Purification

They're so perfect.

So shiny.

So good.

This is
exactly
what we want.

Perfection.

We want nice, large,
tasty
apples.

We don't care
how
they're grown.

We don't care
how
they got there.

We just expect them
to look
perfect.

We are obsessed
with perfect.

It's killing us.

This need.

Manufacturers
love our imperfect need
for perfection.

They've even developed
a seed
that kills
not just insects,
but everything
you find ugly
inside
you.

So perfect.

We need this
in every part
of our lives.

In our children,
in our selves,
in our food.

Doesn't matter
if we feed our souls
poison
in the process.

The sad thing is
we don't even
realize
we are doing this.

We are killing
ourselves
for looks
based on a false
perception.

It's time
to burn
the fields.

It's time
to burn
our lies.

It's time
to turn
this world
ugly.

The way it was meant to be.

Time for a Check up

He told me

to cough.

I did.

I felt his caress.

Cough again, please.

I did.

It was all 

very 

awkward.

I can't imagine 

leading 

this kind of life.

Going home after

touching stranger's balls

all day

and cooking dinner

with those same

hands

and feeding meals 

to your wife and kids.

I always wondered

if he got 

some sort of 

kick 

out of it.

Sometimes a lil too much.

Nobody would really know.

It's all very creepy,

but this is the world

we live in.

It's so full

of cancer

and balls.

We need these weirdos.

I mean,

professionals.

Putting Out the Fire

He set himself on fire.

No one
lifted a finger.

They turned
deaf
to his screams.

They turned
blind
to his melting flesh.

No one
really
knew
what to do.

What can you do
when someone is
killing themselves
in front of
you?

Huh?

I sure as fuck don't know.

I woke up
before I could
find out what
I
did.

What would
you
do?

Piss on him?

A Moat for the Burning Planet

I stared at the emptiness.

My eyes
kept going.

Deeper into the void.

All vanished.

The rocks,
the sand,
the insects,
life
turned
white.

I was alone
in the middle of
nowhere.

This where
I found
my peace.

This is where
I stay
when the world's
on fire.

Turning Towards the Sun

It's so hard for us
to say,
we're proud of you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
We love you.

It's so hard for us
to say,
thanks
or sorry
sincerely.

Why?

We don't need
to hide.

We don't need
to be proud.

What we need
is to
speak up.

We need
to show
our appreciation.

For each other.

For our lives.

For ourselves.

This family needs
to wake up
from this gloomy slumber.

This family needs
to step out
into the light
and forever
turn our backs
from this darkness.

We Need Nothing Else

We don't know how to love.

We were never taught.

Our parents were never taught.

No one they every knew
were ever taught.

It's all a travesty.

We need to begin
to study
and read
and experience
and apply
and give
into LOVE.

No more hating women
because of their
insane mood swings
or men
because of their
sheer stupidity.

No.

Love them unconditionally.

Love their mistakes,
their flaws,
their lies,
their everything,
till is feels as though
that is all
you are doing.

Just love.

Love the person
that just cut you off,
love the eyes
of a murder,
love the rude customer
you just helped,
love the butterfly
that just kissed your balls.

Love,
it's the greatest gift,
feeling,
treasure
in the world.

We need nothing else.

True Potential

It starts
when we begin
to understand.

We are limited.

Even among
the tiniest
of pleasures.

Stop that.
Don't do that.
Cut that out.
Shut up.
Quit it.

Yes, at first,
we put up a fight,
but eventually,
we give in.

We listen.
We obey.
We follow.
We stop
being ourselves.

We continue this
obedience
until we have
a stroke.

It's a stroke
of luck.

It's our chance
to start over.

Yet, once again,
they try and stop us.

We begin to understand
again.

We lose our ourselves
again.

We pass it on
to our children.

We are all to blame
for this
mistake.

But it's not too late.

We can begin
again
to understand,
there's a different way.

Only then
can we accept
our true
potential.

The Dying Flower

She knows
she is wrong.

She knows
all these thoughts are
killing herself.

She's stabbing
her own heart
with her own words.

She's doing it everyday.

She sees
her blood,
she touches it,
plays with it,
drinks it.

Yet keeps on.

There is no stopping her.

She's grown to love
her torture.

Like a flower
needs sunshine,
she needs
her twisted thoughts.

She'll keep the blood
flowing
till she's dry,
then one bright day
she'll wither away.

Her once beautiful life
brittle
and being swept away
by a gentle wind.

This Dream is Real

They were inanimate.

They'd just lay around the house
and were only useful
when we'd physically
touch them.

I decided
they were
boring.

They needed life.

They needed a personality.

I could give it to them.

The cheese in the fridge
had mold.

I ordered it
to cut the mold
out.

It woke up
and did exactly that.

I focused on my stereo.

It came on
and played some soft
metal music.

It smiled
as the tunes
grew louder.

Before I knew it,
the whole house was
alive.

It was breathing
and dancing
and following my every
order.

This was,
of course,
my dream.

But this could be
our reality.

Our minds
possess
this power.

We are too dumb
to believe
this.

Not me.

Just look at my pen.

It wrote this
entire poem
without me
lifting
a finger.

Believe me.

This dream is real.

Childhood Dreams

I've been dreaming
of her
since I was a boy.

I'd imagine her
cooking me food,
naked.

I'd create fantasies of her
licking my balls
and massaging my back
after a hard day's work.

When I would get up,
I'd cry
and listen to
sad songs because
some young slut
broke my heart.

I'd wipe the tears away
and listen for hours
and wait.

She was getting closer.

I could feel her
on my back
and balls.

Every step of my life.

I knew
I was with her
this past weekend.

We've been together now
for three years.

We've gone through
many, many
sad times
and bad times
and some of the best moments
of our lives.

Together.

This time,
we were in
San Francisco,
staying in a cheap
motel room,
right above a cheap
strip club.

She cried,
just like I dreamed
when I was a boy.

I put my arms around her
exactly
like I remembered I would.

She was the woman
of my dreams.

I smiled
and it seemed like
an odd time to do so.

She just didn't know.

I knew.

I could see
the future
just like
when I was young.

We fought again,
but I didn't seem to mind
as much as I
used to.

I knew that every fight
we've fought,
has brought us closer
to our dream:

Our marriage.

It's all I've ever
dreamed about
since I was listening to those
sad, sad songs.

A Jolt of Terror

You know
it's funny when
looking out
of a window
of a plane
and the jet moves
violently
and without warning.

A jolt of terror
runs throughout
my body.

Only
for a brief moment.

Then,
the laughter comes.

A myriad
of giggles
and snorts.

If the planes
does
go down,
that's all there is.

Goodnight.

This doesn't necessarily
have
to happen
on a plane
either.

This
crash and burn
could happen
anywhere.

Anytime.

I would still
have the same
response.

What else could I do?

Pit of Cancer

Our generation is
deteriorating.

We are
consumed
with others.

We are
obsessed
with their
lives.

Well our lives
are spiraling
out of control.

It makes no sense.

We can't even
focus
on ourselves
without
comparing
to another.

Who cares about them?

They've never helped
you
in any way,
shape, or
form.

They've done
the exact
opposite.

For once
in your precious life
put down your phone,
turn off your tv,
unplug everything.

Enjoy yourself.

Enjoy your surroundings.

You are so
very goddamn
blessed
in every way
imaginable.

Figure it out.

The way
you are
living
is awful.

You are giving
yourself
cancer.

Get it?

Cancer, disease, illness,
insanity.

You
are doing
this
all
to yourself.

Stop.

Just stop.

Have I lost you
again?

Are you distracted
by another
advertisement?

She's not even real
and that pill
won't save you.