ER Talk

They're barbecuing my grandpa's eyeball.

What?

He was squirting blood
everywhere,
so they have to burn it
to stop the bleeding.

I have methadone
if he wants some.

I'll ask him,
why are you here?

My teeth are falling out.
They hurt so fucking bad.

Maybe it's you
who needs methadone.

I took a vicodin
and I have a valium
when that wears out.

You're all set,
I guess.

Yeah, but it still
hurts.

You have insurance?

Yes,
but not dental.

Say goodbye to your teeth.

Jessie,
is Jessie here?

Right here.
Listen man,
nice talking to you.
If you need any
weed or meth or methadone,
let me know.

Sure dude,
thanks.

Take care.

You too.

On the Side of the Road

Here's the keys.

You can have them.

You can
control
my life.

I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of hearing that
you know
what's best
for me,
I'm tired of hearing that
you know
the right
answer.

Have the fucking keys.

Shut the fuck up
and drive.

Things will be
a lot
easier.

Keep driving
until you find
someone else
you can
control
and leave me
on the side of the road.

Where I belong.

Eliminating Darkness

The sun didn't rise today.

It forgot about us.

The darkness didn't.

It's
addicted
to us.

It wants our souls.

To eat our
precious
happiness
alive.

To suck up
our smiles
and spit
back out
waste.

To make us
believe
the sun
will never
rise
again.

But it will take
a millennia of shadows
to stop us.

We are indestructible.

We
have the power
to destroy
the darkness.

To shit
on its face
and remove it
from the sky.

We don't even
have to try.

We'll just breathe
and the wind from
our
breath
will do
the rest.

The sun will rise.

Simple as that.

The End of The Road

Somewhere
someone's
searching.

For love,
for a fight,
for peace,
for a father,
for nothing,
numbness.

I'm searching too.

I'm lost
in a maze
of my own
clouded
judgement.

It feels as if
I know everything,
but I know
I know
nothing.

Nothing.

That's what I should be
searching for.

It's so easy.

It's time to give up.

Call in the bloodhounds.

The search is over.

It's time to appreciate
the smallest, greatest
wonder
in the world:
LIFE.

Just An Idea

She's the nicest
racist
I've ever met.

She once gave me
20 bucks,
with tears
in her eyes
just because
I was
working hard.

That same night,
she was talking to me about how
a black girl
got in front of her
and blocked her view
at a concert
20 years ago.

She's still
holding a grudge.

Still.

Seems
ridiculous
to me.

But,
there's no judgement
here.

She's taught me
invaluable lessons
like how to enjoy
where you're at
instead of
being miserable.

Now,
partly because of her,
I have fun
at work.

I never thought
I'd every say that
and I've got
the nicest racist
I've ever met
to thank for this.

Who knows
where
my next life lesson
might come from?

Maybe a blind albino
might
teach me how to
bird watch
and the miracle behind their
flight.

Maybe...

I just have to be
open
to it.

Maybe you should
too...

It beats keeping yourself
in a
self loathing
misery camp.

Just an idea.

Peace For All

Entering
her vagina
is like
entering
into the gates
of heaven.

Angels
strum on harps,
the sun
shines
eternally,
pure bliss
enters
my scrotum.

When I'm done,
I cum
on the angels
and
the clouds
and
soak them
with love.

I want her heaven
to get
pregnant.

I want her
to have
thousands
of heavens.

Just so
everyone
can experience
the same
ecstasy
I get to
experience
for a couple of
minutes,
or maybe
just a minute,
each and
every day.

Describing You?

Never fear being
out-casted.

Never fear being
different.

Be as weird
as you can be.

So strange,
you scare
the shit
out of them.

Soon,
they'll have no idea
how to deal
with you,
let alone their
misconstrued
judgments
of you.

They will do
everything
in their power
to make you
conform.

It's preposterous.

Don't give in.

Let them suffer.

Let yourself soar.

It's the only way
to live.

Try another way.

I dare you.

You will fail.

Listen to me,
listen clearly,
it's better to be
humiliated,
than it is
to actually
be
one
of these
terrified
addlepates.

