My parents think it's just the flu.
I guess it could be if love could get you sick.
I feel queasy all the time.
I can't keep food down.
I'm tired and my body aches.
I tremble and shake.
My head pounds and spins.
But it's just the flu right?
No
I may be sick,
but it is nothing that can be cured by a doctor.
No amount of medicine can make this go away.
There is no cure for the hole in my heart.
Do you know what it's like?
I bet you haven't got the slightest clue.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to try to live with a hole in your heart?
To lie on the floor screaming.
Begging for the pain to stop.
Before you know it,
you're racing for the bathroom.
Running to the toliet.
Your stomach hurts from sobbing.
Here comes dinner.
I go back and curl up in bed.
Tired and aching.
Mom comes in and ask if she can do anything.
I just tell her I do not feel well.
Who knew love could make you so sick.
I miss you.
Every time I think of you;
every word you say to me...
it all just makes me sick.
**But it's just the flu right?

whispering shadows lean in for a hear
a little whimper as down falls a tear
why do people constantly **** on me
are they searching for something more
beyond the green pastures of safety
do they see something i had missed
i feel comfort in myself
that it causes others to seek discomfort
am i so in self tuned that it makes me
seem so out of equalibrium
i dont blame people who are mean to me

a toliet is made to be **** in
a punching bag gets punched
a soccer ball gets kicked
a staircase gets stepped on
a door is made to be closed
if i wasnt so busy opening the door
maybe one day ill know to close it
time to flush the toliet

I've tried to make a list
Of the seven deadly sins
Now pay very close attention
To where this list begins

The number one sin
Much worse than them all
Is never marry a woman
Til you meet your mother-in-law

The number two sin
Is almost just as bad
Never say, "Who's the father?"
When you become a dad

The number three sin
Is probably very well known
Never forget your magazine
When going to the throne

The number four sin
Unless you've hidden the bat
Never tell your wife
She might be getting fat

The number five sin
When it's time to watch the super bowl
Never let your chick flick wife
Get the remote control

The number six sin
And this one I'll repeat
Before you leave the bathroom
Put down the toliet seat

The number seven sin
Last but certainly not least
Never tell you wife
Your paycheck has increased

If you commit just one of these
Not only will you fail
But life is over as you know it
For she'll make your life pure, well, ( you know )

Wrestle to find the light switch
Dancing
can't find the light switch
**** this
unzip
ahhhhh
oh ****
forgot to lift the toliet seat up

You're wasting your breath
Just standing there finding another reason to ***** at me-
After inferring a ***** onto me, when I said I wasn't feeling up to go out,
You nag on my driving,
When I'm the one driving you around,
So find another reason to ***** at me-
If nagging me about not putting the toliet paper roll on the hook helps you sleep better,
Okay.
But let's remember whose going.

Lips be the knife
Because your arms
Are scarred enough
And words the sting
**** them and let them bleed
Resort to your tongue
The voice you were blessed with
Money flying out of your parents pockets
They work and live and cry because
Who knows where you are
Even when you're just in your bedroom
Therapist voice is the only thing you hear
In nightmares and through earbuds
You are deaf to music and compliments
I am the Positive Influence
You agree when I say things will be okay
But have you heard me hurl my dinner
Into the toliet lately?
The only thing I'm influencing is a heavy mind
You don't use what you've learned
That is your fault
And when we are laying
Next to one another
I hear you breathe I wish I never met you
And when the sun shakes us
You kiss me.

There was an old crab from the Andes
Who had claws in the place of the handies
She wasted her time
Chasing the sublime
Now she snips chickens in Nandy's


There was an old knight whose great sword
He'd swing so not to get bored
He ran through the Prince
But started to wince
When he saw the royal horribly gored


There was a dear ledger from Ryde
Who had Gods love at his side
He wrote bibles for pence
On an old picket fence
That loveable ledger from Ryde


There was an old fellow from Greece
Who always wore a golden fleece
He rode his horse far
Faster than any car
Because of the healing properties of the fleece


There was a camera man from Spain
Who always used to film in the rain
The water was wet
He'd always forget
Electrocutions caused him great pain


There was an old man whose bonnet
Was woven with pages of sonnet
For he was a poet
And didn't he know it
Pretentious old man with his bonnet


There was a young man whose cuticles
Were ornately fashioned in cubicles
He was so vain
To be pretty again
He funded big time pharmaceuticals


There was an old frigate from mars
Whose cannons sounded like guitars
This frightened the queen
Who vented her spleen
And shot the space frigate from cars


A cat and a mouse and a dog
Lived in a big giant frog
They always ate brie
For breakfast and tea
Now they all wear one sandal one clog


There was an old pear from Derry
Who was scarcely if ever so merry
He fell from a tree
Landing in a lee
Till farmer Giles turned him into perry


There was a young lady whose toliet
Was broken so plumber would oil it
The new seat would come
To comfort her ***
Until another breakage would spoil it!


