I pride myself on differences,
but know at heart we're all one
I tried to do the dishes,
but only two knives made the cut.
Now I wonder if I can
accomplish more than thought possible
judging dull wounds in grunting cans;
feeling pistol grooves and wrist slitters,
I am at home again.

Lying, mining, dying figure heads
make their way to the foot of my bed,
and ask if they may lull me to sleep
with dreams of pneumonia and epilepsy.
I ask them to politely leave,
but they perch on boasting names of society,
reciting to me, too condescendingly,
"surely, we know better than you."
Now all of their heads fit askew.


Save the money and excuse for material attachment.
Keep running through your doll houses.

I pull on my hair to make it grow.
You pull on heart strings to teach a lesson, I suppose
we're in the same sinking boat.
But you are my vital poison.
My body collapses- a muted a noise and-
each time I awake perfectly poised
at your feet and frozen mouth.
How will I ever make you love me now?

Life's a Hawaii postcard
pleading, "go experience the vibrant colors."
There's more to see beyond the rainbow trees,
but they'll still satisfy most cravings.

Every threaded fiber of my being
keeps me pondering
if cells are just too shy to speak,
or if they've always spoken through me,
whispering, "scratch to win the lottery."

I want to write children's books,
and release doves from hidden cages;
watch awe wipe over next generation;
use my candies as their safe haven.
Away this world that have caused them pain-
I Am its new name.

Affection is a mistress of mine.
I still crave her like sunlight.
stare into her eye until I am blind
She's addicting even after she harms you.

I'll keep my heals neck deep
in anxiously wading water.
til I sing it into deep sleep,
its current pulls me under.
and I am at home again.

Walls are closing me in every day, I say.
My sentence is for infinite,
Not even an Indian king could give me
the air that I so desperately crave.
By that time, I'd be long into the center of Earth at my grave.
I want the touch of your skin,
To just let you right in to my cell.
Restrictions break our connections,
wrap chains around my waist,
pulling and tossing me into those
subzero rocks near the sea.
How glorious, yet impossible, that it would be.
Oh, how I've longed to touch the ocean,
yet they pull me back once more for the
half-hour free-for-all cannibal buffet.
Not a bite for me to scavenge on,
just a bone or two to scrounge out,
just the bare minimum to survive upon,
and, once again, my stomach never becomes full,
because I release it all during the throat-slitters' hour.
The loss of souls and minds
are made from the aggressiveness of brawn,
leaving bloodtrails down each and every corridor.
Not one limb has fallen from me,
though I'm aware of eunuchs to be,
who survived the previous slaughterfest hour.
I pray for you to never lose
the wonderful mind you learn with,
or find a guy with a girl you want to ***** with,
because you will lose more than your mind.
You will lose your head,
left to drip your precious drops of life.

"Yes" is positively positive among positivists. Half my parents are dead & the other half are half-dead. I must careful! I almost nearly wrote: "No *** snot." I'm glad I remembered where to put the spaces & the apostrophe. Let's behave immunologically to mercilessly slaughter pathogens as it's better than gagging to coax throwing up. These choco'/caramel pretzel bites are awful! I often win, everything but money. It's a good week to ride a horse as hay is going on sale in Annapolis. More death, that's just what America's whining wrist-slitters need...
   Half way through May, again, I anticipate with regularity the June month, as my colon waves in spasms, goose stepping in quick time to June. I should look up old friends, old ****-buddies if I were a homosexual (which I'm not). It seems relaxing to sit when spoken to; to speak from a seat.