By : Nabs

At dusk, I woke up to find that my whole body alight with pain
From the very tip of my hair
To the very tip of my toe
A pain that struck me deep as it is rooted in me

My head feels like it is not my own
Where my thought are filled with images
Where they took every single memories
Just to replay it over and over again

Although it is some specific memories that they play

( I should have known it was you)

They are images of you
Either the way your eyes disperse the light
Glinting with rainbows as you laugh
Or the tingling of your voice when you speak

Or the little quirks that you have
How you scratch your head when you're confused
Or how you tighten your fist and hold it close to you when you are in anger
Or how you look pained every time someone mention your father

Even my subconsciousness was not safe from you
How in the nights you seep into my dream
And how my mind seem to speak your name with reverence
As if you are a saint and i am a sinner begging for forgiveness

Not to mention
My head feels like it know you more that I know my self
How my consciousness remember every single way your body move
How you react
How you never seem to notice how breath taking you are

You do take my breath away, you know
You make lungs constrict
My throat sore and my windpipes clogs
My chest ache

Just from seeing you brush a stray strand out of your face

( No wonder I always choke)

I know now that you are poisonous
Because often you made my mind sluggish
How you made my tongue numb
Struggling to just say something

I feel like I could die from just being in your presence

Some how, I wouldn't mind that

You seem to have taken over the control
Of the beating of my heart
It is not mine anymore
You took it from me

And i'll let you do it any day

How do I not realize that you poison me?
That you attacked me

No

I couldn't say attack when I, my self are a part of perpetrating the crime

I let you poison me with your kindness
And I succumb to it
Kindness is very lethal I find
Very potent

You are causing an infection
Spreading across my heart
Making it rot
The stench is cloyingly sweet with a hint of pain

I think I know what poisoned me

You make my heart a bruised little thing
Banging across my rib cage
Sometimes I can feel it to thump so hard
I wonder if there are fractures littering my ribs

It is a miracle I do not get a stroke
With the way my hearth clenches
Every so often just by a single word you said
No matter how un important it is

There is something growing inside my body and I know I am diseased

I'm going to be erratic soon, at the rate this is spreading

The rate this is spreading

Why

I know you planted some seeds inside of me
And how it is growing in my body
The pain is caused by them
How it is thriving alive, and ******* me dry

******* life out of my marrows
Making me prone to bend and break
To bend and beg
For you, I would do it in a heart beat

Why do you do this to me?

You do not intend this for me
As I do not intend to succumb in the first place
But intentions will always be intentions
If we do not manage to realize it

One of my symptoms is butterflies in my stomach
How did the caterpillars get in there?
How did my stomach turned into their cocoon?
It does not feel beautiful, the butterflies in the making

They feel like acid and agitation

Now I am trembling

You make my whole body quake
My bone to ache and shake
It is as if you made them corrode,
Maybe that's why my knees shake just because of you

How it will always tremble
How you make my hands tremors
How psychosomatic it is
And I seemed to caught this sickness right to the bone

Maybe I tremble because you are more than I can handle

You with your kindness
Your attempt to become normal
Your fear of closed space
And how you would unconsciously scratch the silvering wound across your heart

Maybe because yours do not rot, you infected me and rotted mine instead

( There is something wrong with my eyes)

As i said, not only that you have took over my heart you also took over my mind

I seemed to still do not mind

My whole body is trembling
My lips quivering
I feel my eyes are watering
I feel my temperature rising

I feel horrible and yet I do not mind this pain
This high fever I am in
Comfort me some how, even if i know that
if I do not get well soon this might **** me

If I do not get it treated, it will **** me

But I am still hesitant to cure it
I do not want to be diagnosed
I do not want to
I do not want to

I am infected

(There's something trying to get out of my stomach)

I am trembling again
And you saw me trembling
You saw me
You smiled, and a snip could be heard

There are a string broken and it might me my sanity

Why do you deny that there was an earthquake
Why do you always deny that
Why
Why

Why do i still got close to you despite knowing
That the episentrum was you

You are a natural disaster
An epidemic
Spreading disease in your wake
You couldnt help it

No one could help being them self

You know I feel pain all over my body
But sometimes the pain felt so intense
That it renders me numb
How do I still exist in this paradoxes of mine

( I fear my liver have stop trying to purge this toxic away)

You make all my nerve go alight
I feel like i am burning
Ashes, ashes is what left of me
I have nothing left of me

You burned me down

But why do i feel so cold?

