I had an erection
because
he had an erection.
I sucked his cock.
I sucked every one of them.
I loved cock.
I was
the gayest man
in my dreams.
I was also
a prisoner,
a brain washed slut
built for
sucking cock.
My owners were
serial killers.
They loved
the smell of
blood.
Not mine.
Hence,
why I was still
alive.
They just wanted
my mouth.
We went on like this,
they kept killing and killing
and I kept sucking and sucking,
but after awhile,
their murders
caught the attention
of the public.
In the madness,
they lost track
of their prized
cocksucker.
The chains of my mind
had somehow
dissolved
and I slipped away.
I phoned the police.
They followed me
to the house
of torture.
Inside,
my owners
were ready.
Death
was all they desired,
especially their own.
Officers ran in,
expecting the worse.
They got it.
As soon as they rammed
the door in,
they walked in on Joe
cutting off his own genitals
with a pair of scissors.
They stood motionless,
not knowing what to do,
as he stabbed away
at his neck and groin.
Before they could react,
he had put more holes
in him
than a dart board.
He was the beginning....
Next came the mother, Michele.
When they found her,
she had a gun to her head,
they tried to talk
her down.
That's when
she began to shoot
herself,
in the hand,
leg,
knee,
stomach,
heart.
One by one,
in each room of the house,
the family
dismembered
each other.
In the end,
there was nothing
worth saving.
The son, Obama,
however,
escaped.
He took me with him.
He wanted me,
my mouth.
I was his prisoner now.
His and his alone.
He led me out,
I could feel the gun
pressing
right in my asshole.
We stopped
at a river.
He proposed.
I said yes.
I, too, loved the smell
of blood.
I loved his cock
even more.
I was
the gayest man
in my dreams.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
We'll Stuff Her
My aunt loves beer.
It's a rare sight,
like watching a deer eat
another deer,
to see her
without a beer in her hand.
My aunt loves death.
It's a rare conversation,
like hearing a midget talking about
dunking a basketball,
when she doesn't mention
death or dying.
She is going to die.
She tells us everyday.
She will release her bowels
and take one last breath
just like the rest of us,
except,
I don't think
it will be soon.
Seems as if
she will outlast us all.
But when
she finally does
collapse,
we will grant her
death wishes,
as promised.
She wants us to play
"Sleepwalk"
at her funeral.
Easy.
She wants us to cry
and remember
what a lunatic
she was.
Done.
She wants us to stuff
her corpse
and place a beer
in her hand.
hmmm ok?
A strange request,
but we'll comply
and prop her up
at her funeral party.
We'll celebrate
her life
with her blank staring corpse,
saying,
Cheers to you tia!
You will be deeply missed,
you crazy drunk warden!
It's a rare sight,
like watching a deer eat
another deer,
to see her
without a beer in her hand.
My aunt loves death.
It's a rare conversation,
like hearing a midget talking about
dunking a basketball,
when she doesn't mention
death or dying.
She is going to die.
She tells us everyday.
She will release her bowels
and take one last breath
just like the rest of us,
except,
I don't think
it will be soon.
Seems as if
she will outlast us all.
But when
she finally does
collapse,
we will grant her
death wishes,
as promised.
She wants us to play
"Sleepwalk"
at her funeral.
Easy.
She wants us to cry
and remember
what a lunatic
she was.
Done.
She wants us to stuff
her corpse
and place a beer
in her hand.
hmmm ok?
A strange request,
but we'll comply
and prop her up
at her funeral party.
We'll celebrate
her life
with her blank staring corpse,
saying,
Cheers to you tia!
You will be deeply missed,
you crazy drunk warden!
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Advice From the Deceased
She kept wanting me
to go
up there.
Over and over again,
we felt
his cold, vacant body.
He wasn't really there.
A family friend told me
to stay in my seat,
remember him
as he was
when he was alive.
I had to go.
My little sister kept dragging me.
I don't know why,
maybe she was fascinated
with death,
maybe she liked the feel
of cold flesh.
I was lost.
I was absolutely crushed.
Completely
broken
down.
I didn't want to see him
like that,
my brother,
laid out in a casket,
unsmiling,
dead.
I didn't want to.
I bet,
she doesn't even
remember.
I will never forget
for as long as I live
that we all
had to bury
such a sweet,
mischievous,
wonderful,
young
soul.
Now,
my sister's still
dragging me around.
So is everyone else.
They want me
to do this, that,
or the other.
I don't want
to do
any of it.
I'd rather
take a seat
and remember my brother,
and try to think
what he would do
in this situation.
He'd probably
tell everyone
to fuck off,
he'd probably
tell me
to stop being a pussy
and to do
what I feel
I need to do,
to get out there
and grab the world
by the balls
and not let go
till it bows to my will.
It will.
I will listen.
No more being lost,
no more fear,
no more sadness,
no more grief.
No more, no more.
Keeping the memory
of him
and his advice
hidden within
my every thought,
I'm going to set out
on the open road
and gain a lust for life
no one has achieved
since he left.
The world is fucked
for good.
Good.
It's about time I let it.
to go
up there.
Over and over again,
we felt
his cold, vacant body.
He wasn't really there.
A family friend told me
to stay in my seat,
remember him
as he was
when he was alive.
I had to go.
My little sister kept dragging me.
I don't know why,
maybe she was fascinated
with death,
maybe she liked the feel
of cold flesh.
I was lost.
I was absolutely crushed.
Completely
broken
down.
I didn't want to see him
like that,
my brother,
laid out in a casket,
unsmiling,
dead.
I didn't want to.
I bet,
she doesn't even
remember.
I will never forget
for as long as I live
that we all
had to bury
such a sweet,
mischievous,
wonderful,
young
soul.
Now,
my sister's still
dragging me around.
So is everyone else.
They want me
to do this, that,
or the other.
I don't want
to do
any of it.
I'd rather
take a seat
and remember my brother,
and try to think
what he would do
in this situation.
He'd probably
tell everyone
to fuck off,
he'd probably
tell me
to stop being a pussy
and to do
what I feel
I need to do,
to get out there
and grab the world
by the balls
and not let go
till it bows to my will.
It will.
I will listen.
No more being lost,
no more fear,
no more sadness,
no more grief.
No more, no more.
Keeping the memory
of him
and his advice
hidden within
my every thought,
I'm going to set out
on the open road
and gain a lust for life
no one has achieved
since he left.
The world is fucked
for good.
Good.
It's about time I let it.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
The Mourner's Tear
She's obese.
That's
putting it kindly.
Others would call her
monstrously overweight,
larger than life,
too fat for a trailer-size coffin.
When she walks
she creates
craters.
When she sits
she throws the earth
slightly
off its axis.
There's more.
She's unattractive.
Her hair is unkempt,
her teeth are rotted,
her voice,
her sight,
her smell,
all beyond hideous.
Nobody
wants to help
her.
They can't even look her
in the eyes.
As soon as she's gone,
they say the most vile things
anyone could ever say
to another human being.
They might as well
spit shit
in her face.
I feel sorry for her.
I imagine
what she goes through
everyday?
I force myself to take a walk in her shoes.
Facing myself
in the mirror
and I ask,
how do you feel?
I've finally discovered
just how cruel and bitter
the world can be.
There's no compassion
from a single person.
Why?
Has she thrown bleach in your mouth?
Has she ruined your precious popularity?
She has done nothing
besides
eat horribly unhealthy.
This is the treatment
she deserves?
Punishment
is coming to you all.
One day,
the bow of karma
will bend
and you will suffer
the same fate
as she has.
You will be obese.
Your eyelids will be fat.
Your hair will drip with lard.
You will suffer.
And you will die
from a massive heart attack
or better yet,
from choking
on a spork.
You must have thought
it was part
of your lunch.
And when you die,
the mortician
will have to
chop you up,
in order for you
to fit
in your trailer-size casket.
The mourners,
if there's any,
will have one last good laugh
at your gross face,
shedding only one tear
of joy,
before they bury
you
in frosting.
You final request
granted.
May you rest in chunks.
That's
putting it kindly.
Others would call her
monstrously overweight,
larger than life,
too fat for a trailer-size coffin.
When she walks
she creates
craters.
When she sits
she throws the earth
slightly
off its axis.
There's more.
She's unattractive.
Her hair is unkempt,
her teeth are rotted,
her voice,
her sight,
her smell,
all beyond hideous.
Nobody
wants to help
her.
They can't even look her
in the eyes.
As soon as she's gone,
they say the most vile things
anyone could ever say
to another human being.
They might as well
spit shit
in her face.
I feel sorry for her.
I imagine
what she goes through
everyday?
I force myself to take a walk in her shoes.
Facing myself
in the mirror
and I ask,
how do you feel?
I've finally discovered
just how cruel and bitter
the world can be.
There's no compassion
from a single person.
Why?
Has she thrown bleach in your mouth?
Has she ruined your precious popularity?
She has done nothing
besides
eat horribly unhealthy.
This is the treatment
she deserves?
Punishment
is coming to you all.
One day,
the bow of karma
will bend
and you will suffer
the same fate
as she has.
You will be obese.
Your eyelids will be fat.
Your hair will drip with lard.
You will suffer.
And you will die
from a massive heart attack
or better yet,
from choking
on a spork.
You must have thought
it was part
of your lunch.
And when you die,
the mortician
will have to
chop you up,
in order for you
to fit
in your trailer-size casket.
The mourners,
if there's any,
will have one last good laugh
at your gross face,
shedding only one tear
of joy,
before they bury
you
in frosting.
You final request
granted.
May you rest in chunks.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
My Stench
There's no margin of error
for these pigs.
They are ruthless.
They are precise.
They can sniff out,
miles away,
the slightest criminal activity
with their huge snouts.
And they are
everywhere
and bored
and even worse,
they have guns
with itchy hooves.
They almost caught
my mom
once.
She claims
she doesn't remember.
The lights, the uniforms, the badges,
the pointy ears,
on the other hand,
come clear
to my mind.
Yes,
She had been drinking,
Yes,
her children were in the car.
Yes,
she probably swerved
a bit.
The pigs sniffed her out
as soon as she hit the road.
They were ready,
to take her away,
to take us away.
Just out of boredom.
One of them,
might have had
a heart
underneath all his pig fat
because
he let her
go.
It must have been
because
she had my baby sister
in her hands.
They oinked away
with their curly tails
tucked between
their tight asses.
We, somehow, made our escape.
I
should have learned
from this.
I didn't.
The pigs
sniffed me out
too.
They were not so nice.
I didn't have a baby
in my hands.
I had the stench of sin.
They took me away.
They oinked at me,
stripped me naked,
and looked in
my asshole
for food
or "contraband."
They kept me
a prisoner
in their pen.
