Bitter shouting remedies
Wailing in the streets
Beggars wanting more than just
The crumbs off royal seats
Fancy ******* lunatics
Brainwashing people like twits
So ******* what
If I'm female
And want to ***** her ****?

In light of all the gun violence in the USA,
I'd prefer my democracy unleaded.

I get sick of cliches, I get sick of  the tropes

I get sick of affected twits and how love had them on the ropes

If I let myself breathe the same air as everyone else I'm gonna choke

I can't help but breathe her in and feel I've gone beyond the scope

Of my, simple visions of destroyed inhibitions

and I, can't help but get nervous how she changes up my focus

Can I, convey this handedly while knowing understandably

That I'm leaning on a danger to a core that I've exposed

We've leaned down for contact, she pushed me I push back

The pressure on our hearts has potential for explosion

The languish I had locked inside interior erosion

Implodes, he dotes of notes he'd wrote to quote a query quietly

Distrusting of emotions, just a quiver can inspire me

Fearing no enemy, fearing no evil entity

Fearing only connection and if I'm wasting my energy

Love brought me happiness but it stirred up the cobwebs

Little demons laying dormant til I explored them in every form

in every figure in every norm til they've distorted my performance

But as pandora's box was 1st class special ordered to my doorstep

I dove in straight for signs of hope, a passing look could soon afford this.

She voices her fears, connections lost by the distance

I'll bridge the gap to defend her, no need she says with persistence

She's scared of monotony, she gets scared of the tropes

She gets sick of affected twits and how they leave her with no hope

If she's forced to breathe the same as before she's gonna choke

I leaned in for contact, I push her, she pushed back

We're two shades of the same Wavelength

Our angles just refract.

hyper-jinxed like an old talkie
scrap the fat off the cow!
swipe that smile off your face
to watch the sunset fade away.
batshit crazy
candidly rogue
an eventful leap from far fetched lore
gory details please spare me
a big fat ***** and a way to reap
the pretties from the twits.
but the lee-way from the stars beyond
sometimes gets trapped into hairy armpits.
then their neon pink hued blue eyed trolls
take their slippers to the snow.

One continuous first poem of the day


I read. You read.
Together,
We will:

Overcome forebear forswear get new styling hair, inculcate deviate initiate intimate feelings only we can share, participate be late create poetry only you and I can speak, always seek quietly seek refine remind design the no din no sin atmosphere right here always fair in sickness in health share the wealth that words give, heal the feel the fantasy and the real you gift to me, heart heart hearted the good, the wonderful, the rad,
Even the just so so and even the bad for ore refined becomes precious metal fellas, not a rap just a hap in a late inning, game tied, brain sun fried wouldn't lie we r down by seven, heaven would be to write a poetry in the the in between stretch, or sail a ketch just me and thee making up schemes and dreams wordplay as foreplay whattya say say ok say to nite we do it my way why babe cause what you say is my way one way street sign pointing up later we sup on franks and beans and caviar won't get far maybe to the head and  then the bed  because I like salty caramel really swell and that the flavor I savor when lips greet and Nate doesn't fall asleep in mid composition with fingernail incision wake u up to seal the deal cause I am woman and get what I need when I need why else to keep you around not for silly limerick nope I want your
Soul my only goal I want you whole not in part stop writing that ridiculous ness  make a mess of me in me sweet liberty of thee I sing alarm ring six fifteen go to yoga but take off that toga so I can warm you before the session leaving me so not Cairo yeah you better comb you hair or everyone will know you know what remains unfinished bizy ness tween us
just like this rave this rant in crazy cant I can and will send at the turn at the end at the bend for you to add it would make glad so start to speak mail me the continuation so the end to amend and this continuous unedited befriended work of **** will forever grow and all will be contented by the only poem ever writ by geeks and nerds and twits like me carry  my baton carry on stream and scheme send each one of you additions and I will add to this first edition and we will write the greatest work ever ever so communicate there is no late years from now brown cow I will be adding the longest running show on Hello mellow and if you want to be anonymous see that's fine but I love your names and giving credit all credit yours so take this and start this banger end this fray crazy notion slightly askew whom among you will be the first for there will never be a last if the chain remains
Unbroken....
shaqila:   continue your work of ****? - haha! ok here goes!
to one and all, be all in all, for all, now, then and after, perhaps, sometimes never, life is and was, even though, however, it all starts!
haha!!
Natasha V: We are a never ending chain, a freestyle type of gain for one and all if you want, add few words on anything, love and passion sadness or pain, exagerate all you want tease and taunt, don't you dare spare, don't feel shy, keep the work of **** flowing, after all, it's all about feeling free to ignore Nat and being me...or yourself :D