Yet, I do not mind
Because even as my heart is aching and in pain
Even if my whole body is black and blue
My body is not mine anymore

That was your betrayal, wasnt it?

(At least i still could bask in your presence)
You made me betray my self
(Such exquisite pain you cause me, i want more)
Why do you keep smiling as if you know nothing?

Maybe you do not know anything

(My legs just gave out and I am on my knees)

The poison is muddling my mind
I am poisoned
I already said that
I am trembling again

The butterflies got out of their cocoon today.

They were beautiful, and red with my blood

I still do not mind

You betray me
You causes pain to me
You poisoned me

I still do not mind

You smiled again today
It was like my medicine
I feel like i am addicted
You smile like you were happy with the way i am

I fumble with words now
There is something wrong with my eye
I cannot see clearly
Everything is blurry and tinted

(You said my eyes were beautiful)

I was happy but now I am sick

Why

My legs and hand do not properly work anymore
I feel like someone just pierce giant big hooks in them
Because i keep being pulled
I keep going back to you

My body is not my own, it is infected

You poison me and then you put parasites didn't you?
I was fine
Did you think your poison was a cure?
I did not have anything wrong with me

I did not
Now i do

( I can feel my mind crashing down, it feels like freedom)

The fever is going up again
My words are hazy
My arms taste sweet
I feel disoriented

Why do you need my to be like this?
Wipe that smile of yours
Wipe it
Please

(Please)

I am addicted to you
Your whole presence
I do not mind
What do i not mind?

I am sick, i am going crazy
You drive me crazy
You infected me and you rot me
I still do not mind

(There are tears dripping down my eyes, it is black)

I do not mind

(My heart just gave out)

I just diagnosed my self today

There is a paper thin difference between hate and love

I think it is the latter

I am such a liar

this girl I know
is always sick and
always wants to talk
about it to the point that
everybody else
is sick of her

she says her hormones
are a mess
she can’t lose weight
she’s under too
much pressure
yet she’d drink you
clean under the table

she has these
minor cancer scares
and is convinced
she’s bound to get it
she’s often returned
from the doctors
disappointed
to get the all clear

of course the swine flu
didn’t stand a chance
of passing her by
last I heard
she was holed up in bed
with a bottle of wine and 200 marlboro lights
broadcasting her
lastest ailment
via twitter

There are chemicals in my brain
They refrained and rearranged to a place where they flooded and drained
All out, depleted, emptied out my entire past, memories have been deleted
This is such a mess I cannot come to grasp
day to day living is such a blur and full of insecurities
Not knowing where I come from and can't be free within society
Trapped inside a box that's made of glass that will not break
Strength like a diamond, can't even be scratched, and what I perceive seems so fake
This epidemic is becoming a well known fact
No way to explain this state of mind or feeling to the world so all I can do Is simply act
Pretend things are fine and becoming a robot leaving me depersonalized
Technology is a distraction of thoughts waiting for my demise
Stuck in a disguise of happiness it's a disgusting life of lies
Lies of smiles that aren't worth while, so far gone that no tears even come to my brown eyes
Sitting, sleeping, breathing  loneliness, toes curling, sad to my stomach, so sick, my thoughts race and whirl
Dreamland, fear is grand, this isn't an easy fight, so I curl
Into a ball of self pity
Hold my head up high and wait until this darkness turns into light
Wondering if my soul is still even inside of me
Numb as nova-cane

Something is happening to the human race,
Some epidemic is to blame.
Something no-one wants to face
Unless they’re making money or fame.
Although reams have been written
No words will help the smitten

Grown out of stress or strife
Social Disease, better known as madness,
Can strike anyone, anytime in their life.
Twisting their “normality” into maniacal sadness.
Or obsessions for ***, Drugs, Power or War
They’re obsessed from outside deep to the core.