I should have
never trusted them.
I should have ran.
I should have
stayed
unscented.
It's too bad,
I guess,
I only know how
to stink.
for these pigs.
They are ruthless.
They are precise.
They can sniff out,
miles away,
the slightest criminal activity
with their huge snouts.
And they are
everywhere
and bored
and even worse,
they have guns
with itchy hooves.
They almost caught
my mom
once.
She claims
she doesn't remember.
The lights, the uniforms, the badges,
the pointy ears,
on the other hand,
come clear
to my mind.
Yes,
She had been drinking,
Yes,
her children were in the car.
Yes,
she probably swerved
a bit.
The pigs sniffed her out
as soon as she hit the road.
They were ready,
to take her away,
to take us away.
Just out of boredom.
One of them,
might have had
a heart
underneath all his pig fat
because
he let her
go.
It must have been
because
she had my baby sister
in her hands.
They oinked away
with their curly tails
tucked between
their tight asses.
We, somehow, made our escape.
I
should have learned
from this.
I didn't.
The pigs
sniffed me out
too.
They were not so nice.
I didn't have a baby
in my hands.
I had the stench of sin.
They took me away.
They oinked at me,
stripped me naked,
and looked in
my asshole
for food
or "contraband."
They kept me
a prisoner
in their pen.
I should have
never trusted them.
I should have ran.
I should have
stayed
unscented.
It's too bad,
I guess,
I only know how
to stink.
Friday, November 30, 2012
The Savior
How many lives
have you saved?
I have saved
none.
I have no purpose.
But,
it is my idol,
my grandpa,
who gives me hope.
I hope to one day
follow in his
almighty footsteps.
He always has
and never ceases
to amaze me.
He doesn't brag either.
He doesn't need attention.
He is a real man.
He has saved.
I only know of one.
A boy,
a slow,
perhaps autistic child,
fell
into the disgusting lake
of our hometown.
He was drowning.
Everyone
stood by
and watched
as if he
were a duck.
Not my grandpa.
He didn't hesitate
to jump into the filth
and rescue him.
He saved that poor boy,
when no one else
would.
Those cowards
should all be
so ashamed of themselves.
They didn't even bother
to help them out
of the water.
They turned their heads,
never to look back
on what
they could have done.
The boy, however,
was never more grateful.
My grandpa
just walked away
as if it was
nothing.
Just another day at the park.
Today,
they still write.
The boy,
though handicapped,
is going to be
an engineer.
A fucking engineer!
He took full advantage
of being able
to breathe again.
Those others
that stood by
are now either dead
or eating their own feces.
Now tell me,
who has the disorder?
The boy,
now fully grown,
deserves the best.
He might one day
save your life
with a machine he designed
through electrical engineering.
If you are ever
walking in the park
and you happen to see him,
Thank my idol,
my grandpa,
the savior.
He might not even hear you.
have you saved?
I have saved
none.
I have no purpose.
But,
it is my idol,
my grandpa,
who gives me hope.
I hope to one day
follow in his
almighty footsteps.
He always has
and never ceases
to amaze me.
He doesn't brag either.
He doesn't need attention.
He is a real man.
He has saved.
I only know of one.
A boy,
a slow,
perhaps autistic child,
fell
into the disgusting lake
of our hometown.
He was drowning.
Everyone
stood by
and watched
as if he
were a duck.
Not my grandpa.
He didn't hesitate
to jump into the filth
and rescue him.
He saved that poor boy,
when no one else
would.
Those cowards
should all be
so ashamed of themselves.
They didn't even bother
to help them out
of the water.
They turned their heads,
never to look back
on what
they could have done.
The boy, however,
was never more grateful.
My grandpa
just walked away
as if it was
nothing.
Just another day at the park.
Today,
they still write.
The boy,
though handicapped,
is going to be
an engineer.
A fucking engineer!
He took full advantage
of being able
to breathe again.
Those others
that stood by
are now either dead
or eating their own feces.
Now tell me,
who has the disorder?
The boy,
now fully grown,
deserves the best.
He might one day
save your life
with a machine he designed
through electrical engineering.
If you are ever
walking in the park
and you happen to see him,
Thank my idol,
my grandpa,
the savior.
He might not even hear you.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Real Love
Real women
have yeast infections.
Their pussies
look horrible,
smell horrendous,
and itch uncontrollably.
They also
pass it on.
My dick
has felt a real woman.
I am feeling one now.
Every time
I apply lotion
to my cock,
I think
of her.
My mind
is wrapped around
her.
Every time,
I look down
and see what she gave me,
I can't help,
but love her more.
I love real women.
I love their flaws.
As much as they hate mine.
There's nothing
that's going to stop
my love.
There's nothing
that's going to stop
my cock.
Infections be damned.
This is our love.
Only a real woman
can make it happen.
Only a real man
can accept it.
have yeast infections.
Their pussies
look horrible,
smell horrendous,
and itch uncontrollably.
They also
pass it on.
My dick
has felt a real woman.
I am feeling one now.
Every time
I apply lotion
to my cock,
I think
of her.
My mind
is wrapped around
her.
Every time,
I look down
and see what she gave me,
I can't help,
but love her more.
I love real women.
I love their flaws.
As much as they hate mine.
There's nothing
that's going to stop
my love.
There's nothing
that's going to stop
my cock.
Infections be damned.
This is our love.
Only a real woman
can make it happen.
Only a real man
can accept it.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Central Coast Spotlight: Depths of Chaos
Buried deep within a darkened tomb, hidden away from the psychotic violence and diseased surrounding Grover Beach, Ca., lies Depths of Chaos. Guitarist/vocalist Darien Lohof, drummer Tom Hoopes, bassist Joey McDaniel, and guitarist Ty Richardson make up this merciless alliance. Together they have vowed to play death metal until an eternal darkness has covered the earth and slaughtered all of life.
Their utter commitment to annihilation began in 03'. Depths have since went on to play countless shows and record a handful of demos, which in the process, they have perfected their punishment. They invoke classic death metal acts such as Morbid Angel and Suffocation and blend it with bits of melodic and groove elements. Any respectable metalhead, who has heard them and says they are not a fan, deserves to be lobotomized and castrated simultaneously. As for the rest of us, we must do our duty to support them and go to as many of their shows as possible.
I was fortunate enough to be one of their victims this past weekend. They played at Camozzi's in Atascadero, which is an awful venue to say the least. No matter, they still made my ears bleed and orgasm throughout their whole set. From start to finish, through brutal riffs, unearthly growls, an unrelenting pummeling of the skins, and groovy, complex bass lines, they unleashed hell upon the audience. Most let the music possess them. They banged their heads until their hair fell out and their brains spilled out onto the amps. Some of the other less open-minded concertgoers did not feel so blessed. They immediately went to the nearest church they could find and drowned themselves in holy water. It's too bad they missed out. Nothing is better than leaving a show covered in sweat, sin, and filth. The high stays with you forever.
Yeah, I know death metal is an acquired taste, but it's one of the only genres of music that has truly dedicated fans, ones who devoutly worship the bands. Depths of Chaos, I feel, is one of these bands. Trust me, they deserve your admiration. They will be crowned the kings of annihilation when all life ends. Give up your souls now. Let them defile the sacred. For the punishment is sweet. The darkness eternal.
Monday, November 12, 2012
No Worries
There is no future.
Nobody has to worry.
No job, no money, no dreams,
no life....
No problem.
The end
is upon us.
I can see it shinning
down on us
like the sun
exploding.
I can hear it
in everyone's throat.
I can feel it turning
beneath my feet.
Waiting patiently
to be unleashed.
I am not concerned.
I should be.
We all should be,
but we continue living
as if we are never
going to die,
as if we are actually
experiencing suffering.
We know nothing.
No matter.
It is coming.
The Great Death.
All are in it's path,
the poor,
the innocent,
the decent,
and the rich,
the evil,
the careless.
No worries.
Soon, all will be as it should be.
Soon, all will be able to enjoy hell.
Nobody has to worry.
No job, no money, no dreams,
no life....
No problem.
The end
is upon us.
I can see it shinning
down on us
like the sun
exploding.
I can hear it
in everyone's throat.
I can feel it turning
beneath my feet.
Waiting patiently
to be unleashed.
I am not concerned.
I should be.
We all should be,
but we continue living
as if we are never
going to die,
as if we are actually
experiencing suffering.
We know nothing.
No matter.
It is coming.
The Great Death.
All are in it's path,
the poor,
the innocent,
the decent,
and the rich,
the evil,
the careless.
No worries.
Soon, all will be as it should be.
Soon, all will be able to enjoy hell.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
God Hands
Pray,
not for a
sick family member
or for the suffering
and the helpless.
Pray for yourselves.
Sure,
you're comfortable,
never had
much
of a bad day
all your life.
Sure,
you've never been
poor
or even been
starving.
Unless,
you were trying
to look good
in your new, expensive
bathing suit.
Pray, pray, pray.
You know
you need all the prayers
in the world.
The prayer
at the top
of your never ending list,
should be
for the hands of God
to remove President Obama
from office.
He's a terrible human being.
He's trying to get
universal healthcare.
People need their own insurance.
Sure,
they are some, who
have none
at their minimum wage job,
but there's always
the
free
clinic.
And if they do contract
some rare disease,
let them
die off.
The world is a better place
without them.
Those scum are just bleeding
the country dry.
They are horrible human beings.
We need to pray for
another old white man
to become president.
Again.
He cares for our money.
He will defend
our America.
He knows
exactly
what to do
with the poor.
Send them to war.
God will let them die
with a smile
on their face,
knowing they served
US.
The only America that matters.
So,
gather all your money,
attend church,
spread propaganda,
lie,
cheat,
steal,
kill,
pray
this black bastard
gets thrown out of office
and tarred
and feathered
right on the front lawn
of the White House.
And may
all this
be done
by the hands
of God.
not for a
sick family member
or for the suffering
and the helpless.
Pray for yourselves.
Sure,
you're comfortable,
never had
much
of a bad day
all your life.
Sure,
you've never been
poor
or even been
starving.
Unless,
you were trying
to look good
in your new, expensive
bathing suit.
Pray, pray, pray.
You know
you need all the prayers
in the world.
The prayer
at the top
of your never ending list,
should be
for the hands of God
to remove President Obama
from office.
He's a terrible human being.
He's trying to get
universal healthcare.
People need their own insurance.
Sure,
they are some, who
have none
at their minimum wage job,
but there's always
the
free
clinic.
And if they do contract
some rare disease,
let them
die off.
The world is a better place
without them.
Those scum are just bleeding
the country dry.
They are horrible human beings.
We need to pray for
another old white man
to become president.
Again.
He cares for our money.