**Complete this arc if you can,
Are you poet or just an ordinary man?

i usually take susie (4 bottles of beer) for a walk
in the rain, take the hood off, and don
my long multichrome brown hair
as a samurai bun to watch it rain heavy again,
smoking a cigarette at a bus stop
with the 'no smoking' sign without a fellow
passenger to actually for my privacy and being intrusive.

they really did it!
i swear on my heart of a scout they did,
they got frightened by the masses,
and created a very empty celebrity caste of people,
easily recognisable twits,
when then remembered the population tsunami,
they panicked and created them,
actors foremost, the easiest way to spread the lie,
they did it, and faked us into believing that
all of us were recognisable,
well at least in the jungle a baboon was a baboon,
but in the human kingdom, the side-effect
was talent shoes, misguided the plumber
into becoming a singer...
i wish it stayed like it did, like it was still:
zdrowie na budowie, nie w mafii (
health on a bulding site, not in the mafia)...
but alas, one born every second in china,
and one born every minute in europe...
who's keeping count? the clock isn't...
it broke when attempting to clock formula 1
circuits... down to the thirtieth second of 0.001...
a nervous breakdown in mechanical terminology...
but they really, really, really did do it,
concerning the 3rd commandment...
they took the tetragrammaton and took it out
from censorship with adam & eve...
they said jesus christ jesus christ jesus christ
in vain... so much in the vein of empty
that they morphed vanity into blasphemy...
say an arrangements of words using the words
jesus christ and you won't be called vain,
but blasphemous... a bit like those terrorists in the
active sutra of gunning people down -
the takbir (allahu akbar) - the people are calling
me a blasphemer, but i call them empty...
who's winning? you say the magic words long enough
and in multitude of its porcelain antique worth
and it will become it... a bit like words like
sun, apple, worm, ******* et al. congregating
on the altar of philosophy with the equivalent
communicative word of *thing keeping them in its
*****... the 3rd commandment means don't use
my name a lot, i'm busy, i'm a supra-verb
(always busy), keep naming with the atomists...
but then you misguided the term vanity,
and changed it to mean brimming to the edge
as a way to state a blasphemy...
when a vain use of a god's name becomes meaningless
due to overuse... it becomes a blasphemy to use it...
the hebrews rarely use what's already censored
like in christianity the words **** & ****...
ooh... we are convinced of being offended!
you offended me already... you censored words
and only came up with statues of squares...
ask the mathematicians... they drew a square quicker
than you moulded one for trafalgar sq.
the 3rd commandment does not mention anything
about being blasphemous about the name,
it means using it to use it to no gain...
meaning that the name is empty...
i guess moses and elijah also had the greek surname
christ attached to them.

*your blasphemy is the ultimate curse / vanity,
it's so empty when you use it,
it makes using other words feel cardinal,
and you the bishops still use them,
it's easy creating a religion from a child's gift
later lost and gained as a cross...
catholicism is the ultimate theocratic democracy,
where the non-existence of the thus state
allows for symbolic identifiable bureaucracy...
you used those words in vain...
thus you entered the 0.1 realm of blasphemy...
the christians are on the realm 9.9...
because they use the words jesus christ in vain,
and thus blaspheme in order to censor
their vocabulary... thus making casual words
seemingly unholy, even with all the science
concerning their concentrated apple juice cartons.