There was an old dog with a dream
To build her own mighty trireme
She'd sail the sea
And be back home for tea
If only she had opposeable thumbs


There was an old butcher whose feet
Would every third sunday tread meat
He rolled in the blood
That came in a flood
From cuts in the **** so discrete


There was a young boy with three heads
Who slept in three seperate beds
Whenever he dreamt
He lost what it meant
(The downside of having three heads)


There was an old eagle who'd sing
About losing her old violin
She gave up the search
To perch in a birch
And starved herself horribly thin


There was an old priest by a tomb
Who curled up inside a stone womb
For so close to death
He cursed every breath
And waited the slow march of doom

T'was the night before Christmas
The kids were in bed
Dreaming of Santa
All dressed up in red

The wife was upstairs
Wrapping gifts in our room
I was watching old Scrooge
In old London gloom

when out of the blue
there was a knock at the door
I leapt from the couch
and i slipped on the floor

i answered the knock
i still got there quick
and to my surprise
there stood St. Nick

"Please, sir I pray"
"may I enter through here"
"My stomach is churning"
"an explosion is near"

I pointed the way
first door on the right
Santa went off
To relieve himself right

My wife came downstairs
She asked 'bout the knock
I said go upstairs
She'd think my tale was a crock

The bathroom door opened
Santa came out
Then he told me the tale
Of what this all was about

"All of these houses"
"with warm milk and cookies"
"get my gut growling"
"like a room full of wookies"

"Soy, two percent"
"almond and skim"
"all mixed together"
"the result is quite grim"

"It started to churn"
"and I was getting quite frantic"
"I was just coming in"
"from above the Atlantic"

"Most years it's fine"
"But, this soy...never try it"
"it should really be banned"
"not put in one's diet"

"Do you mind if I sit"
"for a while just in case"
"I've got more houses to hit"
"And it will be a race"

My wife stood quite still
In fact she'd not said a word
Imagine your toliet downstairs
Home to dear Santa's ****

I offered a drink
Something to settle him down
He said thanks, but begged off
And he gave a slight frown

"I've got to get going"
"Time stops just so long"
"Thanks for your help"
"It could have all gone so wrong"

He filled up our stockings
He called his reindeer by name
"I'll bypass the chimney
and I'll leave as I came"

I looked at my wife
We both said "oh well"
I mean when you take it all in
Just who could we tell?

So, in future please listen
take a second and think
It could end up quite bad
don't leave him soy milk to drink

My head feels like it's wrapped in cling film I'm ******* noise Bob like a boat on the sea of atmosphere
There's a man vomiting in the cubixal nextdoor
Things can only be described as hot and sweaty and blurry
I'm in a different toliet, someone has work at 11 tomorrow poor guy, this one is nice and bright and there's a coat hanger, I'm going to re-enter the cesspool of ducked ppl
Turns  there is a hangover in here but it's taking me too long to write that so I'm gonna go peeps are waiting
Number 3 and I'm dancing round to he stall
Had a bit of drink and almost threw up
Recovery in my box of safety and alas! I depart

there was beauty in her heart
and in a heartbeat it was gone
your breathing was too heavy
and your hands were too strong
the bruises she left on your neck
were like reminders of a disease
you vomited down her parents toliet
she still kissed you on the cheek
your skin felt so ***** you scrubbed
until you scraped it all away

now you walk around like a ghost
hoping you're not seen
you keep apologising to her
even in your sleep

Dante, the Inferno's here baby,
Look up and down the avenue sweetheart, Ain't
Nothing but chicken ***** and chicken hearts,
Lining the gutters and grocery stores, While I Got
My pincer moves down to mechanics,
It's like an art form baby,
Machines that drum dumb dull all day, As frenzied housewives Fight over toliet paper,
I tear up the avenue,
Spitting hellcat North,
Looking for the remnants
Of a once great civilization,
Red balloons and bicycles ribbons Float by my intoxicated eyes.
And Mozart plays handball
Off the prison wall.
And politicians line they're pockets,
And poet's reside in madhouses, And the wealthy
Rig the game,
And birds fall from the sky.
And it's just like clockwork baby, And canned beets
Are the main course,
And hands raise
To a silent sky.
And Dante baby,
You hit the nail on the head.
And nothing calms my ******* heart, And the sun screams
At the blood of the day,
As fans whir in ghetto windows,
We throw up the last of the day.
And the walls come crashing
And never make a sound,
And it's a one way ticket,
And never look down.
And Dante sports wings in Heaven, and I have two feet
On the ground,
And I guess it draws even,
And the best laid plans
Are no plans at all.

I painted the lips on the clown, But it didn't wash,
In fact it was de facto.
My life was in the toliet,
And I was on flush mode.
Lost to hangovers and headaches, The stuff of
Bad dreams and sad sleep.
And it was all the same
As the red sun rising
To the stink of the highway
With the semi's belching
As I wake to the ***** window.
And the laundry needs doing,
And you have two days
Left on the rent.
And no cigarettes and no job,
And Little Joe's the color
Of avacado on the
Cheap Motel TV.

Hail Ceasar, sleeping on the grass on the edge of the woods. And never you said,
To no one until the cop woke
You saying you best be
Getting on. And Hoss
Tips his hat saying "Shucks
Ma'am " in his green
Slow witted smile.
While in the comfort
Of my cheap motel
The bloated afternoon
Goes on forever.
And I slipped and slid
On the brink of twenty,
And Matt Dillon
Eyes Miss Kitty.
As you remember the bronze
Young boy who dreamed
Of the desert and bats
Rising from dark caves,
Casting beauty in the shadow
Of the mountains.
As I practice this pause with such rare inflection.

Well, back to our show.
Canned beans and bologna
And nary a witness to the
Strange hell of drinking
On a Tuesday afternoon.
And Pa Cartwright looks
Resplendent the color
Of tomato.
And you drink down another
And wake to the stinking
Trucks on their way
From the terminals
To the blight of the
Inner city. And I blurred
Out for a few years,
Coming awake in the 90's.
And I write this poem
To the wind, Forgetting
The cheap motel TV.
I channel Bukowski,
Write a couple lines,
Catch the wave,
Bang on the keyboard,
Write these lines with abandon.
Go the way of the elephant,
Strong in life and graceful
In death. Sleep the long sleep,
Wake to forever.