He will defend
our America.
He knows
exactly
what to do
with the poor.
Send them to war.
God will let them die
with a smile
on their face,
knowing they served
US.
The only America that matters.
So,
gather all your money,
attend church,
spread propaganda,
lie,
cheat,
steal,
kill,
pray
this black bastard
gets thrown out of office
and tarred
and feathered
right on the front lawn
of the White House.
And may
all this
be done
by the hands
of God.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Let Go of the Wheel
Cars,
I should have never
stepped foot
in a
single
one.
Too much
bad luck
has taken the wheel
for me.
The stupidest accident
I've been involved in,
is too embarrassing
to admit.
But I will.
Pringles,
the heavenly snack,
were on the floor.
I could have asked
any
of the two
in the car.
But I didn't.
I reached for them
myself.
I am stubborn.
No one
can do anything
for me.
Not even get me
a can of chips.
Big mistake.
As I am reaching down,
bad luck
takes the wheel
and steers us toward
the shoulder.
Next to a tree.
Right as I look up,
we hit it.
The impact was
shocking.
Holy fuck!
was all I could say.
I managed to drive on
with the fender holding on
for dear life
and smoke
billowing out the hood.
We pulled over
at my friend's house
to assess the damage.
The front end of the car
looked worse than
what my face was going to look like
after I told my mother
what I did
to HER
car.
I made it home
and reluctantly went it.
She should have beat me
with the fender.
She didn't.
She was furious,
but forgiving.
I escaped the noose.
The van was now
mine.
My mother got a new one.
All was well.
That is until
I crashed the van
again.
Then,
I crashed the next car
I owned.
Tickets, arrests, dui's,
bad luck, bad luck.
I should have never drove.
Ever.
Yet today,
I am going to get
in the truck
and head off
on the road again.
Bad luck
stay away.
I should have never
stepped foot
in a
single
one.
Too much
bad luck
has taken the wheel
for me.
The stupidest accident
I've been involved in,
is too embarrassing
to admit.
But I will.
Pringles,
the heavenly snack,
were on the floor.
I could have asked
any
of the two
in the car.
But I didn't.
I reached for them
myself.
I am stubborn.
No one
can do anything
for me.
Not even get me
a can of chips.
Big mistake.
As I am reaching down,
bad luck
takes the wheel
and steers us toward
the shoulder.
Next to a tree.
Right as I look up,
we hit it.
The impact was
shocking.
Holy fuck!
was all I could say.
I managed to drive on
with the fender holding on
for dear life
and smoke
billowing out the hood.
We pulled over
at my friend's house
to assess the damage.
The front end of the car
looked worse than
what my face was going to look like
after I told my mother
what I did
to HER
car.
I made it home
and reluctantly went it.
She should have beat me
with the fender.
She didn't.
She was furious,
but forgiving.
I escaped the noose.
The van was now
mine.
My mother got a new one.
All was well.
That is until
I crashed the van
again.
Then,
I crashed the next car
I owned.
Tickets, arrests, dui's,
bad luck, bad luck.
I should have never drove.
Ever.
Yet today,
I am going to get
in the truck
and head off
on the road again.
Bad luck
stay away.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
We Are So Lucky
Feces
spits up at you
from the toilet,
you go and try and wash it off
and urine
comes out of the faucet.
Imagine
this
and all the conveniences
of everyday modern life
fading away
with each passing second.
No more
internet,
no more
television,
no phone,
no electricity
whatsoever.
Nothing left,
but time
and everlasting misery.
Everything
shattered and rotting
for no reason.
What's your next move?
You have no guns.
You cannot survive.
The world
is more psychotic, depraved
and hateful
than anybody
has ever seen.
Your family
forced to live
in the sewers,
where they search
for pennies
and dead rats.
Your mother, wife, daughter
raped and mutilated
right before your closed eyes.
All you can smell
is the pain.
Your father, brother, son
tortured and slaughtered
or at the very least,
sold into slavery.
All you can feel
is the torment.
The only glimmer
of hope
is that one day
the sun
won't shine.
The only prayer
to God
is that one day
there will be
no more suffering.
Because
they will be
nobody
left.
The only way
for you
to feel grateful
today
is to realize
this could happen
tomorrow.
spits up at you
from the toilet,
you go and try and wash it off
and urine
comes out of the faucet.
Imagine
this
and all the conveniences
of everyday modern life
fading away
with each passing second.
No more
internet,
no more
television,
no phone,
no electricity
whatsoever.
Nothing left,
but time
and everlasting misery.
Everything
shattered and rotting
for no reason.
What's your next move?
You have no guns.
You cannot survive.
The world
is more psychotic, depraved
and hateful
than anybody
has ever seen.
Your family
forced to live
in the sewers,
where they search
for pennies
and dead rats.
Your mother, wife, daughter
raped and mutilated
right before your closed eyes.
All you can smell
is the pain.
Your father, brother, son
tortured and slaughtered
or at the very least,
sold into slavery.
All you can feel
is the torment.
The only glimmer
of hope
is that one day
the sun
won't shine.
The only prayer
to God
is that one day
there will be
no more suffering.
Because
they will be
nobody
left.
The only way
for you
to feel grateful
today
is to realize
this could happen
tomorrow.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Horrific Thoughts
I have never heard
death
before that night.
The screech
of the tires,
skull, bones, flesh
smashed
on the hood of a car
going 50 mph.
helicopters
roaring overhead,
the cries
of a lover.
It was all too much.
The visions
were out of some
horrific nightmare.
The unsuspecting man
being hurled
into the air,
the trickles
of blood
running down the street,
his shoe
landing next to us
20 feet away,
the car speeding
away.
It was all too much.
His death
made me wonder,
what was he like?
how would his family react?
did they hate him?
did they wish him
dead?
Life is cruel.
The truth is even worse.
I'll be glad to die
someday, not knowing
any of it,
just not
like
that.
death
before that night.
The screech
of the tires,
skull, bones, flesh
smashed
on the hood of a car
going 50 mph.
helicopters
roaring overhead,
the cries
of a lover.
It was all too much.
The visions
were out of some
horrific nightmare.
The unsuspecting man
being hurled
into the air,
the trickles
of blood
running down the street,
his shoe
landing next to us
20 feet away,
the car speeding
away.
It was all too much.
His death
made me wonder,
what was he like?
how would his family react?
did they hate him?
did they wish him
dead?
Life is cruel.
The truth is even worse.
I'll be glad to die
someday, not knowing
any of it,
just not
like
that.
Friday, October 19, 2012
The Residency of the Deceased
I'm fascinated by death.
Always have been.
As a child,
I remember going to funerals,
a handful of them.
I had no idea what
was going on.
My memory is horrifyingly clear.
I can't recollect the events
that took place yesterday,
but I do remember
those dead faces
and the touch of
frozen skin.
My aunt's funeral
is a somber moment
that will never
leave me.
There were hundreds of people,
they formed a sea of black,
and from their eyes
poured an undying sorrow.
I was thinking about her
and how incredibly intimidating
she was,
yet completely generous.
She was an amazing woman.
And as I was thinking about her,
a revelation came to me:
I would never see her again.
This was the first time
I would become aware of this,
I was beginning to understand
death
and its finality.
Then,
a flock of white birds
caught my burning eyes.
They were heavenly and graceful,
like no other creatures
have ever been.
This was my aunt.
Her spirit
freed.
As her body
descended into the ground.
I realized then,
the dead are still
everywhere
around us,
making their presence known.
Nothing is forever gone.
We just have to be
willing
to look
for the signs.
Always have been.
As a child,
I remember going to funerals,
a handful of them.
I had no idea what
was going on.
My memory is horrifyingly clear.
I can't recollect the events
that took place yesterday,
but I do remember
those dead faces
and the touch of
frozen skin.
My aunt's funeral
is a somber moment
that will never
leave me.
There were hundreds of people,
they formed a sea of black,
and from their eyes
poured an undying sorrow.
I was thinking about her
and how incredibly intimidating
she was,
yet completely generous.
She was an amazing woman.
And as I was thinking about her,
a revelation came to me:
I would never see her again.
This was the first time
I would become aware of this,
I was beginning to understand
death
and its finality.
Then,
a flock of white birds
caught my burning eyes.
They were heavenly and graceful,
like no other creatures
have ever been.
This was my aunt.
Her spirit
freed.
As her body
descended into the ground.
I realized then,
the dead are still
everywhere
around us,
making their presence known.
Nothing is forever gone.
We just have to be
willing
to look
for the signs.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Shit Out Basketballs
Basketball was my life.
It's not anymore.
On occasion
I'll pick up a ball
or watch a game,
but this is nothing
compared to the obsession
I grew up with.
I didn't give a fuck
about women,
school,
books,
or being popular.
All I ever gave a shit about
was basketball.
Day,
night,
sleep,
wake up,
shit out
basketballs.
I'd be out there
in 100 degree weather,
completely dehydrated,
bouncing the ball
up and down the court
like a fool.
I'd be out there
in the rain,
completely soaked,
working on drills
up and down the court
like a idiot.
In the end,
I got injured
and after high school,
everything changed,
my love for the game
vanished.
I started
chasing after women
and working.
I got money,
I got pussy,
but I never got the same
satisfaction
as I would
when I hit the game winning shot.
I will probably
never get that high
again.
Seems all's
such a waste of time.
Except for
shitting out
basketballs,
of course.
It's not anymore.
On occasion
I'll pick up a ball
or watch a game,
but this is nothing
compared to the obsession
I grew up with.
I didn't give a fuck
about women,
school,
books,
or being popular.
All I ever gave a shit about
was basketball.
Day,
night,
sleep,
wake up,
shit out
basketballs.
I'd be out there
in 100 degree weather,
completely dehydrated,
bouncing the ball
up and down the court
like a fool.
I'd be out there
in the rain,
completely soaked,
working on drills
up and down the court
like a idiot.
In the end,
I got injured
and after high school,
everything changed,
my love for the game
vanished.
I started
chasing after women
and working.
I got money,
I got pussy,
but I never got the same
satisfaction
as I would
when I hit the game winning shot.
I will probably
never get that high
again.
Seems all's
such a waste of time.
Except for
shitting out
basketballs,
of course.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Altared Boys
He set up the lines.
I could hear the tap
of his credit card
against the top of the swamp cooler
of the church.
He went first,
I sniffed next.
We immediately
broke into a conversation
that lasted
the whole night.
We even
did a lil
in the bathroom stall.
I don't remember
much
after
that.
I never saw him again.
He went on
being shady
somewhere.
I went on
being creepy
everywhere else,
with the thought that
I'd never see him again.
Perfect.
The perfect exit.
The perfect memory.
The perfect church.
Amen.