On twitter, he's the twit,
And he does it without wit.
His twits aren’t worth a ****,
But still he just won’t quit.
He’s such an outrageous ***;
An obviously halfwitted twit
Whose lightbulb isn’t quite lit
So spoiled, he doesn’t know it.

He constantly throws late night fits
And calls all of his betters twits.
Seems to have a case of mental zits.
We really want to kick him where he sits.
He never found education a good fit,
To him, being rich is as good as it gets.
He argues based on just tats for ****
He hoards every dime he gets in his mitts.

He thinks his taste is the Ritz
But it’s much more like the pits,
Made up like some madame’s kit.
Always the tackiest kind of glitz.
But any place this fat pig sits
Soon is covered with gaudy bits
Like some fairy tale ogre ditz.

Chronic insomnia must be the pits
Early morning hours, there he sits
Posting on the internet, collecting hits
Driving the Liberals out of their wits.
His ideas are the absolute pits
Even though copied by Brits
And they give sane people fits;
A lot like living through The Blitz.

Please use caution in reading.  If you are easily offended *******, don't even begin to read.*


first there was one that turned to three
indeed their swill does give a thrill
If you can't laugh
Then dear don't read
For these three are a gas
As they sit upon their *****

"banana-****, pindick, ******-mouth and *******"
"Mucktub, shitswill, tittledick and ****-flocker"
"pencil ****, turtle ***, and *******"

All of these one by one
all in jest
all in fun

Some get offended
Righteously indignant
Cries of outrage
Forever judged nitwits

"****, *****, twits, *****, and tricks"
"farts, *****, monkeys, and cream"
"nut-nurse, wet-nurse, and cursed ****"

Words of fun and pun
Things that make one laugh and squeal
Those that spit out this swill
Are surely needing some soap to chill

"*******, trichdick, drippingmonkey"
"clicksucker, buttflucker, hosesucker"
"*******, bladdermouth, cumquat"

Which of these do describe the three
As they spill their load
On each page of our woes

An ode to the three
Keep on your spree
I myself enjoy thee..............
Wish only that I could be as funny

This little ditty is not explicitly supported by the governing bodies of the poetry society at large.  We do not endorse or claim to believe in any of the words written within.  The views of the company do not necessarily conicide with the previous advertisement.
Please do not repeat without being trained by a professional dirt talker
This can be dangerous and can cause permanent damage to the cerebral cortex.  Any cost from damages is paid strictly by the damaged not the writers.
If symptoms occur please get to the nearest mental institution
Where you will be placed in a straight jacket in a padded room
Until we can determine no permanent damage has been caused by this shitswill

The Brits were twits in '29,
I reckon mandates were not their cup of tea.
I suppose silence speaks louder than a noose,
And that as long as one is civilized, we may agree to disagree.

Enemies share common grounds-
Blood to be spilled, one pair apiece of shoes,
Salaam, shalom, auf wiedersein, tootleoo.

Spring is violently upon us.
The earth sings like a Valkyrie
heralding the dawn.

The anxious wait is over,
The crocuses are alive:
Golden heads thrusting
through dark loamy soil.

Spring is violently upon us
Dearest. We strain and waltz
In the dark, a gathering symphony
Explodes into the tumultuous
beating of drumming hearts.

Punch-drunk, the twits circle
Their nests, the weight of snowy
Linen on our chests, and sunshine.

