I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan

Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist
That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist
Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands

Every line and wrinkle told a story
On my Grandmother's hands

A ***** couch rests in the living room,
Like an old green stump.  
Worn from too many soap operas and football games
The pillows droop like tired eyelids.  
The smell of exhaustion and grime clings to the well-worn skin
That itches if you get too close.
Dog hair is sprinkled across the cushions
Along with mysterious stains and crusty popcorn between seats.  
It gobbles up change, remotes and secrets.

Far from a fairy-tale throne
It has as much romance as a sock.
But since the bedroom was off-limits,
It would have to do.

“Disaster Dan” skids into the Center's
Game Room
War Room
Control Room

Fueled by a red T-shirt
proclaiming “Vince the Pizza Prince”
He flips out his cellular...

“IT ISN'T UP TO ME!"
(Where does he get all those broken remotes?)
...flips open his cell
and shouts commands

“TURN THE POWER ON!"

“YA HEARD ME!" (He is totally in control)

“Fsssss    Fssssss   Fsssssss
THE PIPES ARE ABOUT TO BLOW!”

Drives his cruiser around the pool table
Pulls alongside
Fixes me point-blank and cockeyed

“GET THESE KIDS OUTA THE BUILDING!
THERE'S A BOMB ABOUT TA GO OFF!”

An eight-year-old spins iz finger round iz ear
and points a giggle

Dan--
the kind of guy whose life peaked
at Mount Saint Helen
Does a warlock for Halloween
Carries a portable showcase of horror
prized possessions in a dishpan
He explains his treasures

“That is NOT
a plastic scorpion!”

Offended by my ignorance
shoves it in my eyes

“THIS IS A PREDATOR ALIEN, STUPID!"
“CALIFORNIA WILL NOT COME BACK!"

Dan sorta likes me
We talk horror flicks
He forbids the serious of me

"CALIFORNIA WILL FALL OFF INTO THE OCEAN!”
he hisses in a spray of spit
Walks way, laughing, delighted!
Shaking iz head

Then back in my face again (for emphasis)

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"
(He is dead serious)
"THE GUY THAT CAUSED THAT HURRICANE
WAS PAUL MCCARTNEY!"

His counselor fills in my blank
“Dan likes the Beatles
That's the only thing he likes
that isn't heinous”

who would have thought i would become so obsessed with clean? not
my mother, who’d nag me to pick up all the clothes scattered across
my bedroom nearly every day of ninth grade. we rarely saw the floor.
i’d sleep beneath books and laundry on my half-made bed. now i
scrub dishes, scrub counters, scrub the floor at night because i can’t
stand the thought of a ***** kitchen—little cockroaches scurrying
in and out of pots and pans. my home smells of lavender oil, a soft
mist, air cleansed by a pink-glowing himalayan salt lamp and plants
in the living room. now i put things away in drawers, close doors of
rooms that are the slightest bit messy. now i straighten books on the
coffee table, set the remotes parallel to one another, everything must
be in place. now i floss, wash my face every night, stare in the mirror
and repeat i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i burn my skin in the
shower, inhale the steam until my breathing is slow and my sinuses
are clear. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. now i fold the laundry, stack
our clothes into two piles, his and mine. i make our bed, i organize
our shoes by the door, i kiss the man i love goodnight. i am clean, i am
clean, i am clean. i know what my father must think, i know he loses
sleep, i know there are holes in his tongue where his teeth have made
a home. i am clean, i am clean, i am clean. i know he wishes i still went
to church, wishes my boyfriend believed in a god, wishes i was clean.
i am clean, i am clean.