I could hear the tap
of his credit card
against the top of the swamp cooler
of the church.
He went first,
I sniffed next.
We immediately
broke into a conversation
that lasted
the whole night.
We even
did a lil
in the bathroom stall.
I don't remember
much
after
that.
I never saw him again.
He went on
being shady
somewhere.
I went on
being creepy
everywhere else,
with the thought that
I'd never see him again.
Perfect.
The perfect exit.
The perfect memory.
The perfect church.
Amen.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Chili Beans
I ate
a shit ton
of chili beans
that day.
Much more
than I would ever care
to eat
again.
I could feel them
rumbling in my belly,
especially after I drank a
12 pack.
Each beer
I drank
in one long
drink,
hidden away
from the family.
I was 14,
and I was drunk,
I only had four,
but I kept going
and going,
until I was feeling as good
as the rest of the family.
For once,
a family event
was tolerable.
I stayed up,
embracing the moment,
and having the time
of my life.
Eventually they all went
to sleep,
one by one,
until
I was the only
one up.
So I tried to sleep.
I couldn't.
My head was spinning,
round and round,
the world
a turbulent,
drunken mess.
oh no.
A rush of beans
came out of my throat
and on the couch.
It was the most
disgusting
puke
I've ever seen
and I've seen too much
in my lifetime.
I can still smell
the beans
to this day.
And to this day,
I will never
eat chili beans
before
I start drinking
or after.
This is
one of the many
lessons in life
I had to learn
the hard way.
Learn
from my mistakes.
a shit ton
of chili beans
that day.
Much more
than I would ever care
to eat
again.
I could feel them
rumbling in my belly,
especially after I drank a
12 pack.
Each beer
I drank
in one long
drink,
hidden away
from the family.
I was 14,
and I was drunk,
I only had four,
but I kept going
and going,
until I was feeling as good
as the rest of the family.
For once,
a family event
was tolerable.
I stayed up,
embracing the moment,
and having the time
of my life.
Eventually they all went
to sleep,
one by one,
until
I was the only
one up.
So I tried to sleep.
I couldn't.
My head was spinning,
round and round,
the world
a turbulent,
drunken mess.
oh no.
A rush of beans
came out of my throat
and on the couch.
It was the most
disgusting
puke
I've ever seen
and I've seen too much
in my lifetime.
I can still smell
the beans
to this day.
And to this day,
I will never
eat chili beans
before
I start drinking
or after.
This is
one of the many
lessons in life
I had to learn
the hard way.
Learn
from my mistakes.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
A Prisoner In the Clouds
I hated all the dads
in our apartment complex.
They were all
worthless.
Very few of them
had jobs
and some
didn't exist at all.
If they were around,
they usually beat their wives,
cheated,
and took out their life's failures
on their kids.
I was one of those kids.
I had to witness
the ugliness
of their lives
and the ever growing clouds
they cast upon
their families.
I wasn't floating,
I was there,
trapped,
a prisoner in the clouds.
This is how
I learned to eat,
to fight,
to kill,
to survive.
This is how
I learned to never love
a woman,
to never trust
a man.
This is who
I am.
I accept my fate.
But I have time
to change.
Will I get out?
Will I remain
the same,
if I do?
Or will I
give in?
The cycle can only
continue
with me,
a prisoner in the clouds.
in our apartment complex.
They were all
worthless.
Very few of them
had jobs
and some
didn't exist at all.
If they were around,
they usually beat their wives,
cheated,
and took out their life's failures
on their kids.
I was one of those kids.
I had to witness
the ugliness
of their lives
and the ever growing clouds
they cast upon
their families.
I wasn't floating,
I was there,
trapped,
a prisoner in the clouds.
This is how
I learned to eat,
to fight,
to kill,
to survive.
This is how
I learned to never love
a woman,
to never trust
a man.
This is who
I am.
I accept my fate.
But I have time
to change.
Will I get out?
Will I remain
the same,
if I do?
Or will I
give in?
The cycle can only
continue
with me,
a prisoner in the clouds.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Drenched
It began to snow.
I would have been buried in it
if I hadn't been moving.
When I did stop,
I took a sip
of rum and
threw it up in an alley.
It was the result
of a 20 day drunk.
I had to do it.
I was in Chicago
and I didn't know
if I'd ever be back,
so I wiped off my mouth
and took another sip.
It stayed down.
I wasn't buried.
The snow was beautiful
and so were those lonely nights
drenched in the blues.
I would have been buried in it
if I hadn't been moving.
When I did stop,
I took a sip
of rum and
threw it up in an alley.
It was the result
of a 20 day drunk.
I had to do it.
I was in Chicago
and I didn't know
if I'd ever be back,
so I wiped off my mouth
and took another sip.
It stayed down.
I wasn't buried.
The snow was beautiful
and so were those lonely nights
drenched in the blues.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
In Ruins
Work was terrible.
I mean the fucking worst.
Wal-Mart
and the pain it brought me
each day
was unbearable.
That night was not much different.
After work,
I immediately raced over
to my aunt's house
to drink myself
till I shit myself.
I passed a car accident
on the way there.
The car was in ruins,
turned over,
the top smashed in
passed the seat cushions.
I thought to myself,
I hope they are alright.
They were.
All of them
Except for my brother.
He was at the morgue.
I went to my aunt's.
I didn't know he was in the car
until
my grandpa came in
and told us.
I thought I knew pain.
I thought I knew the worst.
I was wrong.
I mean the fucking worst.
Wal-Mart
and the pain it brought me
each day
was unbearable.
That night was not much different.
After work,
I immediately raced over
to my aunt's house
to drink myself
till I shit myself.
I passed a car accident
on the way there.
The car was in ruins,
turned over,
the top smashed in
passed the seat cushions.
I thought to myself,
I hope they are alright.
They were.
All of them
Except for my brother.
He was at the morgue.
I went to my aunt's.
I didn't know he was in the car
until
my grandpa came in
and told us.
I thought I knew pain.
I thought I knew the worst.
I was wrong.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
The God of Perversion
God masturbates.
It's true.
He strokes the universe,
which is his
cock
and shoots nebula,
when he ejaculates,
into the blackness.
He watches porn too.
He prefers interracial fucking.
This is where
it all
originated.
He is to blame
for this ghastly
impulsion.
Because of Him,
we all
do it.
Some
much more
than others.
I am included.
There's one tiny difference
between us:
He creates worlds,
I destroy them.
It's true.
He strokes the universe,
which is his
cock
and shoots nebula,
when he ejaculates,
into the blackness.
He watches porn too.
He prefers interracial fucking.
This is where
it all
originated.
He is to blame
for this ghastly
impulsion.
Because of Him,
we all
do it.
Some
much more
than others.
I am included.
There's one tiny difference
between us:
He creates worlds,
I destroy them.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
The Cliff to the Otherside
100 billion people
have died.
They all
roam the earth
among us.
We do not see them,
hear them,
or smell them,
but we can all
feel them.
They are in our bones,
our flesh.
They are everywhere.
We must respect them.
They are all watching.
They will let you know
when you
have done wrong.
They will make you
join them.
There is nothing
you can do.
Your fate
is in
their hands.
Watch your step.
have died.
They all
roam the earth
among us.
We do not see them,
hear them,
or smell them,
but we can all
feel them.
They are in our bones,
our flesh.
They are everywhere.
We must respect them.
They are all watching.
They will let you know
when you
have done wrong.
They will make you
join them.
There is nothing
you can do.
Your fate
is in
their hands.
Watch your step.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
The Worst
I remember thinking,
this is the worst day
of my life.
The sky was blue
and falling
all around us.
Some
might have said
it was the perfect day
and in a sense
it was.
The perfect day to go mad.
My mother did
and we were on our way
to pick her up
from a mental health clinic
in Ventura.
My cousin and me
didn't say much
the whole ride,
we were both
in unfamiliar territory,
but we knew
we couldn't leave her
there.
She had to be with us.
Just goes to show,
no matter how crazy
or depressed
or suicidal
you get,
your family
will always be
by your side
even on the worst days
of their lives.
So,
I am thankful
have such a family,
some
aren't so lucky.
They would have stayed there,
stuck
on the worst day
of their lives,
living a moment of tragedy
over
and over
again,
and again.
this is the worst day
of my life.
The sky was blue
and falling
all around us.
Some
might have said
it was the perfect day
and in a sense
it was.
The perfect day to go mad.
My mother did
and we were on our way
to pick her up
from a mental health clinic
in Ventura.
My cousin and me
didn't say much
the whole ride,
we were both
in unfamiliar territory,
but we knew
we couldn't leave her
there.
She had to be with us.
Just goes to show,
no matter how crazy
or depressed
or suicidal
you get,
your family
will always be
by your side
even on the worst days
of their lives.
So,
I am thankful
have such a family,
some
aren't so lucky.
They would have stayed there,
stuck
on the worst day
of their lives,
living a moment of tragedy
over
and over
again,
and again.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The Solitary Mode of Living?
I take
everything
for granted.
Never once,
do I stop
and realize
how lucky I am
to be alive,
in this day in age,
with all of these
conveniences
surrounding me.
No, no.
I am a pussy.
Hanging my head low
whenever something
goes wrong.
Anything aggravates me.
Disgusting.
Pathetic.
I must not give in
to this pussy
inside me.
I must break free.
I must,
for once,
be a man.
I'm not in the desert
in a war.
I haven't seen my mother or sister
killed or raped.
I hardly have a scratch
on my body.
I don't do shit.
Life is easy.
Life is a blessing.
I should treat as such
and marvel at every bit
of existence.
There is no other way.
Well,
I guess I could
lock myself in a room
until mother earth
sets us on fire,
but
forget it.
Too much waiting.
I'd rather
get out there
and die every second
with all of you.
everything
for granted.
Never once,
do I stop
and realize
how lucky I am
to be alive,
in this day in age,
with all of these
conveniences
surrounding me.
No, no.
I am a pussy.
Hanging my head low
whenever something
goes wrong.
Anything aggravates me.
Disgusting.
Pathetic.
I must not give in
to this pussy
inside me.
I must break free.
I must,
for once,
be a man.
I'm not in the desert
in a war.
I haven't seen my mother or sister
killed or raped.
I hardly have a scratch
on my body.
I don't do shit.
Life is easy.
Life is a blessing.
I should treat as such
and marvel at every bit
of existence.
There is no other way.
Well,
I guess I could
lock myself in a room
until mother earth
sets us on fire,
but
forget it.
Too much waiting.
I'd rather
get out there
and die every second
with all of you.
Monday, September 3, 2012
This Year
I haven't seen her
this happy
in years.
Usually,
the winter is cold
and unrelenting
and long.
It's a constant reminder
of death.