She pulled her chair close to the bedroom window
This time she did not see the beautiful red roses in the lawn
Neither the shiny dew from the eastern golden sun
Her day was gloomy, mistier than Limuru’s fog
The birds’ twits were as noisy and messy as her Twitter
She had virtually nowhere to turn to
Her face could not tolerate the embarrassment on Facebook
Her instinct made her avoid Instagram like the plague
She was on the spotlight, yet her heart was dark
The lacuna of her being
And the confusion of her personality was eminent
For a week she cried and ate nothing
Drinking water to keep her eyes wet and allow herself to cry more
The world was bitter; the embarrassment was unbearable
She went through her contact
Out of the two hundred contacts, she saw no one worthy of talking to
Her WhatsApp status received an average of one-twenty views
This used to fascinate her, but this moment it did not
The statuses were full of memes, inspirations, and bitter statements
Most were also seeking online justification
With tears dry, she went back to her bed and took a bible
She stared at it for a while before closing it
She also tried to sing along the midi of her hymnal app
However, life oomph, enthusiasm, passion had vanished
The mustard hope was almost decaying,
Crying and sleeping were the only active verbs
While at the verge of collapse, her status read
Yesterday's gone sweet Jesus; Tomorrow will never be mine!
As usual, I scan through my WhatsApp statuses
But this got my attention because I love hymns
Unbelievably, I sang and replied to her status
One day at a time! Which she only responded with smiley emoji
I cared less and proceeded to twitter- my favorite app
Days went by; the active virtual user turned dormant
Nobody bothered to ask why,
Her wet eyes were now dry, crimson red
Her smooth skin was now pale,
Her beautiful dimples had almost disappeared
She could not believe that the man she loved,
Could play with her emotion in-front of the camera.
That fateful day she had put on her fitting pink, khaki pants,
White top with pinkish flowers and striped jacket
Off she went to Sarova Stanley Hotel where she was to meet him
Unlike before, this time he came half an hour late
After meals and pleasantries, he was on his knee
'Will you marry me?' he asked with a red ring box in his hand
Yes! She said blushing as the flashing got intense
He opened the box, lo and behold, 'twas empty
I was joking; he said while smiling
He stood, went forth and kissed another lady
Who was sitting on the adjacent table
Shocked, embarrassed and angry, she stormed out
Since then she swore never to step out nor contact him.
Seemingly, he dared not to phone or checked out on her
Her house was her new cell,
Though the caged bird sing, she was mute
Her gregarious personality faded as she longed for the worse
The date attires were still laying on the poorly spread bed
She went to the bathroom mirror and looked at her miserable self
She was a perfect embodiment of depression and sedentary lifestyle
Death where is thy sting- she hissed and smiled.
But this was a new day, a day that promised rejuvenation
After cleaning herself and refreshing her body-with water
She wore a red dress, applied a dark red lipstick
Which excellently marched her skin tone
The stencil drawing on the eyebrow was neatly done
Her black heels perfectly fitted her heels
She looked at the mirror again and smiled
And whispered, goodbye my dear friend
She stepped out of the self-imposed cell with a little optimism
Looking for those people she perceived as friends
She chose to visit her former classmate
Unlike other days where she could cry and sleep
And wake up, and cry, and drink water and sleep again
She looked happy, she smiled and laughed at the slightest provocation
They talked, and slandered, and laughed and ate
She never mentioned her boyfriend
And evaded any discussion that would make her remember it
Since it was a long time since they saw each other- physically
She decided to accompany her classmate to catch up with her colleagues
In the company of other acquaintances, she took wine
A ****** experience for the ******
After a moment of absent-minded conversation, she excused herself
When the time came for them to leave she was nowhere to be seen
Her phone was on but seemingly deserted
They grew impatient and desperate
No iota of her whereabouts was known
Not even the security within the premise could locate her
Her friend decided to text her through WhatsApp
Her' last seen' was just a few minutes ago
Her status read:
Somethings are too heavy to feel
They don’t let you breath
Neither do they let you forget
Your heart may be crying in pain
Beg for forgiveness, genuine love and care
But no matter how hard you try
They slowly eat you alive.
The status was concluded with smiley emoji
After searching for forty-five minutes
They gave up and drove home
Arguing that she was a grown up and could trace her way back
Hours later during the prime-time news
They were astonished when they saw the place they were broadcasted
The headline was 'suicide in the tub.'