Like a malignant cancer madness covers
Not only those held by an institutional chain,
But people who are susceptible, and others
Who, not believing, think they’re perfectly sane.
Therefore spawning maniacs out of all conception.

We should focus that blind eye
And remove that cancer by cutting it out.
Releasing the obsessed and exposing the lie.
We owe ourselves that much beyond all doubt.
Because we know sufferers
We also know sufferers victims.

Forget he's human
just like you
because he loves a man
just like you don't want him to

Forget that she's human
just like you
she likes women
instead of you

Does it break you heart?
when someone falls
out of your expectations
there must be something wrong

He may not have grown up
wanting to be the man
your faith wanted him to become
so where goes the love

Men don't cry
just **** it up
and move on with life

She may not have grown up
being very lady like
so you've had enough
of her relating to the guys

Women aren't strong
you need a man
to hold you up in life

Where are all the people

Oh never mind him
he's just mentally impaired
you can make fun of him
he's too stupid to care

But really
he hurts like the rest of us
needing the acceptance

Where are all the people
with the unconditional love

Why can't these robots see
life is more beautiful
with color

Love should be free
so should our choices
how hard is it to imagine
will it ever be?

Hide your feelings
you might be a woman inside
even though you are a man
you should hate yourself
because everyone else will

What will the children become
when the future is already laid out for them

Who wants to grow up
and have no imagination?

So why be silent
when we can spread love
like a virus
spreads an epidemic

Wake up and stop hating
hate is for those with fear

Forget what you don't know
and accept it for what it is
it's going to be there anyway

don't pull at my words
because they're meaningless
shells of ghosts and spirits
my heart is a wasteland
and it's unkempt and unsafe
the vines that live there have started
they choke the light out and i'm blinded
but what do you expect of a girl without eyes
so far-sighted that the present is always the
hardest sell
and a blink, that's all it takes
and quickly she crumbles, withdrawn
the safest of strategies really, because
these notions of silly lag, i don't subscribe
and you do
but i am not there and i cannot be that kind
i am from another time and place
and my fear doesn't exist in the realms of others
untethered and most shirk because i know my mind
the cost of resolution, millions and who's prepared
for that black tuesday
a depression filled with numbers and figures
because that's the best way to work it out
to walk over the mountain with pen in hand
holding the paper at its highest
no one trailing, and certainly no leader
scent and feeling my guide, and it's off, always
the forest not always kind to the dweller
the trees losing their foliage and it's drowning me
and every leaf, a tapping summer day of long ago
when i died-when i folded, because that was best
then, but that's what the brave one does, folds and ties
the string
suffocates out the light and rises up, seeking oxygen
and remembering the morning and how it burns to feel
the
sun on exposed wounds
blankets caskets of sorts
breathing from below a clotted dirt cage
and whose lungs can do that
what kind of filtration provides light when there's so
much
mud
the easy answer, none. there isn't one-it's best to make
one
it's best to start again, to keep going, the mountain's peak
miles away, maybe never to be reached
and maybe that's the point, because there's no up, there's
no down
it's just this, the trek through miles of useless wood
my feet caught up on blackberry brambles
and the blood that drips from my mouth as meaningless
as those ugly clouds that threaten rain and only run off
when the sun pokes harder
i am weak and i know this
my words an epidemic to a brain gone awry
an endless cloud of haziness that's only settled
when altered, so who's to blame
for self-inflicted wounds and piercings
take ownership i say and blame myself
knowing that my cold ways and unkind heart
are the sinners and all of the sin is mere reprisal
repayment for my own infliction upon others
basic notations, because when i'm not good enough
nothing ever is, and it doesn't matter
stay away from the flock, create the rules, do as i please
those that push back still will, they'll shunt my light
they'll remind me of why i tunneled away
seeking safety-and i'll retreat, as is form and expected
always what is best, because hurting is secondary to being
hurt
and it's easier to swallow that elephant whole
to take on the blame, to blame myself
the constant knowing
and the desperate feeding of a monster
that will die in the dark

What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.