you are everything
you are everyone
you are every cliche
you are the sun,
you are the stifling heat
that cannot be escaped
you are valentines cards
misdirected and misshaped,
you are hotmail,
you are myspace,
you are my face,
hungover and exhausted,
you are lost kids,
you are something that was fun,
you are not getting shotgun,
you are beer
that's been in the sun
too long,
you are a sad song,
that's not been made better,
you are the hole in my sweater,
or my pockets,
you are the chalky sugar that's
passed off as rockets,
you are the first drummer of the beatles,
you are evil,
and i don't mean that jokingly,
you are choking me,
like turtlenecks,
or high stake bets,
made on the wrong team,
you are what seems like
a good idea at the time,
you are past tense,
you are jeans caught in the fence
preventing teens from sneaking in,
you are cold wind on a dry winter's day,
you are Coldplay's last two albums,
you are too much talcum powder
you are convenience store flowers,
you are forced,
you are hoarse
voices in place of song,
you are wrong,
you are the weakest link,
you are outdated references,
you are beverages,
that have lost carbonation,
you are hesitation
that leads to regret,
you are the new york mets,
you are first impressions
that i make on the elderly,
you are Beverly Hills Chihuahua,
you are foie gras,
you are aqua
and their music in my head,
you are cold beds,
warm beer,
empty freezers,
old tears,
fake appeasers,
new fears,
you are the moments
when it feels like no one's near,
you are searching for Waldo for hours,
you are any buildings "bigger" than the cn tower,
you are fake,
you are first date awkward silence,
you are last date awkward silence,
you are violence,
you are hybrid suvs,
you are bees,
you are black flies,
you are forgetting an event is black tie,
you are something nice to forget,
you are socks that are wet,
you are the slow driver in the left lane,
you are fame,
you are fleeting seconds
never to be recaptured,
you are the man on the corner
screaming about rapture,
you are actors selling out,
you are stains on a couch,
you are lost remotes,
you are failed attempts to save face,
you are everything
that has ever graced
this time and space,
here and above,
you are everything,
you are love...

Transferred attention some where else
Then lost my train of thought,
Added an item to my list
Of stuff I should have bought.
Forgot to say those silly things
That make it all worth while,
And found myself in jockey shorts
With a lost and vacant smile.


Left the toothbrush in the toilet
And the razor in the lounge,
Fed the dog the ****** cat food
And the goldfish had to scrounge.
Woke up early on the weekend
And slept in late for work,
Is it really any wonder
That my  wife has gone beserk ?



Distracted moments come and go
As life progresses on,
But in these periods of bewilderment
Have I come or have I gone ?
The confusion is annoying
It's like emerging from the mist
And embarrassed explanations
Leave my kid's expression ******.


Conversations breeze along
I'm having trouble with the terms
The children utter gibberish
Which I've no desire to learn.
My old friends speak in whispers
Quite impossible to hear
And the clink of moving cutlery
Keeps dinner parties from my ear.


I guess a change is needed
Maybe, a less demanding day,
Where physicality is really secondary
Where exhaustion doesn't play.
Where the bodies limitations
Are tempered to the task
And a moderated output
Is, perhaps, the best that you can ask.


I've lost my sense of humour
The world is racing by too fast,
This mobile phone's a nightmare
And ****** TV remotes I'm past.
And whatever happened to coffee
At my favourite Bridge cafe ?
Now the order is for decaff,
No cream, half strength, moccha frappe !!


Age is such a ******
It's asset is it's stealth,
One moment you're a titan
The next you've lost your health.
One moment you've got flowing locks
The next you're bald and grim,
Is it any ****** wonder
That growing old is such a sin.

Marshalg
Grumping@theBach
Mangere Bridge
10 August 2009

I have this dog, a huge great pooch,
Just like the one, on Turner and *****,
He really is a big orange lump,
Dare I say how much he dumps,
He shreds and ruins my favourite stuff,
Covering the floor, in loads of fluff,
TV remotes, he's chewed them up,
He costs a bomb, my naughty pup,
His snoring rattles the gates of hell,
And when he farts, my gawd, the smell!,
Don't let's forget, he loves his food,
Face in your cup, slurp slurp, how rude,
What's yours is his, he takes the ****,
I dare you say the word, "biscuit"
He slobbers shoestrings, from his chops,
Each room has a rag, for him to mop,
But that aside, he has my heart,
His crinkly face, and stinky farts,
Rolling in fox mess on his daily stroll,
Sniffing crotches, of those who call,
I kiss his face off every day,
I could never love a man this way,
He has a face you want to snog,
I really, really love this dog :)

The worlds never truly silent
turn off your television and just listen
tires rolling over the iced streets outside
the buzzing of the street light
the pitter patter of a gutter next door
streaming water
as the water runs down the side of the curb
like children in a playground
it dances and laughs its way to the open drain
I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars
I here the airplanes in the sky passing by
and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner
As I inhale again I can here my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma
and I taste the smoke under my finger nails as a chew them off.
I here the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking
I try to eaves drop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can here what their saying to eachother as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my ciagrette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of patato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed ochestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.