I wish all this
Twisted ****
Was just something
From my wits
A way to catch the
Attention of twits

That I was
Writing every poem
In a warm
Fuzzy home
With a life
That wasn't so
Dreadfully alone

The stories are true
The characters are
Tragically real
But stop acting
Like you can relate
Like you know
How I feel

I've seen some ****
I've been some places
I've stolen bags and
Cut up faces
I've tripped
For days
Came home wasted

No wonder
My head isn't
Feeling so well
No wonder
Everyday is a
Living hell
No wonder
I have all these ****** up
Stories to tell

It's the environment
That I so easily
Put myself in
It's my associates
That turned my
Pure soul to sin

So I take the blame
I take the fall
But if I never
Experimented
With my life's call
Then I'd have nothing
To tell you at all

The following poem is a generalization, on that, we can likely agree,
but this is the way that most Trumpists appear, to many a person like me:*


Dear Trumpists, I am here to say I think I understand
just what you're really all about across the troubled land.
It really bugs you, does it not, when walking in your town,
to see so many people with a skin of black or brown?

To hear a foreign language when the immigrants converse.
To see them in a headscarf or a turban makes you curse.
Their differences, their ways of life, you see as disrespect
and you hate being asked to be "politically correct".

Then one day came a savior shining brighter than the sun.
His name was Donald Trump and you knew he was the one.
You knew you must support him 'cause in every speech he'd give,
he'd validate your hate and he'd fit with your narrative.

"The Mexicans are rapists", "The Muslims seek to ****",
"Black lives don't matter quite so much". Such thoughts gave you a thrill.
Sometimes he was outrageous. You could not trust every word,
but vote for him you did because you felt you had been heard.

Well, now your man's in power and it's no longer fun,
with half his staff revolting (and that's in more ways than one).
He hasn't drained the swamp, it's just become further bogged down,
with all his slimy yes-men there to praise the orange clown.

He comes across as ignorant and looking like a fool.
He's subject to fact-checking and resulting ridicule.
The press, it has a field day and comedians rejoice.
His opponents have united and have found a common voice.

Dear Trumpists, I do understand that this has made you mad,
but sense and reason don't support the notions that you've had.
So you rant on social media with foul, insulting fits,
like a bunch of whining, shouting, howling, idiotic twits.

So Trumpists, don't you realize, your chance has passed you see?
Oppression has been in decline since the end of slavery.
So here's a new idea that I'd really like to share:
You might try something different by showing that you care.

Why don't you go extend a hand to those that you attack.
They might provide you insight that you desperately lack.
Just open up your heart and head and throw away the hate,
and America once more could be a nation that is great.

from the series, Winter Birds*

Unseen shivers of song
Junco’s busy gray visit
Amid the sudden flash of white
Arctic scissor-wedge of tail
in hoods of
Charcoal-heated nervous fleet
wheels round the eaves
on unnerving cold
to land on secret signal

Twits on crystal

This isn't really a poem. Or it is. I'm not sure. Its something.

I'm tired and after this poem will go to bed. I need bed. Everything is so complicated. Life is so complicated.

Love is complicated.

Please shut up romantic twits, including me. Not just romance. All love.

I don't reach out to friends enough. This is my fault.

My friends don't reach out to me enough. This is their fault.

I should call my family more. That's a simple fact.

And yesterday I was constantly spewing internally about how perfect my boyfriend is. I mean, he's pretty great, but not perfect. No one is. He's perfect when it counts, and that's what matters. And he loves me. A lot.

I'm listening to sad love songs. I have no clue why. I felt compelled, even though I have nothing to be sad about really. Nothing is wrong, or at least I don't think. Is there?