I want to wake up the neighborhood
To hear my screams at dawn
But they do not hear anything,
Do not listen to anything that happens in the morning.
I play my music in the streets,
All my poetry and clichés
But they do not understand anything,
No one understands what happens at dawn.
I walk the streets looking windows,
***** children in their rotten rags
And I cry with those who are hungry,
I do not know who cry or love…
I embrace the poor in spirit
And hear all your stories poor,
These poor and pathetic poor souls
It is my right meeting this cold morning.
I go through the streets and alleys damp and dark
And I hear a child crying…
A repetitive and child crying wretched
What is the worst of all choruses?
I see people and their hurried footsteps
Everywhere, everywhere…
I'm afraid to follow my tracks
And I hasten my steps through this city.
I hear the sirens screaming in the streets
Mixing the sound of nightclubs crowded
And the sound of twisted metal
Creating a new contrast, another type of cry.
I sing with you almost every night
And sometimes I wonder: where are you
He left so early and left me here...
Now I’m alone! I’m alone!
God, I try and cannot understand
Reason to justify this life.
I am a pawn in the game you do not see
Every dawn until dawn.
Something touched my whole being,
Something I do not understand and do not try to understand,
Something that comes up every day when I wake up
And after me until nightfall.
Something happens,
Something moved,
Something incomprehensible,
A new friend?
They say that being is almost live
And living is the limit of what you can want.
In fact, something happens that one wants to be here,
However, not all this desire craves.
Nothing is enough
When no longer feels the aroma of flowers,
When the color no longer thrill
And they cannot be sold to look.
Gave me such rare moments
Feeding the future although at present,
But waking I do in all my steps
Get me the taste of things even in thought.
In my noble and poor land I wander
And I feed the memories of liars,
Get drunk me with joy and gladness
And insistent way in the land of lepers.
In my humble vacant land,
Time is proud, ignorant time.
Hunger is rampant around me,
The flesh is weak and soul idem.
I ask as much as the worst of sinners,
Wasting a time that no longer have,
Not differentiate right from wrong,
Share supper with my detractors.
I do not feel the taste of wine,
I do not recognize a smile,
I do not remember the hugs,
I'm finally alone!
I weigh my conscience in the balance of a butcher
And the butcher tape me with ravenous eyes,
There is no any agreement on the price of the meat,
Nor is the first or second.
God, you who are owner of the ages,
Give me the hours its final minute
And cause the whole world to know
That left miserable after all.
Grant then that desire
And finish time with this work,
Free cities this unfortunate
Who insists on knowing what nobody knows.
When there is fever, it makes no difference,
There are times the blood is poison.
Red is the color of anger and sin:
The poet knows when he is sentenced.
If there is even poetry these avenues
As equal in different cities,
To be recognized
For the sake of pursuing life.
Burial in the deepest memory
The giant concrete towers,
The grotesque glass structures
That mimics a new artery.
A new artery,
A new lifestyle,
A new company
And an early cardiac arrest.
As the cars kissing the avenues
Meeting the perfect companion
That tells me in the ear:
"Accept me as the only one"
Finally, fear runs through my veins
And feeding a forgotten feeling,
An absurd desire to see the next day
And try another outlet.
All the streets are congested.
A whole shantytown has just been set on fire
While some locals try to save
What remains of an entirely bankrupt life?
There is a twist
Around this humble heart,
A carnival,
Almost a provocation.
All veins are old and weak,
There is melancholy at all.
Even without poetry,
Without free will, there is life at all.
This city is just brick,
Metal, sweat, concrete and glass,
Cement stuck to feeling
Often beautiful and often ugly.
This city is sand,
Concrete and feeling,
Sorrows and joys,
Poetry thrown to the wind.
Some people learn early, some not -
Live life day in and day out.
Some dance to the song,
Others are lost before the chorus.
Some are always right, some not -
Many are lost in illusion.
While some running, others sleep
And all seek some direction.
Some dream rock bottom,
Others dream of the river bottom.
Some seek independence,
Others are the exception.
Some people win,
There are people who are lost,
Some people becomes the problem
And others think is the solution.
Digress weather
What about the "types" that encounters in this life.
I lose a second in this lost time
And even with so little sense, how rare is the time!
If you have no idea, nor do I know.
Maybe the hunger that consumes me consumes you too.
Perhaps the addiction that affects equal
Is something that arises only between abnormal?
I addiction with its tapas
And in each sip of his cup,
Each exaggerated affection offered
In exchange for a few bucks.
I ***** me with your lies
And assimilate water from your gutters,
I learn new shortcuts in every way
And erase the traces of my own steps.
I chase you in every church and every home
I swallow my irony,
Visit each elderly
And make friends with the hospice house.
Far reaches thy wickedness
And how many hugs another's grief?
Can evil be so inspired?
The point of the very surprised to be expected?
Life bleeds leaving the left chest
The children of the world that the world does not want,
Spread the news that sadness has hair
And more brown eyes than mine.
I notice refinements of cruelty
In this urban masochism
Where poverty has older
And the lie became just a vanity.
I transform
In all more abhor,
I emerge in the mirror
As my own killer.
I suffocate and tie in the dark of my room
Little souls endangered
And throw in the trash the dreams of those who
He believed devoutly one day be part of reality.
I still feel the skin marked by fire
The brand that hurts the brand of truth
And I pray that one day cease searches
And everything becomes futile.
The happiness of fuel
Corrode and fades away slowly
Gradually me satisfaction
With the balance that sustains me.
When I look at my own face, it hurts.
I exhale the body the rest of fear
And I try not to see how strange the line of truth -
