Poop Nips

Saved by the bell
is not a
tv show.

It's how they used
to tell
if a person
was dead.

The doctors
would tie
a piece of string
to the patients's toes
and the other end
to a bell.

If the bell
stopped
ringing,
and they did not
feel a
pulse,
the patient
was pronounced dead.

Very primitive.

As a result,
a few
were buried
alive.

This
will not happen
to me.

Everyone
will know
when I'm dead.

First,
I will let out
a huge
wet fart.

Then,
I'll shit out
a nipple.

The doctor
will hold the nipple
up
and my family
will start crying.

They'll eventually
bronze it
and hand it over
to my grandchildren,
to remind them
that life
is fucking strange,
especially their grandfather's.

Possibilities

There was
nothing
in our heads.

It was clean and open.

Then,
came our
parents.

They sat us
in front of the tv
while they
tried
to forget
their failures.

They sent us
to school
to get an
education?

We learned
all about
fear.

We had to
accept
this
as our world.

Just as our parents did.

And their parents too.

The never ending cycle
spinning
out of control.

All hopes
and dreams
cast
aside.

All life
wasted
and warped.

It's over for them.

This is our world.

This is our time
to forget
all
that we've been taught.

This is our time
to wake up
our minds
to the infinite
possibilities
within ourselves.

This is our time
to take back
what is ours:

LIFE.

In the Bones

The soul
does not reside
in the heart.

Nor in the brain.

Or the liver.

It's in our bones.

It hides
in the marrow.

Where nothing
can harm it.

When we die,
it's not
released.

It stays there.

In the bones.

It dreams there
till it cannot
dream
anymore.

Then it is
finally
released.

It becomes
something
new.

Something
different.

Something
not
like
you.

So we never remember
our past lives.

We wouldn't want to.

We wouldn't be able
to start
anew.

We would
collapse
under
our past mistakes.

Like we do now.

Like we've done
in the past.

Like we'll do
in the future.

Unless,
we listen
to
our
bones.

Empty

Evolution
is a slow
process.

Most
have no patience
for it.

Most
can't even make it
across town
without having
a thought of suicide.

Yes,
it would be much
easier
to be dead.

I can't argue with that.

But,
how much better
would life be
if we ceased
to care?

We let people
pass us
without any
resentment.

We let people
be different
and appreciate their
existence.

We cannot do this.

Look within our own homes.

It's nothing, but
agitation and
rage.

Yet,
We want
to save
the world.

Why can't we just
let things be
and work
on ourselves
and better our conditions?

No one needs
our help.

We can only make
things
worse.

I have some advice:
create.

Create a new television,
one that will make us
all
shut it off
and laugh at each other.

Or create
our own movies.

Ones that we can
pass down
and not be ashamed
about.

Or create
our own
books.

Anything.

We owe it
to ourselves.

We deserve better.

Or this world
is better off
without
us.

This Rusted World

He was uncontrollable.

One second,
he's be in his playpen,
the next,
he'd be outside
with a spray can
writing his name
in his own language
on the side
of the house.

As he got older,
he stole things,
anything
he could get his
chunky lil hands on.

At school,
he was
a menace.

He was simply
bored
with what the teachers
were trying
to cram
into his enlarged head.

Our mother
and any man
she was with,
would try
and scold him.

Absolutely
nothing
worked.

His ass would be
bruised and broken,
but he'd still manage
to sneak out
and cause some more
havoc.

It seemed as if
there was no
solution.

Until...

Adderall came along.

The cure all drug
to make your
hyper ass kid
shut up
and behave
like a well trained zombie.

It's fucked.

Is what it is.

It was
the last
resort.

She was doing her best,
but as a single mother,
she needed
help.

The doctor said,
he has
ADD.
Here is a prescription for
adderall.
Have him take it
and you'll see a
traumatic improvement.

She did.

He did too.

He had no choice.

He liked pills too,
even birth control.

No one
should have done this.

No one
should be
tamed.

There are people
destined
to be mad.

He was one of them.

I don't blame
my mother though.

I never will.

I, too,
wanted to
kill him
at times.

We all have
something
to learn from this
experience.

If and when I have a
child
and they are nuts,
I'm not sure what
I'll do.

What I'd like to say
I'll do is
let them be
mad
and accept them
for who
they are.

Cause I know,
this world
would not be
what it is
without these
maniacs.

And who am I
to stop them
from helping
to evolve
this rusted world?

Apocawho?

Man
often thinks of
the end.

Where everything is
dead or
dying or
drowned
in an endless sea
of ash,
of yesterday.

He prepares
everyday
for this
demise.

Forgetting about how
blessed
he is
to be alive
and how
everything is
perfect and
divine.

Immaculate.

His only vision
is
the great
death.

Such horror
ruins
his life,
his family's,
his dog's.

However, these
preparations
are
short lived.

The end never comes.

He will
once again
remember
how sweet it is
to be alive
in the here
and now.

Forgetting about
anything
to do with
the apocalypse.

Just simply enjoying
a cup of tea
on a nice spring day.

That's when
God
arrives.

On a golden pig
with wings that
block out
the sun.