I don't know with my head.

Its turns and winds and an endless staircase of confusion. Its Wonderland. Its a mess. Some days its crazily planning way ahead into the future, some days it can't even plan the next five minutes.

I mean what's nice is lately it tends to plan things with my boyfriend, but I digress.

My back hurts. My knee hurts. I'm tired.

I want magical important words to spew from my fingertips right now but i simply cannot find them. My heart is broken. I'm rejecting even the words' love. The end's beginning. Or the beginning is ending. I know nothing right now.

My head is cloudy, my eyes are heavy, but I feel there's more. That there's something important right behind my eyelids and I need to dig it out before I fall asleep. Should I get some knives, a scalpel, carve it out for my sanity's sake?

I was here.

I guess that matters. I tried. But ******, sometimes trying isn't enough. My boyfriend likes to say, there is no try, only do and do not. And i want to do. I  love to do things. Sometimes they just don't do.

Homework titles swarm my head. Broken Glass. Change. For Writing. Fat is not a Fairytale. Human.

Guess even the stories that have nothing to do with me have my heart in them. So why is my heart eluding me now, when I feel like I might need it most? I'm blowing this out of proportion. I do that. Someone once told me I feel too much for attention. Maybe I do.

Another said I didn't know true depression. One said if he can make himself will himself to be better I have no excuse. Several said I was selfish and a tiring person to be around, because I made everyone walk on eggshells. Because I was a burden. Maybe they're right. Maybe I've been stubborn and fooling myself this entire time. Maybe its all my fault.

I've been blaming genetics and events but ****, maybe the answer is attached to the brain I find so unruly. Maybe its me.

The people who surround me now make me think otherwise, but what if they turn out just the same. What if I **** up everyone I touch. What if I turn them all away. Life can do terrible things to people, you know.

If they want to leave, its ok. I'll remember them though. I remember everyone who leaves. They leave pretty scars on my heart that I like to count late at night, like battle wounds proving myself that maybe I'm strong, maybe I'm not what they say.

But who knows, according to them its all my fault.

Who knows anymore. I like to think I'm human, but after years of being told you're a monster, its pretty hard, right?

Makes sense that I get so close, so broken by those words. I am deformed, and I am ugly, and those are crimes for which the world shows little pity. I am a monster, only a monster, and I must obey and stay in here.

I put up a pretty front but eventually someone gets in. Maybe its brave of me, or stupid. They come in and they promise they see me and will not turn away, but they always do. They always defend me, but put me aside. They never pick me. A face as hideous as my face was never meant for heaven's light.

But then an angel smiled at me, and kissed my cheek without a trace of fright. I dare to dream that he might even stay for me, I swear it must be heaven's light.

But in the nights, when I'm alone with my thoughts, I'm so afraid that I'll push him away. That he won't stay, that I won't be enough, that he'll turn astray because I'm too broken.

But then I look at him and I realize though I loved those before, they have never been him. He is kind and understanding and makes me smile and makes me completely forget I am a monster. Maybe with him I'm not. Its beautiful and terrifying, because I know I love him, and i could love him forever. But if I push him away, if I ruin this too, If I can't love him then who?

I've never believed in soulmates, I always thought it was stupid and silly and still kind of do. But if that stupid, silly thing exists, I'd be almost convinced he was mine. Hell, three months in and we were talking about kids and love and nothing about it felt forced or too early. I was worried because of what others would think, how everyone else would find it rushed and crazy. But I guess we are crazy.

I'm crying out of joy and sadness and fear and all of it right now and I can't keep it straight.

I always thought home was back where my extended family was, where I was born and ripped from when I was young. And its still one of my homes. I was for years desperate to go back, but I found my college to be home too. My friends, my freedom, my life is there.

But the best home I've ever discovered is the one I have when I'm with him. I would follow his crazy, ******* to the ends of the earth.