This year seems
to be different.
Usually,
the punishing frost
makes her want
to slit her wrist
to the bone.
This year
it's a little bit
warm
and she
has a glow,
a confidence
in herself
that makes me smile.
This year
we can finally
celebrate
our lives.
Goddammit
we are
happy.
For now....
this happy
in years.
Usually,
the winter is cold
and unrelenting
and long.
It's a constant reminder
of death.
This year seems
to be different.
Usually,
the punishing frost
makes her want
to slit her wrist
to the bone.
This year
it's a little bit
warm
and she
has a glow,
a confidence
in herself
that makes me smile.
This year
we can finally
celebrate
our lives.
Goddammit
we are
happy.
For now....
Friday, August 24, 2012
Some Things Never Change
We'd steal,
mainly chardonnay
or whatever we could get our
tiny little hands on.
We needed the rush,
the entertainment,
the escape
from our childhood miseries.
We didn't have any
video games.
We didn't read any
textbooks.
We were hoodlums.
We'd carry a duffel bag
around town
and steal alcohol
like other kids
stole candy.
Then, we'd cruise,
mainly to the creek,
or to the park,
or the rec center,
or even
back to school.
We were growing
into the bottle.
"My niece is that age.
It scares me,"
He said.
I didn't reply.
He wouldn't understand.
He still
plays video games.
He's 27. I'm 28.
I'm fully grown
into the bottle.
I guess
some things never change.
mainly chardonnay
or whatever we could get our
tiny little hands on.
We needed the rush,
the entertainment,
the escape
from our childhood miseries.
We didn't have any
video games.
We didn't read any
textbooks.
We were hoodlums.
We'd carry a duffel bag
around town
and steal alcohol
like other kids
stole candy.
Then, we'd cruise,
mainly to the creek,
or to the park,
or the rec center,
or even
back to school.
We were growing
into the bottle.
"My niece is that age.
It scares me,"
He said.
I didn't reply.
He wouldn't understand.
He still
plays video games.
He's 27. I'm 28.
I'm fully grown
into the bottle.
I guess
some things never change.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Nothing Can Stop The Wheels
I have seen
my own death.
I was there.
I will be back there.
My life suddenly
nothing.
Just
distant sounds.
The screech of tires,
my body
smashing
against unforgiving steel.
my blood spilling
into silence.
I have seen this
with my very own eyes,
in broad daylight.
400 times.
It will be an awful
way to die,
however,
I must accept this.
It is my destiny.
Nothing can stop the wheels.
my own death.
I was there.
I will be back there.
My life suddenly
nothing.
Just
distant sounds.
The screech of tires,
my body
smashing
against unforgiving steel.
my blood spilling
into silence.
I have seen this
with my very own eyes,
in broad daylight.
400 times.
It will be an awful
way to die,
however,
I must accept this.
It is my destiny.
Nothing can stop the wheels.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
A Life Long Companion
When I was
a midget,
my uncle played me
a song.
This song
made me want to stick
a fork
in my ear
and the other end, the pointy end,
in an electric socket.
It was that horrendous.
My uncle asked me
to guess
what the lyrics were.
I gave in
and listened.
There was no fork in sight.
I replied,
"I wanna die."
He fell over,
hysterical.
Those obviously weren't
the lyrics,
but this memory,
this dip into the past,
made me realize
I have always been
fascinated by death.
The end,
I'm convinced,
has been on my mind
since
I was in the womb.
It's permanently
a part of my genetic code
and there has never been
a desire
to let this fascination
go.
a midget,
my uncle played me
a song.
This song
made me want to stick
a fork
in my ear
and the other end, the pointy end,
in an electric socket.
It was that horrendous.
My uncle asked me
to guess
what the lyrics were.
I gave in
and listened.
There was no fork in sight.
I replied,
"I wanna die."
He fell over,
hysterical.
Those obviously weren't
the lyrics,
but this memory,
this dip into the past,
made me realize
I have always been
fascinated by death.
The end,
I'm convinced,
has been on my mind
since
I was in the womb.
It's permanently
a part of my genetic code
and there has never been
a desire
to let this fascination
go.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
My Words Will Eat Your Soul
My words
are yours.
They are for your
greedy little eyes
to devour.
Do with them
what you will.
Make them
inspire you,
make them
repulse you,
make them
wish you had no eyes.
Doesn't matter to me,
never will,
just as long as you
read them.
Capture a glimpse
into this weird soul.
Let me sink
into your heart,
int your subconcious,
and let my words
eat away
as that happy little voice
inside you
until there is
nothing left.
are yours.
They are for your
greedy little eyes
to devour.
Do with them
what you will.
Make them
inspire you,
make them
repulse you,
make them
wish you had no eyes.
Doesn't matter to me,
never will,
just as long as you
read them.
Capture a glimpse
into this weird soul.
Let me sink
into your heart,
int your subconcious,
and let my words
eat away
as that happy little voice
inside you
until there is
nothing left.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Always Listen to Your Mother
The box
stood before me.
Small and uninviting.
It was the only one
in the world.
It housed
thousands of zombies,
minature ones,
no taller than cats.
They even reproduced.
Outside,
it stood,
in my backyard,
at night and throughout the day
I could hear the sounds
of their repulsive
love making.
They never stopped fucking.
Thousands more
were born each day.
The box
was breaking,
cracks began to form,
hungry eyes began to show.
So,
we had to
expand
the box.
My mother demanded
I
do it.
No bother,
it was my reality,
I accepted it,
just like any child
accepts their parents
and their demands,
and therefore I accepted
the box
and my duty
without question.
I would tend to the zombies,
as I built their newly expanded home,
I'd feed them
pig brains
or whatever else was available,
anything to stop
their hunger,
their pain.
Over the next couple days,
their new home was coming together,
the other
being chewed away.
On the last day,
I was finished,
relief set in
briefly.
Until,
a piece of flesh
was torn off my leg,
I felt nothing but pain
and teeth.
They were out.
I tried to escape,
but as soon as I tried the door,
it was locked.
Mother was outside.
I was trapped.
"Let them
destroy you baby,
before the world destroys
you.
It's much easier this way,
trust me."
These were
the last words
I ever heard.
The zombies
came at me,
devouring my feet,
my hands, my stomach,
my brain.
I watched them eat away.
I did not put up
a fight.
I knew I was the sacrifice.
They could only eat pig brains for so long,
and I had to stop
their hunger,
their pain.
Hell,
we all have to die
sometime,
I didn't mind,
and mother always knows best,
she knows me too well.
I always wanted to be the hero.
This was the only chance
to die
with a smile on my face.
Thank you mother,
I don't know how I would have died
without you.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
To My Muse
My life
is dedicated
to you.
From the moment
I was pulled out of your stomach,
I knew
I was in the hands
of a goddess,
so gracious, elegant, beautiful,
so self-sacrificing.
What I didn't know
was how much love
she would give me
throughout my life
and how she would guide me
through the cruelties
and the tragedies
of the world
and teach me
how to deal with them
all on my own.
She gave me complete freedom.
As a boy,
I could roam
anywhere,
even shit on the lawn
and beat up small children.
Of course,
I was in trouble,
daily,
but my punishment
was just and deserving
and she never demanded much
in return
for her boundless understanding.
She was the perfect mother.
Other men
came and went,
taking advantage of her devotion,
but she would still
give her all
to those who came
next
and she never
put her children
last.
Not much
could break
her strong spirit.
She was my super hero.
She continues
to inspire me
everyday
and I vow
for the rest of my life
to show her
the same devotion
and love
she has always shown me.
I will give her my all.
I will make you proud, Mo,
I promise.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A Chance for Forgiveness
How do you
react?
The person
who just killed
your only brother
walks in
through your door.
He's in front of you,
crying,
forever cursed
by a moment
no one could prevent.
A thought of
VENGEANCE
strikes the mind
and is somehow
forgotten.
There's simply
nothing
anyone can do.
My only reaction
was to
forgive him.
In my heart,
I still do believe
I made the right choice.
There's nothing
I will ever know.
How would you
react?
react?
The person
who just killed
your only brother
walks in
through your door.
He's in front of you,
crying,
forever cursed
by a moment
no one could prevent.
A thought of
VENGEANCE
strikes the mind
and is somehow
forgotten.
There's simply
nothing
anyone can do.
My only reaction
was to
forgive him.
In my heart,
I still do believe
I made the right choice.
There's nothing
I will ever know.
How would you
react?
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The Proposal
Work
kills us.
With every second
we waste our lives
there,
the more meaningless
our lives become
elsewhere.
There must be
another way.
The solution:
Why not let us drink?
Yes,
let us be drunk
and merry at our jobs.
It beats being
pissed off
and on the verge on tears.
The advantages:
production value,
customer service approval,
employee approval,
would all skyrocket
whichever corporation
would be willing to do this.
They could hire
top notch drunks,
fully functional alcoholics
to get the job done.
People would be lining up
to get at job there,
especially me.
This is my proposal
to all corporations
and I am willing sign
any sort of insurance papers
you want me to sign,
just do it
and let us work,
and sit back,
you fat pig,
and watch your filthy money grow.
kills us.
With every second
we waste our lives
there,
the more meaningless
our lives become
elsewhere.
There must be
another way.
The solution:
Why not let us drink?
Yes,
let us be drunk
and merry at our jobs.
It beats being
pissed off
and on the verge on tears.
The advantages:
production value,
customer service approval,
employee approval,
would all skyrocket
whichever corporation
would be willing to do this.
They could hire
top notch drunks,
fully functional alcoholics
to get the job done.
People would be lining up
to get at job there,
especially me.
This is my proposal
to all corporations
and I am willing sign
any sort of insurance papers
you want me to sign,
just do it
and let us work,
and sit back,
you fat pig,
and watch your filthy money grow.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Some Prefer a Tornado
We could hear
the sound of death
coming toward us,
coming
to tear the world
apart.
Beneath our feet
the ground
threatened to open
and swallow our souls.
We held on
for dear life.
The walls
moved
unnaturally
and shook our portraits,
our sanity,
down,
the floor
was an ocean,
moving in waves.
We were drowning in fear.
It went on
and on,
and I thought,
we might have to
live like this
forever.
Then,
silence crept up,
time froze,
the earth was still.
No one died,
no one had a scratch,
we even
cracked a smile,
and began to put the portraits
back up.
Our house was saved.
Some are not so fortunate.
Some are burned alive,
some have their skin ripped off by the wind,
some drown with their children,
some freeze and remain frozen in hell.
We have the grip of death
shaking our homes,
destroying our precious valuables,
but it's ok,
materials mean
nothing
to us
here in sunny California.
We prefer it.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Stick Around A Bit, Will Ya?
