Listen here, I tell you story
deep inside my heart and glory.
There once was girl, was very pretty,
soon, they say, she look like mother.
She wear jeans and shirt with Minnie Mouse,
she walk to school in morning with a sweater.
Then one night on her seventh birthday,
she look at full moon out her window.
She imagine wedding, husband, and spending life together.
Then she get up, close curtains, and prepare herself for bed,
She say goodnight to old grandma who watch her,
And she fall asleep.
In her dream her head is hurting.
She walk out of house naked,
so cold in snow she shivers,
but her breath is nowhere to be seen,
so you see she fall asleep forever.
Then in morning, grandma wake up,
Make coffee, pour glass of milk for girl,
and heat up last night’s dinner.
When she take to girl’s room she notice open window.
The air is so freezing she start to quiver,
and she scream when she see
the girl is white and dead in her little bed.
They say she die when old age got wrong signal,
missed a turn, and opened wrong window.
dont u wish u were like me
a hundred degrees
im free
from so many lanky fleas of souls
so liquid is old
so old is freeloading
im riding on fours
im a dog
on ahorse with whips for a mothers
and sins for a father
im ridiculous in my pedigree
im shining alive in my cemetary
forever iold in a story folded
im sheilded like a memory
of war, im untold like a rape
im hidden like a thought
of suicidal pedophille rape
im awake im steak cookin
on july the fourth
im a fork
ima spoon
im a big ass kiife3 cutting throught the moon
so foerget it
im lost
im hurt and tossed
ur a pirate im a warrir
you;’re crimson im a six leaf cloever
mix a cup of water with the dance of death,
stir occasionally, sometimes go in depths,
never listen, cry big spheres of tears,
and in conversations attempt to sound clever.
Bicker brains apart, brand everything
you can touch, be that cat that pisses
so much like heartbeats frequent like that
disease on TV where a man fleas a film
screening to go screaming down the
hall for a urinal or a bathroom stall and then
blows up and his pieces fall on his wife’s face
blossoming in an orgasm fastened to the posts
of a bed in dreaded though fucked past limits,
stained hands, hurt heads, trivially tripping,
laboriously lost, no cause for cryptic cycles of
thought, have you been bought on clearance?
50% off, 75% off human cleavage, beavers,
dicks and various spigots, litigants, and trailer parks,
purple pants, lemon scents, tread on threadless garments,
so far so fearless, reading my words is like my brain has farted.
How does it smell to you?
the cure for
cancer
“yo dawg I heard yo dick gets bigga in heaven”
Don’t assume people
are idiots unless it’s
the only conclusion
left by the evidence.
hope in death?
despair is getting to the point where
death is your only hope and you cant die.
buy trail mix…$
Home is i dunno
what the fuck
a place in my head that
remembers buildings, an
umbrella from acid rain,
hallways filled with boring journeys
from the kitched to the mattress
where i can’t fall asleep, and then
drink some wine and write garbled
bullshit that i assign literary qualities and
existential meaning to so i can feel
better about my life,
no,
home died when i was five,
celebrating a birthday
with sardines and a cupcake,
playing chess with my grandma in
between the times she told me
to pray to god and i said
fuck your god grandma, he hasn’t
helped you much, cause
your home is lost now too,
and some of your family
has been shot now too, and
your memories don’t have a place
where they fit the sorroundings and
i’m gonna go read Nietzche grandma
because if he could he would have
burned your god, like the war burned us,
but don’t take it personally grandma,
i love you, you’re just looking for some
hope like i am, but i’m just not gonna
lie to myself to make things better,
i’m gonna cherish these sardines because
they make far more sense to me
than a playstation 2,
so fuck it,
might as well make my home the color blue,
and everytime i see it i’ll say
“lucy i’m home!”
in my head and giggle to myself,
and then stop and feel lonely again.
Doppler radar
its the cure of the ages
it is garden of eden style
away with the cages
a metaphor on the pages of books
that means come on share my pain
ill spread it to you
breath it in and believe in it for
a day or two
might as well right?
what else do you have to do?
besides maybe take a shit
or clean your house
or your car
or go online
and think about yourself
why not watch some porn
see some dicks and some fake tits
and make up’d whores having
passionless sex
oooo yea
that really gets my motor roaring
mmmmm fucking looks so boring
but i have a job
i gotta feed the queen
so she can have more babies
make the honey
collect dirt
collect food
purpose purpose PURPOSE
so weak
it is time to accept that we’ve realized it is pointless
and enter the age of the ridiculous
consciously of course
that is until it becomes effortless