I just want to be home. With him and at college. I love my family, but this isn't my place. This isn't where I belong.

I almost died here, literally. I'm ready to go back to living.

My joints all hurt. The night is threatening me, and my body is succumbing. But the ramblings were nice. They were reflective. They were something. They were complicated. They were love. They were me. They were you.

They were a snapshot of life.

ABC Poetically Foolish
A young poet, I am
Bilingual in rhythm and rhyme
Cast out of English seas
Doubt in my words

Evidently misunderstood
F#ck my ABC's, 123s

Gratefully humbled by critics

Heartbreak by lovers
I wish peace upon others

Joy to the world
King of all kings

Love eternally bound
May the alphabet
Never end

Oh, how I sound like tweets
Posting my twits

Questioning society's wits
Raising my fist

Strengthening my grip
Teaching the youth

Understanding my faith
V per Vittorio

Why do I question everything
Xavier resurrected

You represent me, &
Zither is my voice.

My voice has receded
Dried up like some long forgotten fruit
Stinging in the ****
Tasteless monogamy
That is the day to day grind
       Plucking the plump paradox of petulant perturbed thoughtless beings
       From my conscious where they lie to the face of my muse
       Confuse me for someone whom cares about the humdrum
While I stray chasing rabbits playing hostess to a tea time of my own madness
Loosing the clock while fishing the fragrant mobs of ill minded twits
Whom twiddle their thumbs for enjoyment
Casting wide to find meaning, beneath the shallow face

No in my confusion
In my madness
I introvertly extrovert
Venting my frustrations behind the mask of my smile
Curling on the edges like some shark snagged toothed
Grinning that grin
That sets the tight line between insanity, and genuine
Where the fickle flock, preening their peacock feathers for attention
Infested with the vagrant lice of lesser men, itching to beat the weak with their superiority.

I watch the flicking flea ridden disease that is their affliction
Smiling that cheshire smile
Knowing that it is their own sickness
That will eat them from inside.

the power of poetry 15.07.18

i do underestimate
did think it was hollow
pure gold and no exaggerate
if i joined twitter then twits would follow.
got to charge a premium
this time next year a millionaire
one powerful medium
keep it and count as poetry is not to 666 share.
i am going to start a cult
poetry in the tittle
worshippers daily can get a vault
a bit of my queen and inspirational brother vital.
cancel the headline
no longer want to follow
one boring ******* with no decline
this description please borrow.
thank you for my gift
with power come responsibility
staying the same with no shift
poetry is a walking liability.

Existence. The experiment in extended soul **** to excrete entertainment from innocents for the de-light of the slovenly mob of slobs with sloppy spirits.

Excalibur only exists to enforce an existential quest for the pleazure of beasts to bequest a feast of pain on naives brave and fool enough to play the game in vain: the only one who wins is the baying crowd of naying ni-twits, never those with gifts.

God only made holes so something could rip them apart in the amusement park called jo-kingly "life", a place of strife and ugliness wrapped in rainbows to hide the knife at your throat.

Happy ending? No. Not for the au-dience, ** ** **. They willingly asked for what was gross and got the lonely axe reserved for ghosts: eternity in a barren boat in a moat, oh Sam I Am!