Seeking the path that leads to freedom.
Disguise my desires
And repress my absurd,
Hug each nightmare
And hide my darker side.
I try to see something beyond the abyss,
Find something else beyond the walls,
Transcribe all longings
Hidden behind every dream.
I am eternal,
Sinister,
Land and fraternal
While the world lasts.
There is this chest a divided heart
Created almost between two worlds,
The world is inside the abyss
And what one sees behind the walls.
My corner is stumped
As well as the small voice and uncertain
From the little that is hidden on the other side,
My other side of that wall.
What have other corners?
They also have these sides
But what counts in these corners
Also rhyme in other valleys.
Bright lights bother many people.
Darkness feeds inconsequential.
High walls with brass railings gleaming
Are contrasts in painting a colorless screen?
Urban flowers are so amazing
And this depression is so exciting.
Smiles are bitter and needy
And the pain married to vows of love.
These buildings are so interesting,
Where the wet streets at night shine like diamonds,
Where transiting the fair and honest
Munching vanity and rancor.
The cars pass and illuminate so many people,
Whites, blacks and children without color.
Poets are so tucked the irreverent
Assimilating the pain and all that is.
I see lives that trace the same plane,
joy of generations by mistake ,
Marks of time that are pure desperation
Charting together a colorless future.
I see faces full of hope
Burning in public because of their color,
Those who live without even realizing it,
A cold paint drips without why.
Bodies dancing high parapets
Almost always go so early
Challenging theories and concepts
And ignoring all kinds of love.
My steps are so slow
And so intense movements,
The faces are always the same
And I hope again the sunset.
Justice who is in charge of giving clemency
The presumed innocent
Transiting the streets
Spreading hope and love.
I want to have a chance to see the birth of Venus
And the annunciation in the middle of spring,
I want to be like St. Augustine
And read the scriptures by candlelight.
I want to be like Van Gogh and paint sunflowers
Even in December the ink is red.
I want to have new flower garden in the backyard
And the kiss out of my lips is never accidental.
Just want something passionately
Even being so blind and alone?
That goodbye is worthy
And everything to return finally to dust.
The idea comes suddenly
To celebrate as an illiterate,
Prepare a table and invite
Only those who are hungry.
All this turmoil,
All this protest,
All thefts
This legion inside me...
Melancholy has always had its place,
Love, sadness and bitter returns,
Feeling alone and be like shadow in the crowd
And embrace the darkness itself.
Find it romantic suffer
For pain that recognizes pain that always sees
It is more than a disease, it is a love affair
For all that hurts and causes pain.
I let them think I was defeated
With the unexpected attacks
Of those who cry shouts of victory
And they forgot to be buried.
I leave them to play in my back
The guilt of all blame,
Let it burn my entire story,
It does not matter that much.
My lips run on search words
And my eyes run in search of beauty,
Drawing liar’s feelings
That shut all the bells around.
Words come out like blades
In hoarse voice coming out of my mouth
This other me who hates me so much
And all challenges at first.
In the spring mornings leaves dance
Rehearsing his ballets from the rising of the day,
Is this life?
It’s this they call life?
I want to find the lost word
Among the tasks of the day to day
What is so profane?
The prohibited!
I want to meet a new season
Bring me a sense of relief,
Find what they call happiness
And maybe learn what it is.
An epidemic,
Leukemia,
Rimes illustrating
An eternal melodrama.
You cannot have everything!
Not always beautiful are our days
And we keep waking up.
Roses do not speak, but are also alive.
There is hunger for love!
There is hunger and what will?
There is hunger in this home?
If there is hunger, then there.
There is time for everything!
There is time to smile,
No time to cry,
There is time to leave.
I want to run away from home without a warning,
Running between the wheat fields
And let all afflicted
Trying to understand what had happened.
I want to cause confusion,
The same kind that I bring in my heart.
I want water all around
With the storm inside me.
I want to wake up the sleeping
And those who never agreed,
I want to find out who they are
And spread about us.
Lovers of this pain,
Thirsty without knowing
Where else to enjoy,
Where else to call "home".
I shift my gaze
With all the hatred of this world
Of all the ragamuffins and vagabonds
Who recognize me in a second?
I want to break these chains,
Scratching walls,
Promote anarchy
And imprison noon.
I want rain penknives
While tear my clothes,
I cut my wrists
And count all the drops.
A day can be
Something happens
And make to cease this endless grief
And everything changes, anyway.
So lose the naivety
What remains this morning?
I envision the absurdity that all I see
Is still something to be remembered?
Maybe one day
Poetry is done singing
And the light breeze the corner
Everywhere!
I want to get a perfect world,
I want to love what is defective,
I want to explore my own room,
Make another deal.
I want to shake you violently that coffin
And show where all the mice,
Ignite old blankets
Which now they were pretty.
I want to show you I love you
And I hate you,
I can live alone,
But also not live without you.
My madness is productive
At the same time, destructive:
It satisfies the crowd inside.
I refuse to be part of the pack
Strolling in supermarkets,
Feigning patience as immoderate
The suffered.
I like debris,
I collect dust,
Make enemies,
Cultivation dreams.
I constantly change identity
And lose track of reality,
My state is ill
And I'm terminal and disposable.
I participate in this game,
This novel in decline
This disgusting theater of horrors
Where only the blind are honest.
I am thoroughly enslaved
While deprive me of the privilege of choice,
Burying our will
In the deepest pit.
The wall that separates us is low
And we walked jumping from one side to the other,
Often both exist
And others, only I exist.
We are a nun and a *****
Plotting an eternal dispute
Between the two sides of the coin
To decide who runs and who fight.