She jammed a large
potato peeler
right into her jaw
and worked it up
higher and higher,
trying to reach her brain.
The blood,
he said,
the blood,
pure red
and terrifying.
His dream was about
resurrection.
He was a dolphin
and something or someone
was showing him
exactly what would happen
to his mother,
to his family,
if he pursued
his dream
too quickly.
Hopefully
he recognizes this
and realizes that
the torment he faces
almost everyday
is nothing
compared
to what we will feel
when he is gone.
potato peeler
right into her jaw
and worked it up
higher and higher,
trying to reach her brain.
The blood,
he said,
the blood,
pure red
and terrifying.
His dream was about
resurrection.
He was a dolphin
and something or someone
was showing him
exactly what would happen
to his mother,
to his family,
if he pursued
his dream
too quickly.
Hopefully
he recognizes this
and realizes that
the torment he faces
almost everyday
is nothing
compared
to what we will feel
when he is gone.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Interviews From Bedlam
Have you ever seen human skulls growing out of your skin? Do they talk to you and tell you to eat the entrails of adolescent boys? No? We all know you're lying to yourself. Soon, you'll end up in an insane asylum. It's ok, there's plenty there to keep your psychotic mind occupied. If boredom does happen to set it, there's always pruno or sodomy or scrabble. There's also plenty of civil servants to talk to, which is what I did over some of my own pruno on the coldest of spring nights.
Let's call this civil servant, "Frida." She works for an infamous mental institution, located right in our own backyard. She's worked there for a "good 20 years," as she put it. Don't be fooled by her short brown stature, this single mother of two, is as tough as kevlar and as brave as they come and she can handle the absolute worst. However, Frida hasn't always been such a bad ass. The first month she worked there, she had nightmares every night. With good reason too, she's been hurt on multiple occasions, but this "comes with the territory." She's prepared for almost anything these crazies are capable of. She's just thankful to have a career to support her family. That's more than most can say in these bleak times. One thing she is terrifyied of is being "gassed." Her definition is, "when a patient puts their own feces or urine in a cup and throws it at you." What a pleasant ice breaker.
Another charming aspect of her job is the chance of love. "It's possible," she said over a sip of beer. "Many women have a natural instinct to try and fix men," she continued, "also, they could have trouble at home, either because they're lonely or their husbands neglect them." This can and does happen often. Some have even gotten pregnant. You might not think it could happen to you, but chances are, you'd leave your entire family behind for a schizo stud, who might have killed their own family. I guess love can be found under the most deranged circumstances.
Frida says the madhouse isn't as morbid as the movies portray it to be. There's hope, although only a glimmer here and there. She's met some unforgettable nut jobs. One's she cares for as much as her own friends. "Mr. Dyke" sticks out in her mind especially. It's true, he's killed his own boss's baby in its crib because he thought it was the devil, but does this mean he's an evil person? The lines will always remain unclear, but she does feel sorry for him. She even said, "he's incredibly nice. You wouldn't think anything was wrong with him if you just saw him walking down the street." Looks are decieving. He's still unimaginably crazy. He talks to a floating gizmo and writes children's stories as well. She's even been in one of his. She's also met a patient who's claimed to figure out the cure for AIDS, but the government doesn't want anything to do with him. Such a shame he had to commit such a heinous crime. Who knows what he could've accomplished outside these padded walls?
Yes, she's seen them come and go. "It's a revolving door," she said somberly. Most will be institutionalized for life. It's a disheartening part of life, but someone has to help these whackos. Who else would be will to do this? I most certainly am not and she doesn't reccommend this job to anybody. "You will hate it," she said. Unless, of course, you want to fall in love with someone who has human skulls growing out of their skin and drinks the blood of teenage boys. If that's the case, then welcome home honey. This cup's for you.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
The Million Dollar Question
Am I
good enough
to go to heaven?
I don't know.
I have committed
more sins
than days
I have lived.
I, also,
do not believe
in
christ.
But have I
really
done anything
wrong?
I guess
that's left up to
god
or whoever the fuck else
is controlling
our fate.
Either way,
there's too many other
small tragedies
barreling down upon me,
to worry about
this question,
there's too little time
to even think
about going to church
and asking for
forgiveness.
I'd rather jerk
off,
drink too much,
and
go on living,
committing sins
at my leisure.
Is there anymore questions?
Good.
This interview is over.
Now take you pamplet
and fuck off.
good enough
to go to heaven?
I don't know.
I have committed
more sins
than days
I have lived.
I, also,
do not believe
in
christ.
But have I
really
done anything
wrong?
I guess
that's left up to
god
or whoever the fuck else
is controlling
our fate.
Either way,
there's too many other
small tragedies
barreling down upon me,
to worry about
this question,
there's too little time
to even think
about going to church
and asking for
forgiveness.
I'd rather jerk
off,
drink too much,
and
go on living,
committing sins
at my leisure.
Is there anymore questions?
Good.
This interview is over.
Now take you pamplet
and fuck off.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Pariah Twins
We storm
in the place.
Two twisted perverted
fucks
ready to suck and fuck
your mother
and daughter.
However,
there's usually
not even a whiff
of a tiny piece
of pussy
within miles,
so now
we have to fuck
with you
and your arrogant, goofy ass friends.
99% of the time
we fight,
not because we want to,
because those corny fucks
have no idea
what to do
around us.
We are too much
for them
to take in.
Their only defense
is to try and
put us in coma.
They have come close to succeeding
on many occasions.
We, however,
wore our scars
with pride.
They, not surprisingly,
were left with a confusion
so profound,
they will eventually
passed it on
to their grandchildren.
That's what I call
a mindfuck!
To add insult to your tragedy,
we will even
puke and piss on them
and continue on
will soiled pants and all
as if nothing has happened.
This is a warning!
We are what you're mothers
have warned you about.
We are the Pariah Twins.
Try
and forget us.
Monday, May 28, 2012
Our Desires
I want you
to make love to
someone else.
I want you
to feel their hot flesh
inside you.
I want you
to forget about me.
Completely.
I want you
to tear your heart
away from mine.
I just want you
to go away.
I know
you want
the same.
I can hear it
in your high pitched voice,
when you tell me,
I love you.
I know
You can hear it too.
Listen.
to make love to
someone else.
I want you
to feel their hot flesh
inside you.
I want you
to forget about me.
Completely.
I want you
to tear your heart
away from mine.
I just want you
to go away.
I know
you want
the same.
I can hear it
in your high pitched voice,
when you tell me,
I love you.
I know
You can hear it too.
Listen.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Lions Listen
I can't hear the cries
of my ancestors.
I can feel them
in my bones,
my blood,
my flesh.
But no stories
of their lives,
no wisdom,
no laughter,
no mistakes.
Silence.
This can't continue.
Future generations
will know who I am.
They will know
my flaws,
my victories,
my weird, distorted perspective
of this world.
They will have pages
and pages
of my voice.
They will not be deaf
as I am.
They will know
where they come from.
They will
hear my cries.
of my ancestors.
I can feel them
in my bones,
my blood,
my flesh.
But no stories
of their lives,
no wisdom,
no laughter,
no mistakes.
Silence.
This can't continue.
Future generations
will know who I am.
They will know
my flaws,
my victories,
my weird, distorted perspective
of this world.
They will have pages
and pages
of my voice.
They will not be deaf
as I am.
They will know
where they come from.
They will
hear my cries.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
This Is The Cure
Every winter
she slips into a major
depression.
This has been happening
for eight years.
There is no way for her
to shield herself
from the piercing pain.
Her grief will last
a lifetime.
Every winter
she tries to kill
herself.
This has been happening
for eight years.
Her family
has
tried to convince her
life is worth
living.
Easier said
than done.
She survives,
the heat lifts
her spirits,
but eventually spring ends,
summer melts away,
fall falls out,
and the winter
comes again.
There is no way for her
to avoid
this reoccurring holiday nightmare.
There will always be
that cold, unforgiving breeze
reminding her
of her loss.
She's tried everything
to forget.
Therapy, pills, cutting.
However,
she's not tried
trephination.
It's illegal here
in the states,
Mexico's another story.
I'm even saving
my money now.
It's the only solution
I think
will work.
Soon, she will be
in the desert
with a hole
in her skull.
Then, the doctors
will sow a piece of
thin skin
over it
and send her
on her way.
She might have to wear
a helmet for
a lifetime.
That wouldn't bother anybody,
especially me,
because I want her to live
through every season
in an endless heatwave,
in an endless bliss.
Helmet
and all.
she slips into a major
depression.
This has been happening
for eight years.
There is no way for her
to shield herself
from the piercing pain.
Her grief will last
a lifetime.
Every winter
she tries to kill
herself.
This has been happening
for eight years.
Her family
has
tried to convince her
life is worth
living.
Easier said
than done.
She survives,
the heat lifts
her spirits,
but eventually spring ends,
summer melts away,
fall falls out,
and the winter
comes again.
There is no way for her
to avoid
this reoccurring holiday nightmare.
There will always be
that cold, unforgiving breeze
reminding her
of her loss.
She's tried everything
to forget.
Therapy, pills, cutting.
However,
she's not tried
trephination.
It's illegal here
in the states,
Mexico's another story.
I'm even saving
my money now.
It's the only solution
I think
will work.
Soon, she will be
in the desert
with a hole
in her skull.
Then, the doctors
will sow a piece of
thin skin
over it
and send her
on her way.
She might have to wear
a helmet for
a lifetime.
That wouldn't bother anybody,
especially me,
because I want her to live
through every season
in an endless heatwave,
in an endless bliss.
Helmet
and all.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
The Ghost Stalker
I see her face
in every part of the house.
She's stalking me
like a prowling ghost.
And just like the dead,
she's no longer
here
in the flesh.
There's no more calls,
emails,
or texts.
She's finally
rid of me.
Is this what
I wanted?
Could there have been
another way?
I guess I could have stayed
and continued
our twisted love.
I guess sometimes
things just
don't work out.
She likes fantasy.
We both did,
except our dreams
clashed.
I can't believe in
true love.
That's all she thinks about.
There were times when
I did feel
it.
Then, there were times when
there was only
pain.
Nothing else.
I couldn't stand to hurt
her
anymore.
I couldn't stand
how much
she believed in
true love.
Especially, when
it wasn't
there.
I admit,
I was selfish
and like a fool
will remain so.
I deserve to be alone
forever
with her ghost
forever
stalking me.
in every part of the house.
She's stalking me
like a prowling ghost.
And just like the dead,
she's no longer
here
in the flesh.
There's no more calls,
emails,
or texts.
She's finally
rid of me.
Is this what
I wanted?
Could there have been
another way?
I guess I could have stayed
and continued
our twisted love.