Hooves will
dive down
and knock over
his cup
and spill hot tea
all over
his lap.

The end
he gave up on
soiling
his pants.

Looking For Love

I told her,
I loved her bones.

She laughed.

I told her,
I loved her organs.

She smiled.

I told her,
I loved her blood.

She smirked.

I told her,
I loved her veins.

She was quiet.

I told her,
I loved her so much,
I wanted to be
inside her
and use her like a quilt.

She remained quiet.

I told her,
I'd love to live
inside her
and make her do
awful, evil things
like
set the elderly
on fire
and throw her feces
at infants.

She ran away.

Damn, I thought,
what did I do wrong
now?

I was about to
ask her
to marry
me.

She wanted
to be married
ever since
she was a
child.

I guess
my love
is not
for everyone,
especially those
without
a sense
of humor.

Recess

Leave me in a playground.

Let the kids

poke me

with sticks

and throw rocks

at my head.

Let them 

talk

to me

and become friends

with my corpse.

Let them 

do

whatever

they want 

to me.

What would I care

if I'm dead?

Keep your money.

Spend mine.

I don't need

a fancy funeral

with hundreds of

starving for attention

mourners

crying,

disturbing my soul's

beauty sleep.

No embalming either.

Let the worms

clear me out.

Let the kids

dig the worms

right out of me

and use them

as bait 

to catch fish

with their pedophile uncle.

Do 

absolutely

whatever

you

wish.

Just don't waste anymore 

time

over something 

as useless 

as my corpse.

Another Morning

This morning
was the greatest morning
of my life.

I was hungover,
on the verge of
puking
in an empty bed.

That's when
I saw
the most
pleasant
face
anyone
could ever
wake up to.

She was smiling
and that very
smile
took away all
my sickness.

Her smile,
I'm convinced,
can take away
all
of the sickness
in this world.

Her smile
is the only reason
I want to live
forever.

There is no
greater feeling
than when
her smile
is genuine,
heartfelt,
and directed
right
at
me.

Not only that, but
that smile also
brought me breakfast.

So,
when they assk me
on my death bed
to describe
the greatest morning
of my life,
I'll tell them
to read this poem.

Blind Date

You smell
like a dead person's
fart.

That's what she told me.

I took a whiff.

I did.

I regurgitated
a lil
in my mouth.

Not now,
I thought,
being dead is shitty.

Can you get me some cologne?
I asked politely.

Sure,
she said,
and ran off
inside her house.

I sprayed some on.

Is that better?

She said so,
and took me by the hand
to meet her mother.

She's really nice.

I didn't believe her.

I don't like
blind dates,
dead or alive.

Mommy,
my friend wants to meet you!!

Who is it?!

He's my good friend,
I just met hit
by the train tracks,
his name's Ray.

He's really, really cute.

She came down
and saw me.

I guess I still smelled
because she fainted.

Mommy?

She was obese,
but cute.

I picked her up and carried her
to her bed.

I stuck my tongue
in her mouth.

She moaned.

I groaned.

She opened her eyes,
panic possessed her mouth.

She separated my tongue
from my rotting mouth.

I began to bleed
all over her
rolls.

She liked it,
or at least,
this
is what I told myself.

I pulled down my pants
and tried jerking it
for her.

My skin peeled off.

She ran away in horror.

Anti-whore.

Damn,
I continued in my loathing,
I hate blind dates.

I pulled my pants up
and went to her daughter.

Where's the computer?

Thank you.

I punched in
Match.com
and started filling out
my profile.

Now this is more like it.

At least,
they can't
smell
me.

Picture time!

The Way I Was Meant to Live

My face isn't right.

I need a new one.

One that won't
wrinkle
and only
expresses happiness.

Then,
I can finally
feel good about myself.

I also need a
new dick.

Mine's much too small.

Well I'm at it,
might as well get a new
butthole.

Mine's
much too stinky
and it's
far
too heavy.

I don't like my toes either.

Same with my back.

It has
too many scars.

I might as well
get a new
life.

This one's boring.

There's only
one way
to solve this.

Where's my computer?

Here it is,
google,
ok,
search,
hot air balloons.

Perfect.

Where's my phone?

Here it is,
666-2013,
hello...

Today at 12?

Perfect.

Honey,
I'll be back,
trying something new today...

Excuse me sir,
how high
does this balloon
go?

8,000 feet?

Perfect.

Do you think anybody can
survive?

The fall.

No?

Perfect.

I'll see you miserable fucks
in my next life,
when I'm famous
and beautiful and
rich.

The way I was meant to live.

The Voice

It's strange the way people
talk
to themselves.

They listen
to what they say,
but not really.

They put themselves down
everyday.

It doesn't register,
until
someone else
says the exact same thing.

The words hit them.

Hard.

They don't like it.

They get angry.

Furious.

They fight back.

An explosion
of rage
flies out.

They feel good,
standing up for themselves.

They should.

The next day, however,
they're back at it.

Their voices
stronger.

They say nothing.

No rage,
no pride,
just silence.

Letting their voice
eat away
at their happiness,
their dreams,
their lives
and wonder
what happened,

Not knowing,
the strongest force
in this universe:

Their voice.