As simple as saying your name
Spell out the pieces of your body.
I want to understand what God's grace
If your body will never be only yours.
Your body exudes the morning sweat,
Clouds hid the principle of pain,
Pain discovers a new form of pleasure
And the pleasure is expensive to you.
Your blood runs nearly everywhere
And a new world opens up suddenly,
Frighten the fleeting pain
And wait with his only love the sunrise.
I wipe the sweat oozes from you,
You wipe the tears falling from me,
If you can be in the world some endless love
The only certainty is that there was never before such love.


I want to wake you up
To hear my screams at dawn,
Show you what genuine despondency is
And not left me anymore.
I want to recognize me
And take me to your bed,
Not left with nothing
In addition to beating in his chest.
I want to be part of its history
And I want to be a constant presence in my,
The world spit their prejudices
And the fire that also burns in the heat.
I want to break the mirrors
And heal our sickness,
Assaulting what kills us
Every day, forever.
Serene and calm give you what remains
With my last breath,
What's best in me now rests
And rest my mind.
My sweat is true
It is also all the pain.
Blood is final
And it goes to the last vows of love.
The entire storm inside me
Now relax my heart,
Soothes My Soul
And feeds the reason.
I walk by this peaceful land
And growing a new crop of wheat,
I do a incognita a new partner
And the fear is not definitive.
I harvest hope
Where before there was only bitterness.
I am ashamed
And regret.
I accept the entire cross
And fight against the serpent.
I heal my wounds.
And my success is violent.
Time is short
And I want to scream that entire plan,
There is still a flame inside
And only her surrender.
What was misery,
What was despair,
What was hungry,
What was fear…
What was pain,
What was love,
What it had value
And when there was time…
What is born of this land?
Nothing is born,
Nothing grows
In this desolate land.