I am not a robot.
Underneath this skin
are tissues, and organs,
bones, and liquids,
none of which were constructed.

I feel real things,
and try to understand them too.
I have not masked intelligence,
emotion, and humanity;
dissected and interpreted
the world around me,
and plugged it in.

My brain is human;
it did not learn human,
but lives human.
It was not programmed,
and taught human.

I receive no signals
from remote remotes,
and super computers.
I do not speak code;
only human

I am irreplaceable,
repairable and invariable.
I will learn,
and what i do not
will destroy me;
like any other
human being.

Divisions of the night
Each calculated the same
Staccatoed bursts of sound
At regular intervals
Random quotes stick in my brain
“Where is your favorite place to eat?”
Limp beanbags lobbed at remotes
in futile attempts to change reality.
Fake drama as one
non-sister complains to
another that she will tell
secrets to strangers but not to her family.
But I am no stranger
I follow her life hour after hour
Her fake life in exchange
for mine not lived
except in flickering shadows.
Another weekend wasted watching
lives of the inane and ridiculous
Which is still somehow better than
watching mine

each night
he would enter his boy's room  
Bobby's tomb, he had come to call it  
and turn the TV off  

before remotes, 24/7 programming
and the infomercial, plump with desperate promises
the tube gave a final hail, the stars 'n stripes whipping, the national anthem screaming, and an anonymous promise
to return tomorrow in a perfect world

it would not be perfect for Bobby,
no matter how much thoughtless Thorazine,
hazy Haldol, or mesmerizing Mellaril
they shoved down his throat

now and then
before flipping the **** to off
he would sit with his sleeping son
stare into the screen, listen to its hissing;
he would swear he saw something  
in the gray ocean of static  

not trillions of senseless electrons
busy bouncing, but a lone sailor, rowing away
in a foaming sea, riding raging swells,  
bound for a black horizon

one his tormented son
had reached long ago

PART I

Hey! Ladies & gentlemen!
All you girls and boys!
Put away TV remotes!
You have *some NEW TOYS!

We have a job that's just for YOU!
It's easy! You can TRY!
WE WANT A PERSON IN THE GRAVE...
Just hear our slanderous LIES.

You know that woman over there?
She don't do as she should
She's had a hundred boyfriends
What's more she beats her kids!

You know that guy downstairs from you?
Investigation's goin' on
Law Enforcement knows about it
MOLESTING KIDS IS WRONG!

NO! DO NOT CONFRONT THEM!
WE have a way to delve
Heaven forbid they know you KNOW
So they DEFEND THEMSELVES!

No. We'll do it THIS way...
We'll do it real SLY
Don't worry bout a thing my friends
Don't matter how they CRY...

Just go ahead and spread the WORD!
Tell everyone! Their friends!
I'll teach you some OTHER TRICKS
To help make their life END.

If we do things all just right
Use my sadistic guide
You'll see that we can cleanse our world

BY THEIR SUICIDE.

Don't worry. It'll be easy.
It's quite simple to do
You will find that you won't mind...

BE GRATEFUL IT'S NOT YOU.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/13/2017

When hearing clicks of remotes,
Cell phone buttons, and car doors.

Rolling jays all afternoon,
Listening to songs by Frank Ocean.

Laughing and when I'm happy,
The taste of sugar in my coffee.

Drunk on Captain Morgan,
And when I'm home alone at night.

Familiar smells, and on rainy days,
And when I feel scared.

In my dreams, on every page,
When I love.

No matter where I am,
or how I feel.

These are some moments when,
You know...

It has been so long
The same voice had sung a thousand songs
Each day a battle to remain strong
Standing on the right side, but all feels wrong

Precarious wants, dubious desires
Trembling feet crossing a string of quagmires
I danced, but never on a stage made of wires
My need for certainty is indubitably dire

Call for help only from a trusted friend
Shattered glass hearts are difficult to mend
A soul that espoused strolls pressured to ride the trend
Gravel and sand are known to never blend

Instruments thirsty for power play harmonious notes
Imperious waves swallowing quiescent boats
Wails and screams incarcerated in throats
Every motion a command from shrouded remotes

I wish to find the nearest escape
Be free to embody my envisioned shape
I will sketch and color my preferred landscape
But these self-proclaimed kings hunger for another grape