‘Twas the night before Warped Tour, When all through the mosh pit.
Every creature was stirring, and even the dumb twits.
The outfits were hung by the door with care.
In hopes that All Time Low will play there.
The emo and scene queens all scrolling through Tumblr in bed.
While visions of band members sung in their head.
And my Bestie in her beanie and I in my flannel.
Waiting and waiting for the Panel.
When on the stage there arose such a noise.
Then there was abundant amount of joy.
Away from the stage, just far enough to see.
The crowd went into a spree.
The band members enter the newly built stage .
We couldn’t believe that one day this will be the golden age.
What we dreamed was finally here.
It seemed like we were going to disappear.
With my best friend, Panda, by my side.
Before we knew it the stage was occupied.
“Now Flannel, Now Beanie, Now skinny jeans and Band tee.
On Andy, On Gerard, on Vik and Mikey.”
To the top of the stage! To the top of the charts!
Now we all know this was truly beautiful arts.
As Black Veil Brides sang their hearts out.
We were surprised no one blacked out.
Before we knew it they called out the wall of death.
I held my breath.
The teens started to scatter.
We were scared but that didn't matter.
People started to hit and punch.
But all we wanted was lunch.
So we ran away frightened.
But the music left us enlightened.
Next on the stage was the great Pierce The Veil.
But oh look we found a snail.
The music was great.
Even though we were late .
Then we saw on the stage Never Shout Never.
Then in the mosh pit we saw Trevor.
But then we discovered.
He had a gay lover.
We found out his name was Logan.
And Sleeping With Sirens yelled a famous slogan.
“Sometimes you gotta fall before you fly.”
They said with a sigh.
Now that we have a whole group.
It felt like we were stuck in a loop.
It was ever-lasting.
This was happening while the music was blasting.
Soon it was time to go home.
Even though it felt like we were in a dome.
That event now made memories for use to live forever.
We want to go back even though we may never.

"Fear is defined,
As the body and the mind,
Colluding with the imagery,
And hosting,
False dichotomies"

"A joyful man can dream,
But nothing more than steam,
Shall beckon forth,
From the wake of his dismay"

"In a sense, innocence is but a view,
To conjure crimes and let them stew?
Those who breach upon this writ,
Are sentenced to the wall to sit,
Staring down, those little twits,
Searching rooms for lights unlit,
Verily, I spew!
Innocence is nothing new"

Thank you for your wisdom, Ms. Anthrope,
Instilling minds and knotting rope,
Comeuppance yields such narrow scope,
In dealing with a child's mind,
Teach them truths and learn to cope,
With bitterness and aging thoughts,
For blooming eyes,
The world is nought but hope...

Sparrows never rest
On the bush, I don't want to know the name of was full of sparrows
picking leaves for their nests; the bush looks like a balding man.
It is seven in the morning; the birds work hard
soon it will be hot, and their toiling stops,
but they will be back in the late afternoon working
hard to finish the building of nests.
The small thieves resent me standing on the terrace
twits in unison to shush me away.
It is too quiet I have dressed going to the local hospital
tor a test at the hospital, then I realise it is Sunday,
I'm hungry as I'm not supposed to eat anything
before the test. I go into the kitchen and the sparrows
continue working.

Terracotta robots zapping rodents.
Ongoing Zagreb building projects.
Witches, milk floats and Vauxhall cars in Bill's head.
You got Tonsillitis from licking prostitutes’ rancid toes.

Towel used for a century; six frayed threads on its length.
Novel bus design; the driver drives from upstairs.
You drink Earl Grey tea, cold.

I so **** hate slow tardy days dragging till I get my dole for a new tattoo.
Signed on Fri, a 3 day wait till pay day.
It may not be paid right.
Twits!

Nebulous screwdrivers in the sky.
Take me away from the clouds to a desert landscape.
Tattoo my earlobe you minky moo.

Please plug the flood in my mind.
Pouring like entrancing zebras
prancing shimmering florists
in jackets of hourglass sand.
For they whisper unknown
dimensions of glory
through which I must answer to.
A coin of two sides and infinite meaning.
A part of all things.
apart from all things.
Once you see it,
you can believe it,
dream it, be it.
like the legit twits, lit
as roses in the holy light
of McDonalds.
It's ghastly clown arithmetic
burning its disability into our pours.
Like plasma jelly,
purple and vinyl,
shining like a princely jazz nightmare.
Scribbling on the pink waves of our brains
with sugars and lightening,
with gripping consequence.
like children at play.
like a blade.
like having purpose.
like a mothers kiss.