What is born on this land?
What grows in this land?
Nothing is born on this land,
My private wasteland.

Oprah, Winfrey, pilled up  fat, grotesque, painted, eyes bulging so far out they’re almost leaving their  unbearable  bloated sockets,
twitching in orgasmically ***-deprived, relished childhood trauma convulsions.
Her  toneless limbs jiggling independently, marionette-style,
puppeteered by the corporate machine that let her birth Dr. Phil. Right there on the stage in all of its grotesque, ******, umbilical glory.
The doped up  brainless sock puppet she is, shrieking again
into the mic, goes gobs of  spittle
flying onto the front row , veins pulsing, trying to warn America about
these supposedly pandemic-level
teenage *** acts.
Every day some new hallucinatory contrivance
based on underage ****** needs
(the needs of the audience, not the supposed perpetrators).

The "rainbow parties" that never happened.
Alleged lipstick “epidemic” she’s describing is projected on the set like a grotesque, fluorescent slideshow.
Kids with rainbow-stained lipstick-smattered penises,
PTA moms wet and shrieking in jealousy,
moral panic levels off the charts.
Checking under their seats for free *** toy goodies.

The children!
Oh, the children!
Whoever shall save them? The poor innocent oversexualized children !

Wait, what? What are they doing now?
Cut to kids eating Tide pods, huffing ****** fluids, peeing in Jenkum bottles,    Cutting freon lines, riding elevators on top,
dying of meningitis ,   satanic panic repacked church lies.

As if the Tiger mom world itself were actually collapsing under her hysterical, warped, unrealistic, and utterly sensationalized quasi-conservative lens.

After all, her opening act was straight out of The Dark Crystal.

The grand     doilied skeksi         decrepit animated skeleton queen                                           ................................      (fanfare blares)

                                Judge Judy!               (  Rises from the deep)
her crypt desecrated...

   Unholy powers erupt.     Gavel lightning apocalypse raging beside her. ( Notice how like a Skeksi  she doesn't have any ears, but she obviously doesn't use them anyway. Her mind's already made up before the whole show begins.)  

                      And now  a  word from our heartless corporate sponsors .    Bass Pro Shops  ads play , followed by catheter adds and gun show spots...  The show fades back in  and  the  living room darkens  into abyssal sad lonely silence . The T,V, god flickers  on brainwashing away all thought and individuality .

Fat greasy shameless Walrus mustache of projection now known as Oprah's baby...

                        Dr. Phil,
... well, he unctuously slides across the set in his stolen Scarecrow used car salesman polyester Frankenstein suit,
repeating the grotesque ritual lines.
Behind the scenes, Rush Limbaugh masturbates his mental pull string.
And of course, out spews his catchphrase:

"Yer   fat!
You  are  ugly!
Yur stupid!
And yer gay!
And that's why NOBODY  loves  you !
Admit it!
Admit that yer gay and you hate yourself!!"