I guess sometimes
things just
don't work out.
She likes fantasy.
We both did,
except our dreams
clashed.
I can't believe in
true love.
That's all she thinks about.
There were times when
I did feel
it.
Then, there were times when
there was only
pain.
Nothing else.
I couldn't stand to hurt
her
anymore.
I couldn't stand
how much
she believed in
true love.
Especially, when
it wasn't
there.
I admit,
I was selfish
and like a fool
will remain so.
I deserve to be alone
forever
with her ghost
forever
stalking me.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
I Miss You Buddy
I woke up
in some random
car.
It was filthy.
Paper and trash
everywhere.
I decided to clean up.
After a couple of minutes,
My friend, Burnside,
arrives
with some of his friends.
They were in shock
to find me doing some
spring cleaning,
watching as their trash
and personal belongings
fly out the window.
"Ray,"
Burnside yelled,
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I didn't answer.
Instead,
I stumbled out
and gave them all
a hug.
"Let's go!"
Not sure where it came from,
but we got in the cab
and they
pushed me up front.
Of course,
I threw up.
Nobody knew it
at the time,
but when we got out,
they could see streaks
of vomit
on my shirt
and pants.
I laughed.
They looked at me
with disgust.
When we got back
to the house,
I changed
and they offered me
some lines.
I accepted
and immediately felt
a bolt of lightning
charging through my veins.
I was ready to party.
"What's wrong with you?"
They asked.
I didn't respond,
just sniffed away.
That's when everyone
left
including my good friend.
That's the last time
I saw him.
It might be
the last time
I ever see him
again.
I don't mind,
we had our run
and man,
we sure did go out
on top,
or at least
I did.
Either way,
I miss you buddy.
in some random
car.
It was filthy.
Paper and trash
everywhere.
I decided to clean up.
After a couple of minutes,
My friend, Burnside,
arrives
with some of his friends.
They were in shock
to find me doing some
spring cleaning,
watching as their trash
and personal belongings
fly out the window.
"Ray,"
Burnside yelled,
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I didn't answer.
Instead,
I stumbled out
and gave them all
a hug.
"Let's go!"
Not sure where it came from,
but we got in the cab
and they
pushed me up front.
Of course,
I threw up.
Nobody knew it
at the time,
but when we got out,
they could see streaks
of vomit
on my shirt
and pants.
I laughed.
They looked at me
with disgust.
When we got back
to the house,
I changed
and they offered me
some lines.
I accepted
and immediately felt
a bolt of lightning
charging through my veins.
I was ready to party.
"What's wrong with you?"
They asked.
I didn't respond,
just sniffed away.
That's when everyone
left
including my good friend.
That's the last time
I saw him.
It might be
the last time
I ever see him
again.
I don't mind,
we had our run
and man,
we sure did go out
on top,
or at least
I did.
Either way,
I miss you buddy.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Impossibilities
It's impossible
to please everyone.
They will crush
your heart,
your creativity,
just because
they know they can.
You see,
sometimes,
everything doesn't go their way,
that's when they see
you're sensitive,
they see
your every weakness
and attack,
relentlessly,
completely fuck
your dreams
in the ass
during the worst
of your depressions.
It's all simple
You see,
you don't fit
their mold,
maybe
you never have.
What you consider
practice
and a honing
of your craft,
working on it
everyday waking second
of your life,
they consider uncool
and lame
and stupid.
Ah yes,
but
that was never the point
to you.
You never were
TRYING
to get anyone's approval,
there's no need for you to
CONSTANTLY
seek approval,
you see,
can't you fucking see,
it's impossible
to live up to their
expectations.
Impossible.
All you ever
wanted to do
was dream,
maybe one day
you can
be someone,
you can
do something,
maybe even
be proud of yourself,
maybe for once
you can forget
about working shitty jobs
you can forget
that you are just scribbling on paper,
writing useless poems or ideas,
but it's impossible.
Fucking impossible.
Even the ones you love
will eat your dreams.
I mean
just fucking put them
on the frying pan
and burn 'em
and put 'em down their throats
whole
and shit 'em out
and flush 'em away.
They didn't even bother
wiping away
the crumbs,
they left them there
and went on with their merry way
as if nothing has happened.
I guess nothing
has happened,
it's just another speed bump
among the forever expanding
labyrinth
of bumps in life
or at least,
this it what
you tell yourself.
You try and forget about it
and move on,
but for once
it bothers you, it bothers the complete fuck out of you,
and you thought it was impossible.
You were
ACTUALLY
seeking their approval.
They didn't care,
they went on
sounding cool and
being cool
and fucking everything
cool,
pointing out everything
that sucks
and making everyone else
join them,
altogether saying
look at this shit,
fucker aint like us,
shit
he's a tool,
a faggot.
You shake your head and realize
It was impossible
to seek their approval
from the beginning,
you remember
that's how it all started,
that's what inspired you
in the first place,
it's what gives you
inspiration now,
to continue to push the boundaries,
continue to fuck with their heads,
to never be cool
to forever be lame
and misunderstood,
to forever
live your life
the way
you want to
through all of these
impossibilities,
and to forever forgive
and love those,
who inspire you
and to forever
thank them
because without them,
you might not ever
be true
to yourself.
Can't you hear me?!!!
Forever be true to yourself,
do whatever the fuck you want,
no matter how weird
or lame,
and don't worry about
pleasing them,
that's impossible.
How many times
do i have to say it?
It's fucking impossible!!!!!!!!!
It's goddamn fucking IMPOSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!
to please everyone.
They will crush
your heart,
your creativity,
just because
they know they can.
You see,
sometimes,
everything doesn't go their way,
that's when they see
you're sensitive,
they see
your every weakness
and attack,
relentlessly,
completely fuck
your dreams
in the ass
during the worst
of your depressions.
It's all simple
You see,
you don't fit
their mold,
maybe
you never have.
What you consider
practice
and a honing
of your craft,
working on it
everyday waking second
of your life,
they consider uncool
and lame
and stupid.
Ah yes,
but
that was never the point
to you.
You never were
TRYING
to get anyone's approval,
there's no need for you to
CONSTANTLY
seek approval,
you see,
can't you fucking see,
it's impossible
to live up to their
expectations.
Impossible.
All you ever
wanted to do
was dream,
maybe one day
you can
be someone,
you can
do something,
maybe even
be proud of yourself,
maybe for once
you can forget
about working shitty jobs
you can forget
that you are just scribbling on paper,
writing useless poems or ideas,
but it's impossible.
Fucking impossible.
Even the ones you love
will eat your dreams.
I mean
just fucking put them
on the frying pan
and burn 'em
and put 'em down their throats
whole
and shit 'em out
and flush 'em away.
They didn't even bother
wiping away
the crumbs,
they left them there
and went on with their merry way
as if nothing has happened.
I guess nothing
has happened,
it's just another speed bump
among the forever expanding
labyrinth
of bumps in life
or at least,
this it what
you tell yourself.
You try and forget about it
and move on,
but for once
it bothers you, it bothers the complete fuck out of you,
and you thought it was impossible.
You were
ACTUALLY
seeking their approval.
They didn't care,
they went on
sounding cool and
being cool
and fucking everything
cool,
pointing out everything
that sucks
and making everyone else
join them,
altogether saying
look at this shit,
fucker aint like us,
shit
he's a tool,
a faggot.
You shake your head and realize
It was impossible
to seek their approval
from the beginning,
you remember
that's how it all started,
that's what inspired you
in the first place,
it's what gives you
inspiration now,
to continue to push the boundaries,
continue to fuck with their heads,
to never be cool
to forever be lame
and misunderstood,
to forever
live your life
the way
you want to
through all of these
impossibilities,
and to forever forgive
and love those,
who inspire you
and to forever
thank them
because without them,
you might not ever
be true
to yourself.
Can't you hear me?!!!
Forever be true to yourself,
do whatever the fuck you want,
no matter how weird
or lame,
and don't worry about
pleasing them,
that's impossible.
How many times
do i have to say it?
It's fucking impossible!!!!!!!!!
It's goddamn fucking IMPOSSIBLE!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, March 22, 2012
There Are Better Options
Suicide.
I guess this is what I wanted.
The cowardly way out
took some effort.
I had to kill
cat after cat after cat after cat
and sodomize some of the elderly.
I was considered
unfit.
Suicide,
sure,
my punishment,
as they called it.
Coffin torture,
to be exact
They came into my home,
dragged my naked body into the street,
shoved me in a metal coffin,
and hung me out
to die.
It's here I have remained,
scared shitless
and pathetic,
but getting the inevitable
done.
There are some
factors
I didn't consider.
Humiliation is a constant occurrence.
Little kids
throw rocks at me
and stab my dick
with lil pointy sticks.
Full grown adults
spit on me
and lift up their dogs,
so they can chew on my flesh.
I guess it gives me
a bit of entertainment
till I meet my demise.
For 40 days,
wait only 40 days?
They have been loving my death.
They wish I could be tortured
forever.
Hell, I wish I could too.
It beats
paying bills,
washing my hair,
and listening to you
and your stupid shit.
Being stuck here
has, in fact, been a blessing,
it gives me time to watch humanity
turn into filth.
It makes me wonder,
How people can live with themselves?
How long can they go on like this?
One day,
they'll all wish to be in here,
they'll all wish for suicide.
I'm going to yell at them,
"Get over it people!!!!
Life is short!!!!!
Too short!!!!
Wake up
or die with me!!!!"
Stab, stab,
spit, spit.
Oh well,
it's useless,
I doubt they will ever hear me.
Time for me to go.
I hope the dead
have something better to offer
than all of you.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
No Brain, No Problem
Jesus and I
Had a penis transplant.
His cock is impressive
And now ladies,
It’s holiness is all mine.
My mammoth meat
Is so soft,
So pleasurable,
I love to stroke it
Day and night,
And in my dreams,
I grab it for protection,
Ready to piss out
Liquid lords
At any heretic
Threatening my sleep
With blasphemous nightmares.
Awake,
I’m always ready to spread
My seed.
I’m willing to give thousands of women
Babies,
I’ll fuck you
Raw,
Even if you have a disease.
My blessed meat slug is invincible,
Almost.
I remain disease free,
But just like with any other prick,
There’s problems.
I can’t get it up.
It takes too much blood
To erect
And I start to faint
When its fully stacked.
It sucks all my energy away,
But that never bothered me.
I have faith.
However, it does bother the ladies.
It’s just too damn big.
The power of Christ does not compel them.
No worries,
I have a secret weapon,
My slithering tongue,
Which of course
Used to belong
to the devil.
Now ladies,
It’s wickedness is all mine.
