This Old Woman
With wide eyes and,
Open soul

A closed mind,
Just a tad dull
And slow.

All in all,
I sit, I listen;
Her breath, her message.

She’s old, and  
I’m young
We talk the lot

Of newer conceptions,
And of things long,
Long, gone.

All in all,
Our hearts know
It’s the same Old Song.

Oh!
don’t worry, honey.
i may play with
my sighs

but it doesn’t
mean, I’ll play
with dinner

Oh!
i might just
eat you alive
Without any fuss

so, may us,
lay beneath the
night’s ***** gleam  

Oh!
I can’t wait; for
That feeling of
My teeth sinking  

A man loses his
Judgment, when he
Hears no objection  

Oh!
Our Lord knows
No sinners, a true
First love: the cannibal’s
******

No, No, I won’t rest yet;
Best move on to go on
& get.
To go on
& on
& on.  
I’m running ‘round like
a dog without a bone.

Without reason,
Chasing for
something,
anything,
to become a
part of me.  
To make me whole.

I may have lost my
wit,
& worse my
soul.

As this pilgrimage, has
no end,
no real goal.

I reckon, I indulge
in myself too much,
& everyone else.
Bringing me at odds,
With life or,
whatever all
this **** is.

So, as a prayer,
or
maybe a plea,
Let this temperament
within me come to an end.
I do sincerely,
Wish for
a single
serenity.

No, no, I won’t rest yet;
tho’ I’m out of
breathe,
and I may burn
to less.

I’ll keep running.

Is it to remember?
Is it to forget?

Just the other day,
I got hit.
Head on collision;
By a train

And, uh, that’s not to
say. That I hate
this new state.
Y’know..uh, being
slain.

But funny thing,

Y’know
Just yesterday
Lady Fate rang…
Blubbering about
“Mistakes” &
It being “not too late”

But why did Fate
Cry?
Isn’t it in her name?
Shouldn’t she know?
That at the end of
the day…

I would rather just stay?

Here’s where seven people
hung themselves;

The first woman too fat
so she fell first, & fast
to the floor.  

The second too thin,
so struggled as the noose
writhed at her core

A rich man was on the
third knot..

The fourth was
disgustingly poor

The fifth & sixth
were a young couple
Victim to love’s
quarrel  

The seventh that
swung was a bizarre one,
the others saw it too…

On his face wasn’t regret
but a quiet reminiscence of
*** & sweat

I’ve read the words that
Made the world.
I’ve sang the psalms
That praised them.

Strung out lyric
Belted from infantile lips
Ever ignorant,
Ever innocent,
Of the abhorrent things
Done under
ritual, devotion,
& bliss

Minister! Minister!
Minister me!
Mister Minister,
Don’t forget about me!
Minister! Minister!
Minister me!
Listen! Listen!
Minister, please!
Minister! Minister!
All I’d like is some,
Munster cheese

oh, and could you also get the demons on
your way out please, thanks