See,
Us humans are the berries,
Plentiful and organically grown!!
The devil loves to pick those berries,

When ripened!

He squeezes them,
Dejuices them,
And takes the color from amongst their sheath....

Yet,

Before the devil can fleece out the last drop.....

God intervenes,

With a little thorn to ***** the thorned ones sticky fingers!!!!

Your dad is gay
and ***** little boys
he sleeps on the couch
with his **** hanging out

He is only 10 he should
be crying beacuse he
feel down,not beacuse
someone called him a ***.

She's only 12,she
should be playing with
makeup,not razors..

He's only 14  he should be  out with his freinds,
not tying ropes...

She's only 16, she
should be out on dates,
not staraving herself...

They were all 18, they
should have been
celebrating graduation,
not a furneral...

There once was a blade
That made the pain fade
The little girl weeped in shame.
  Mr.Blade put her in the hall of fame
Death was the only friend that came
She suffered but no one knew her name
You made her feel worthless that's so lame
You thought this was just a game
She was never the same
She is now gone And you are to blame

A craigslist seeker, she seeks to die and dies to live, Cant pay the rent when the roomies turned out to material gifts, what a queen she is, tattoos to cover her paraplegic scars.. numbing is her entertatinment fly for free you darling of heavens bars, drive me wild you rose among bedded thorns where fashion is intelligent, irrevelant your beauty flows past caked mountain bliss..Lover you douse me in your 60s content where men just now understand you, how the tracks are soo bent...shine for me you diamond eye holder, Victorian crime loather, loathe with me, stick to me you animal of ****** nature, your stature hard to read, none to feed your lips to give heavens honey where no or none money can buy what all you have to sell, you stomper of demons you broke heaven and hell, for this heart has swelled to you me love..............title- limbos queen

I seeketh one who can excepteth a monster, to loveth him as a man,
Because I am that monster...
Unknown to this planet!!
Just stopping in...

Consort,
I asphyxiate when thy argot I canst sip,
To feel yours and mines hips gist in combustible intimacy,

Tis,

Its only a hankering delusion!!!!!

For there's no consortess among me...

Why do poets always talk about the ocean's waves,
about their single file march to shore,
and yet never talk about my grandmother's farts,
which arrive in time, one after the other, with equal
     regularity?

Are these poets too holy to comment on anything
less than nature's flashiest gestures?
Are we going to spend another millenia searching
for meaning in sunsets and waterfalls?

Or will we finally turn our ear to Grammy's ****
and away from all that pretty stuff,
and hear that foul, muted trumpet sing,
marking the end of an era?