I wear this flannel-plaid red and black button-up long-sleeved shirt

more often than a pair of shoes done-up

to the neck and wrists so tight

bunny-eared laces roped around blue hands and head

I sit on a couch bought however long ago with a floral fabric

dark wood trim flowing from back to arms into its talon feet

dug deep in the flesh of the oak-wood floor

it's quicksand cushions swirl to the dark cracks where change

and TV remotes die where habit lies

contrives to **** the quarters and dimes I might use to buy a new sofa

and wardrobe

I've got enough food in the pantry
Enough water in the tub
Enough gas in the generator
Hope I've got enough of enough

I've got enough color in the T.V's
Enough batteries in the remotes
I've got enough Cheetos in the stairwell
Enough to make a blind mouse choke

Enough crosswords to keep me puzzled
Enough coloring books to spread my art
Enough soap and shampoo samples
I'll stay clean enough through 2024

I've got enough Reynolds aluminum foil
To cover every square inch of wall
Enough ammunition if there's trouble
And enough guns to shoot it all

I've got enough jelly beans and peanut butter
To span across the state
Now I only need to find the money
Enough to pay for all the freight

I've got the radio for transmitting
Bee Gee albums for talking jive
When I get that Saturday night zombie fever
They also help with staying alive

I've got enough ice cream in the freezer
Vanilla Chocolate Swirl
Pretty sure that I'm now ready
For the end of the world...

Who's left holding lost remotes?

Too many devices for soul oats
seeded in poor soil and bad reviews, a stinging blessing
at wicked thoughts best. Pride turning on TV, caressing
for an absent Love out of sight and mind. For the Roosters, Fear.

Combs without waivers, thinking, I will be Cockmeister here
with cursing chicks and deceitful vanity, Evil errant.

Secret murders, and poor innocents wearing broken covenant,
lured to an ant-lion's nest, sliding down Banker's drawers into earning
crevices of Mr. Crouch, his curvaceous cushions hiding hard yearning.  

Say Love is forgotten with a hidden face, because we'll never see
with Chicken humility the forgotten Love given for free.

What kinda fried Chicken doesn't hate free Sauce you might ask?
There's the poor commitment's rub, an Assistant father taken to task.

Violate his wicked arm. Search the veins of evil's grime
until the forever King is found mysteriously without crime.

You've heard our heart headset's rumble,
Oppressed orphan's plea given most humble.

So the world's biggest tournament is here
Most fathers in Africa have taken their TV remotes
My sister wont be watching anymore soap operas
Every soccer lover sings Russia now
Emotional scenes are not very seldom
Its a real blunder if the power goes out now
I heard my neighbour, next door, bought a generator
Just in case the worst happens
With so much anxiety and averting the unexpected,
People are really ready to go
But one question,
Are they ready to take in the pain of losing a match?
Anyway, keep the answer ....

The worlds never truly silent
turn off your television and just listen
tires rolling over the iced streets outside
the buzzing of the street light
the pitter patter of a gutter next door
streaming water
as the water runs down the side of the curb
like children in a playground
it dances and laughs its way to the open drain
I lite my cigarette and blow a big cloud towards the stars
I hear the airplanes in the sky passing by
and a cat hisses at something in a dark corner
As I inhale again I can hear my lungs fill up with the toxic aroma
and I taste the smoke under my fingernails as a chew them off.
I hear the sound of feet and look across the street two young kids holding hands walking
I try to eavesdrop on their conversation but the cars passing bye blocks my attempt at spying on them. I can hear what their saying to each other as I see them both smiling "it's cold out here.. but your warm" I'm jealous almost and just as I think this my cigarette burns me and brings me back to the echo of the town. I toss the burnt end and here it land in a puddle I watch as it gets taken away down along the side of my house. were all a generation of the television society and left out brains on the couch as we stuff our faces full of potato chips and useless tv programs. When the real entertainment waits for us outside. where the music of the world is waiting to be heard. Instead we click our remotes and fall into a trance of law and order tv programs and violence upon violence school shootings and who the next mass ****** is a sick twisted form of entertainment. I guess listening to the world got so boring...... I guess I'm the only one who sees the world as a untamed orchestra waiting to be composed into a lovely sympathy. On mistro On you play for your little sounds are not useless I here you playing and strumming the world is perfectly in tune if you just listen.