Look it up.

Earwig Eggs

It's happening.

Depression crept into
her crib.

Disguised as an earwig,
it crawled into her
brain.

There,
it laid its eggs.

18 years later,
they are now
hatching.

Blossoming madness.

Eating away
her happiness.

I took her
to the hospital
last night.

We laughed
and played around
just like
when I used to
babysit her.

But,
I could
feel
them.

I could actually
see them
behind her eyes.

Feasting.

There's still time
to get them
out.

I have hydrogen peroxide.

I am ready.

I will burn those
fuckers out.

I'd rather see her
go blind,
then see her
go mad.

I'll have to do
it
in her sleep.

But there isn't
much
I can do
now.

Another egg has just
hatched.

Changing Faces

I bet you
she's tired
of the faces.

But
she doesn't
show it.

Everyday
she watches
as the couples
come in.

They're in love,
completely in love,
overwhelmed with its
intoxication.

She imagines them
contorting in
temporary ecstasy
behind thin walls,
behind thinner lies.

The faces change.

Drunk with misery
and jealousy,
eyes glossed over,
slurred remarks
of delusional memories.

The faces turn
their ugliest.

The mask of love
removed.

The couples leave,
sometimes together,
back behind their thin walls,
their thinnest lies.

She closes up,
tired,
only to go back
to her own
misery.

She returns
the next day
to do it over
again.

I bet you
she's tired
of the faces.

But,
she's a pro.

I've never seen her
show it.

The Dying Dream

There's a constant
threat
of murder
in my sleep.

An unknown evil
that lurks
inside me.

It's hands
strangle me
when I dream.

I don't mind.

I'd rather
perish
in my sleep,
fuck
getting sawed in half.

But,
please don't kill me
when I'm dreaming
of work.

I can see my afterlife:
Me
in lingerie,
sticking hypodermic needles
in my veins,
filling them with
scolding hot oil,
feeling it
as it runs
through my body
and come out
of my
cock,
ass, mouth, nose,
and eyes.

Customers yelling at me,
telling me
they want to see
the manager
and tell him how
unsatisfactory
my customer service skills are.

Still I try to help,
but the pain is so
excruciating
I can barely
move,
I just stand there
watching myself
die
this morbid
death.

Then,
the manager finally comes
and tells me
I'm fired.

But I can't leave.

My feet have melted
to the ground
and I begin to
defecate
and urinate
all over myself.

The dream never dies.

Neither do I.

On second thought,
wake me up
and saw me
in half.

The Way

We asked him
to take us
to a nice bar,
one where
there'd be
loose women
and strong drinks.

He knew the perfect place.

He dropped us off
and sped off
with our money
in hand.

We walked in,
the place looked
decent
enough.

There were
women
in there,
it just so happened
they all had
dicks.

We were very
fortunate though,
the drinks were
strong,
so we stayed
and very seldom
used the bathroom.

But we ended up
having a blast
there.

Hell,
I'd live there
and give a few
handjobs,
here and there,
I'd even
dress up
and parade and puke
around the bar.

I guess I'd live
anywhere
there wasn't much
drama
around.

Just me and the boys
drinking,
laughing,
not giving a fuck
about tomorrow
or whether or not
we're catering
to someone else's
expectations.

The way
it should
always
be.

Lost Dreams of Rain

I remember the
north.

The first time.

I remember hearing suicide
rates
and how unbelievably
high
they were.

They still are.

Though,
I had my doubts.

Sunshine wasn't
that
good.

Until,
depression replaced its
rays.

Heavier than oceans.

Upon my precious skull.

The rain
kept it
there
for 90 days
straight.

Fucking 90 fucking days.

I got used to
the darkness.

My heart
held it
close,
stitching it
inside
itself
and feeding it
life.

When the sun
finally
broke through,
I wanted it
covered
and hidden away
from my darkness.

It's rays made me
depressed.

I
no longer
longed
for its comfort.

And now,
I dream of rain
washing my soul,
drowning my
illusions.

And now,
I know
I will never
taste its
purity
again.

The stitches are
sorely
coming
undone.