My clit massager
Is so fast,
So pleasurable,
And I will never get tired,
I can work it
Day and night,
And in your dreams,
You will feel nothing,
But heat and passion.
The only thing women
Might dread
Is my excessive use of
Obscenities and verbal abuse
Directed towards them.
These problems
Are none
Of my concern.
My soul be damned
Or blessed?
Both,
For all I care.
I have the best
Of both worlds
And I can make
ANY
Woman cum
With the flick of my tongue
Or a quick pump.
The only thing
I think I’m missing
Is a brain.
I don’t know what’s wrong,
I start searching for one,
But somehow always get distracted
With pussy.
I can’t help it
That’s just who I’ve become,
It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,
An undeniable sex machine.
Fuck it.
I don’t need a brain.
No one ever has.
Let me repeat,
No one ever has.
Praise be the Lord.
Hail Satan.
Had a penis transplant.
His cock is impressive
And now ladies,
It’s holiness is all mine.
My mammoth meat
Is so soft,
So pleasurable,
I love to stroke it
Day and night,
And in my dreams,
I grab it for protection,
Ready to piss out
Liquid lords
At any heretic
Threatening my sleep
With blasphemous nightmares.
Awake,
I’m always ready to spread
My seed.
I’m willing to give thousands of women
Babies,
I’ll fuck you
Raw,
Even if you have a disease.
My blessed meat slug is invincible,
Almost.
I remain disease free,
But just like with any other prick,
There’s problems.
I can’t get it up.
It takes too much blood
To erect
And I start to faint
When its fully stacked.
It sucks all my energy away,
But that never bothered me.
I have faith.
However, it does bother the ladies.
It’s just too damn big.
The power of Christ does not compel them.
No worries,
I have a secret weapon,
My slithering tongue,
Which of course
Used to belong
to the devil.
Now ladies,
It’s wickedness is all mine.
My clit massager
Is so fast,
So pleasurable,
And I will never get tired,
I can work it
Day and night,
And in your dreams,
You will feel nothing,
But heat and passion.
The only thing women
Might dread
Is my excessive use of
Obscenities and verbal abuse
Directed towards them.
These problems
Are none
Of my concern.
My soul be damned
Or blessed?
Both,
For all I care.
I have the best
Of both worlds
And I can make
ANY
Woman cum
With the flick of my tongue
Or a quick pump.
The only thing
I think I’m missing
Is a brain.
I don’t know what’s wrong,
I start searching for one,
But somehow always get distracted
With pussy.
I can’t help it
That’s just who I’ve become,
It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,
An undeniable sex machine.
Fuck it.
I don’t need a brain.
No one ever has.
Let me repeat,
No one ever has.
Praise be the Lord.
Hail Satan.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
They're Still Around
Hatred shined bright
in the California sun.
I could see it in his blue eyes,
I could smell it on his breath.
You fucking beaner,
stammered out of his chapped lips.
I couldn't hear him,
my ears were stuffed
with the serenity of music.
I only smiled.
He expected me to respond with the same hatred
that's been gnawing on his soul
since he can remember.
I didn't give him the satisfaction,
just strolled right past him,
leaving him ashamed of his own ancestral blood
boiling inside him.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Leave Me Buried
The doorbell rang.
I went to answer,
Expecting a midget selling cookies.
To my surprise,
I saw Death
As clear as day.
She had tan skin,
Which I thought was weird,
And it was wrapped around
A curvaceous body
With gorgeous dark brown hair to match.
She was wearing tights,
A floral blouse,
High heels,
And more makeup
than a flood could wash away.
Her scent,
A secret wonderland
And my blood shot eyes
Could not see her scythe,
It was hidden,
Probably in her purse.
I opened the door.
Whoo!
She looked good,
Fuckable good.
However, not one word was spoken,
She just walked right in,
Unpacked,
Took off her clothes,
And stayed in my bed.
I hopped right in with her
With an erection
Harder than Pluto.
She didn’t even sniff it.
She did nothing,
But sleep and smoke cigarettes
And wait…
She had patience.
Plenty of it.
Soon, I was sucked into her abyss
Of love.
I had no recollection
Of how I got trapped,
But there I was,
Right where she wanted
To leave me,
Not before one final kiss,
The kiss goodbye,
The kiss of death.
I’ve been rotting
Ever since.
No soul, no life, no money.
An empty wreck.
Her plan perfected.
She has moved on
To another man
Obsessed with good looks,
Desperate enough
To live with a woman
Who hides her scythe
In her purse.
I’ve moved on too.
Have fun with her.
Leave me alone,
Please leave me buried,
Forever resting in a casket,
Forever away from her.
I went to answer,
Expecting a midget selling cookies.
To my surprise,
I saw Death
As clear as day.
She had tan skin,
Which I thought was weird,
And it was wrapped around
A curvaceous body
With gorgeous dark brown hair to match.
She was wearing tights,
A floral blouse,
High heels,
And more makeup
than a flood could wash away.
Her scent,
A secret wonderland
And my blood shot eyes
Could not see her scythe,
It was hidden,
Probably in her purse.
I opened the door.
Whoo!
She looked good,
Fuckable good.
However, not one word was spoken,
She just walked right in,
Unpacked,
Took off her clothes,
And stayed in my bed.
I hopped right in with her
With an erection
Harder than Pluto.
She didn’t even sniff it.
She did nothing,
But sleep and smoke cigarettes
And wait…
She had patience.
Plenty of it.
Soon, I was sucked into her abyss
Of love.
I had no recollection
Of how I got trapped,
But there I was,
Right where she wanted
To leave me,
Not before one final kiss,
The kiss goodbye,
The kiss of death.
I’ve been rotting
Ever since.
No soul, no life, no money.
An empty wreck.
Her plan perfected.
She has moved on
To another man
Obsessed with good looks,
Desperate enough
To live with a woman
Who hides her scythe
In her purse.
I’ve moved on too.
Have fun with her.
Leave me alone,
Please leave me buried,
Forever resting in a casket,
Forever away from her.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Thanks for the Push
I have weaknesses
all around,
most
beyond my control,
constantly
growing in strength.
Others
get in on the action.
Thirsty for my insercurities.
Abandoned
and hopeless,
my mind gives in
to their will.
With time,
I am full
of fear
and agony,
unable to eat,
to breathe,
to live.
A hollow shell of misery
is where I reside,
waiting
to shatter.
One more mistake
is all
I need.
One more failure
is all
it will take.
One more step
I'll be off the cliff,
descending into the forgotten,
falling to pieces,
the way so many others
have done.
The way
they have been pushing me
since their birth.
all around,
most
beyond my control,
constantly
growing in strength.
Others
get in on the action.
Thirsty for my insercurities.
Abandoned
and hopeless,
my mind gives in
to their will.
With time,
I am full
of fear
and agony,
unable to eat,
to breathe,
to live.
A hollow shell of misery
is where I reside,
waiting
to shatter.
One more mistake
is all
I need.
One more failure
is all
it will take.
One more step
I'll be off the cliff,
descending into the forgotten,
falling to pieces,
the way so many others
have done.
The way
they have been pushing me
since their birth.
Friday, January 27, 2012
Fireworks
Independence breeds pure stupidity
and drunkeness.
The smoke in the air
is billowing with anger.
The result
of this celebration,
is a man
kicking sand
into a child's face.
He inhales,
sand enters his lungs,
takes his last breath away.
The last glimpse of life
is the greatest sunset,
everlasting,
diminishing
before heavy eyelids.
His tragedy is marked
by explosions.
The signal
of death's arrival.
The last memories
of an unfulfilled life.
and drunkeness.
The smoke in the air
is billowing with anger.
The result
of this celebration,
is a man
kicking sand
into a child's face.
He inhales,
sand enters his lungs,
takes his last breath away.
The last glimpse of life
is the greatest sunset,
everlasting,
diminishing
before heavy eyelids.
His tragedy is marked
by explosions.
The signal
of death's arrival.
The last memories
of an unfulfilled life.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Cease Your Expectations
My ending
wasn't so bad.
A violent,
yet peaceful closure
for a cursed,
yet wonderful life.
The afterlife
is another story.
There's no happiness,
no sadness,
no laughter,
no anger,
no love,
no life,
nothing.
I'm just
a wandering soul,
drifting through
continuing lives,
watching
and waiting for an
eternal slumber
that might not ever come.
They
were all wrong.
I have long since
doubted
the presence of heaven,
of hell,
anywhere I can be held
as a prisoner
for an eternity.
Now
it's my reality.
Perhaps,
I'm contiuously searching
for a new life,
a new way back
to the living.
Perhaps,
I'll never make it.
My soul
will continue to drift
and search
until I meet the begginning
because
there is no end,
no eternal slumber,
and for all those years
I believed there was,
I wasted.
I should have lived in the moment,
instead of constantly worrying
about my future.
I should have,
I should have,
I should have...
forever
ceased my expectations.
wasn't so bad.
A violent,
yet peaceful closure
for a cursed,
yet wonderful life.
The afterlife
is another story.
There's no happiness,
no sadness,
no laughter,
no anger,
no love,
no life,
nothing.
I'm just
a wandering soul,
drifting through
continuing lives,
watching
and waiting for an
eternal slumber
that might not ever come.
They
were all wrong.
I have long since
doubted
the presence of heaven,
of hell,
anywhere I can be held
as a prisoner
for an eternity.
Now
it's my reality.
Perhaps,
I'm contiuously searching
for a new life,
a new way back
to the living.
Perhaps,
I'll never make it.
My soul
will continue to drift
and search
until I meet the begginning
because
there is no end,
no eternal slumber,
and for all those years
I believed there was,
I wasted.
I should have lived in the moment,
instead of constantly worrying
about my future.
I should have,
I should have,
I should have...
forever
ceased my expectations.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Execution
The plan
was laid out
in a manner
of seconds.
There was no loopholes,
no escape.
It was perfect
through and through.
The perfect plot
for a murder.
I was going to kill him.
My hallucinatory mind
was set on it.
He was a dead man
trying
to mock the living.
His words,
his actions,
his presence
managed to irritate me
this much.
I felt,
in between
the toilet growing
and my skin melting,
the overwhelming urge
to strangle the life out of him
and bury him
in the woods.
He had to suffer.
He had to die.
I was his
executioner.
was laid out
in a manner
of seconds.
There was no loopholes,
no escape.
It was perfect
through and through.
The perfect plot
for a murder.
I was going to kill him.
My hallucinatory mind
was set on it.
He was a dead man
trying
to mock the living.
His words,
his actions,
his presence
managed to irritate me
this much.
I felt,
in between
the toilet growing
and my skin melting,
the overwhelming urge
to strangle the life out of him
and bury him
in the woods.
He had to suffer.
He had to die.
I was his
executioner.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
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