Tonight I am making dinner for two
It'll last the whole week
I can never just cook a proper portion size
It's like I'm accustomed to cooking for six and can't adapt to change
But I love it so much
It might be awful
It might be great
Either way my fiance will smile and tell me I did a great job
Because he honestly believes it
He is so considerate and careful with my emotions
He reminds to take my medicines
9 am
5 pm
8 pm
And sometimes in between depending
He looks at me like I am home
I am safe
I am wild
I am beautiful
And I laugh because he makes me believe it
He has been there for me for years now
Not always directly and I've tried to hate him
But we were in a different place all that time ago
And with age, like wine, we became better
We matured and calmed
And are on the same page now
Engaged and happy and in love
So tonight we'll sit at the table and the TV will be on
Probably football or action films because we let his parents control the remotes for now
I'll light a few candles
And he'll set our places
I'll place the pasta between us and fall a little more in love
Over dinner for two with smiles resting on both our faces

My fire burns a few thousand miles apart
I've been longing to express what's in my chest in person for far to long
Today I wear a coat of depression
Preparing for another lonely moon
Stripes are bleeding off the flag and the beginning stars are fading fast
My love, I long to replace your fake fireplace  
and the books on your shelf with my warmth and our stories
The sky keeps changing colors though I am remaining put
How much longer until I feel better?
The truest prison is surely in ones own mind
This cell echoes my mistakes and all the people I have let down
I stopped counting days once my walls were filled and time forgot how to use its hands
The fuse on my distractions burnt out not trailed by an explosion
and the tires on this man have become flat
If I could write a song that could relocate our homes, I'd play it until my fingers were bleeding and all the strings had snapped
Just maybe that same song could help stitch my halves back full and remove me from this fear of trusting anyone
My heart has beat more times then miles between us since I last saw your face.
If I would of taken a step for every beat, I would be back at your side tongiht
Running on heart-beats per mile is how I travel these days
I'm working on accepting so many corners right now that the only way I can sleep is in circles
That's what happens when you drastically change so many things at once
You find yourself frozen in the last place anyone would ever check
You find yourself searching through the remotes desert for all the puzzle pieces you let slip for the happiness of another
The winds are high tonight though I'm hiding under a rock
As Fall closes in, my sunshine seems further and further away

(each stanza is a Haiku)

We, the resistance,
are here, stationed on our couches
armed with our remotes.

Camouflaged in our
faded PowerPuff pajamas
and fuzzy slippers

We are determined.
Yes, we have evaded contact
and forsaken love.

We few, lay down such
as freedom for honest care
for our fellow man.

Hey! Ladies & gentlemen!
All you girls and boys!
Put away TV remotes!
You have some NEW TOYS!

We have a job that's
just for YOU!
It's easy! You can TRY!
WE WANT A PERSON
IN THE GRAVE...
Just hear our slanderous LIES.

You know that woman over there?
She don't do as she should
She's had a hundred boyfriends
What's more she beats her kids!

You know that guy
downstairs from you?
Investigation's goin' on
Law Enforcement
knows about it
MOLESTING KIDS IS WRONG!

NO! DO NOT CONFRONT THEM!
WE have a way to delve
Heaven forbid they
know you KNOW
So they DEFEND THEMSELVES!

No. We'll do it THIS way...
We'll do it real SLY
Don't worry bout
a thing my friends
Do not question why...

Just go ahead and
spread the WORD!
Tell everyone! Their friends!
I'll teach you some other tricks
To help make their life END.

If we do things all just right
Use my sadistic guide
You'll see that we can
cleanse our world
By their SUICIDE.

Don't worry. It'll be easy.
It's quite simple to do
You will find that
you won't mind...

BE GRATEFUL IT'S NOT YOU.


SoulSurvivor
aka Write of Passage
(C) 3/13/2017


The creation of madness always begins
With SLANDER. Imagine. All of a sudden
"Everyone" is against you! You can't figure out WHY. BECAUSE YOU'RE COMPLETELY INNOCENT

game face with no game
tripping over elbows and
undone gobsmacked remotes
that tune into deep figures
sleek features masquerading
as all the fog in a room
full of you,

dormant doormats. done dilly in the privy
of your terminal performance.
your one enormous soliloquy
and all the sparrows
of your Mind.

Etcetera.