And in the moment of ******, IT transmorphs,
spinal ridges straining and cracking,
human form melts,
face elongates,
eyes bulge,
skin wrinkles into leathery, vulture-like textures.
His torso hunches,
ribs jutting grotesquely,
spine contorting like a broken marionette string.
Limbs wiggle independently
like he’s got a dozen "Grand Ole Party" puppeteers fighting for control,
except he’s still tethered to Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh’s umbilical cord as it runs back into Oprah's unused, abandoned ******.
Ghostly, corpulent waggling hands behind the curtain, twisting him into submission, laughing with their hollow, gassy whispers.

Suddenly, Dr. Phil melts completely and rears up as Judge Judy—but not the human one. This is the skeksi-Judge hybrid: ****-backed, beak-faced, leather-skin gleaming, clawed fingers gripping the gavel
like it’s the source of all earthly justice and bile.
Her eyes burn like a thousand angry American flags on the 4th of July, grease-fried hate dripping from her every twitch. Back it turns into doily-adorned, hairsprayed perfection, nightmare desiccation... that could only dominate as... *** *** ***

Judge Judy-skeksi!

The seemingly ageless, eternal, hate-filled windbag of injustice. ****-backed, vulture-faced, robes fluttering, crackling with electric American ***** housewife wrath,
striking lightning into the pastel Sunday school conversation sky.
Praise her lord; he speaks to her directly, and, well, apparently
"W" Bush too... remember... it was God that told him, he said.

Behind the curtains, unseen yet omnipotent, the two-headed hate blob that is
Karl Rove and Rush Limbaugh, waggles a wet-slapping colonialist ******* of capitalist greed.
A now corpulent wraith of power and self-righteous, uneducated spite,
it squelches, turning knobs,
ashing its cheap cigar, it continues to pull strings, gurneys creaking,
laughter a vacuous shitstorm across the stage.
America cheers, unaware of the puppeteer,
and the nation, hypnotized, bows still,
loving, worshipping, repeating her hysteria,
while the gavel strikes, the lightning arcs.

Remember, it's all
"for the children!"
"Oh, the poor children!"
Whom all they want is to be left the fu@# alone by these twisted, sadistic, effed-up garbage human beings that simultaneously claim to cherish and love them, yet blame them for unreal atrocities they never even committed.

Idiot home ec drunken hollow  moms pilled up useless abandoned and  brainwashed into  her  slaves.  Blathering Rush Limbaugh  hate  . Same message   repackaged as grotesque, capitalist soap opera formula Oprah perfected — it’s a ritual of emotional vampirism:

Step one: coax the gruesome confession — “Tell me your sad story, your deepest hurt, your shame your *** crimes.”

Step two: perform feigned empathy — she leans in, nods, tilts her head, makes you  and Tom Cruise think she cares, while the cameras roll and the audience licks its lips and looks under its seat.
Presents, ? !  black  mommy ?

Step three: unleash the moralistic or panic-inducing lash — “How could you let this happen? You failed! You’re broken!”  Enter Dr. Phil for the  final  suicide  inducing push.

Step four: monetize more  misery — ratings spike, sponsors grin, Dr. Phil slithers across the set, and somewhere, Rush Limbaugh-esque whispering strings pull the emotional cord. While  Judge  Judy  cackles  in  high road  delight

It’s emotional cannibalism wrapped in velvet and toothpaste smiles. You’re not just sharing  their story; it's lives as raw meat for the machine, and the more shame, fear, or outrage they squeeze out of you, the fatter the profits get. The greater the  grip  of  unfounded panic, fear and  shame.

And the kicker: American  drop  out  jobless  clown car vaginas thinks it’s entertainment, not exploitation. They love to gasp at the horror while secretly watching themselves in the mirror of shame. That’s why the Skeksi-Judge Judy apocalypse scene fits perfectly — it’s the cartoon grotesque version of the real-world emotional slaughterhouse.  Now  court sanctioned and  final  !