Carousal dreams
Carry my laughter
While my past screams
Chase happily ever after

And I age faster
As the day fades
Stars stray
From their place
And die
Before I ever see
Their true face

Sparkling carnival colors
Spin around
Up and down
Absorbing
The sunny summer day’s
Heated rays
Till the ferris wheel seats
Blister my broken bottom

Grey gravel
Green leaves
See me passing
These barren streets
Crossing memory lanes
Passing past self
Leaving all the blame
With a person
I will never be again

The circuit board breaks
Pathways flare up
And fizzle out of existence
Muscles spasm
As I walk in to the last chasm
Leaving trails
Of nothingness behind me

The cavern closes
No one else goes in
And I never come out

I quit
Cause you are not worth
The sea of salted tears
That spill
Assaulting me
You are not worth
The red elixir
That feeds
Your distorted
Vampire needs

I retire
Before my will expires
Because I am tired
Of seeing spires
Of factories
Smoking pollutants
Choking all humans

I am through
With claiming
That the truth
Will set us free
When all I see
Is a bubonic plague
Festering and growing
Tumorous cities
Of infinite stupidity

I am finished
There is not enough spinach
To Popeye my way out
So I exit stage
Flesh and rage
Pull back those skin pages
That life was written on
Letting strangers carryon
As the carrions come
To devour me

Cause I am ******* done

Wars raging everywhere I look
Politician and corporate crooks
Feeding money and bodies
Into the industrial war complex
To serve the will of the world banks

I am the bed you fall into
Soft mattress that gives in for you
The covers that wrap you up
Like a tasty burrito
But I won’t eat you
Unless you want me to

Religion is no longer
the ****** of the masses
Now the crowd
collects digital devices
Small screens
With gaming fantasies
No time to think
Just stay linked
Plugged in
To the distraction system
Bionic Bluetooth ears
Cellphones, tablets, and laptops
Connected to the four gigged network
Subdued in red eyed wonder
Burning retinas
Eyes strained beyond
Our capacity to remember
Real human pain
We are numbed to our neighbors
Awash in constant stimulus
Sounds like stimulants
Where only electronic static
reminds us to remember reality

No needle still we chase
That purple syrup dragon
Let that poison ride our veins
Carbonated grape beverage
Which gives us
A light crack type rush
Then makes us crash

I hope those beautiful flows,
Flowery verses, and deep prose
Always help me find my way home
Whenever I am searching these roads
For a place where humanity
Can finally see what I see
And celebrate the success
Of setting world citizens free
From the tyranny of greed

White rusted history reaches for
the heavens that most people
have already forgotten.
---------------------------------------------
Believe me I got to *** constantly
but I am ninety-nine percent sure
that I do not have diabetes.
------------------------------------------

Poor young mom so beautiful
wondering why she can’t find a man
while it is so easy for a ****** woman
to collect and discard them.

-------------------------------------------


It was the pinnacle of my teenage pain.
I watched the world through funhouse mirrors
with tv shows, comic books,
some real sad music and movies to boot.




Can you tell me why
you think you have the right
to deny the lights
that sparkle like
Christmas colors
in lesbian lover’s
eyes.

The fees aren’t hidden just obscured
in a mile of white legal papers
that make you walk a greed growing
green and digital banking labyrinth.

Being true to oneself means acknowledging who you were, if you do not acknowledge who you were you can never learn from your,  mistakes, striving to be who you want to be so you can grow, and knowing who you are now so you can find balance in the moments between the past and the future.

My first priority, do not add to the suffering of the world. My second priority lessen said suffering when possible. My third priority be true to who I am, who I was, and who I strive to be.

I got a multi colored lite brite like memory
that comes and goes slipping pass my past
tripping me up until I switch memory lanes
from fast and slow
letting go then going back
picking a field of lemon and strawberry details.
Till, I can partially recall who I used to be.

Your pain is relevant, like the Syrian refugee who is running from death to find a life, like the black mother in the black lives matters movement, like mine. I am broken, deeply cracked and ripped like paper when I see that you fail to understand their grief is real.

If skin color, place of birth, politics, or religions is what separates you from a stranger. Then remember your stranger was once a baby, has lost or will lose someone, and they will cry as you do. They will walk awake in mourning as will you, as you do, because they are human to. Syrian, Republican, Dominican, Cuban, American, Conservative, Liberal, Democrat, Atheist, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and all variations between and around these distinctions are part of our human family.

For the fear of falling asleep
I ingest to many legal stimulants
causing me to be extremely nauseas
then ***** my quick crap breakfast up
and end up exhausted anyways.

I will not kneel or yield
in any form or field
to the fallen dreams
we call god.

It is a quiet and uncertain passion
that rips my painted paper thin skin.
False bravado to show even though
we all know I have no real machismo.

But, under the night sky I am second
only to the full moon’s illumination.
I am cool as my midnight walks,
as sweet as my imagined talks
that flit across my flat notepad.

A thousand lines of what I would say,
a million bits and syllables of what ifs
dying quietly to become whatever
in the pitch black infinite indifference
of those stranger’s black hole souls.

I crack the plates tectonic,
stack the shifting landmasses
one more put upon
parallel spinning kitchen ware.
Till all of time and space breaks.
Cosmic energy crackling
with me in the middle
absorbing all that I can see
alone in the silent vacuum of observation,
inspired by the void my peers sired.

Pull back the skin
and you will bleed.
You will see
the workings
of our mutilated society,

misappropriated language
misled masses
misused policies
used to perpetuate
a war on
what they named the welfare state.

One hundred poor people
put on trial and incarcerated
while hardly one wall street embezzler,
wealthy drug money launderer,
or private war contractor
does any time at all.

Her voice is green
growing old
rekindling
nature’s
minty breath.

His voice is grey
dull and diminutive
diminishing
our white light.
Splitting the prisms
by dismissing good wisdom.

My voice is diaphanous
blank slates
silver screens vanishing
nature retreating
beneath the fury of the unknown.
Skin scraped deeply,
wound stinging.
Until, it is naked and raw.

There is no one crueler to me than me.
No one who makes me watch
all those horrors that break my heart.
I split the tip of my lip to let the words drip,
sliding down my chin like saliva;
Then drain the main wrist vein to paint my pain
on a cracked sidewalk that is already covered
in everyone else’s suffering.

You don’t want to love me
cause I am darker than
a starless night
and deeper than
the stars I dreamed of when
we sat in class and
read about them.

You don’t want to love me
because honey you will suffocate.
Your mind will dislocate
as I elevate your consciousness
and you will not be able
to return from this enlightenment.

You don’t want to love me
but I dare you to try
come on try and fly as high
as I wanna take you.

It beats louder than I can stand.
Like a tale tell heart
I hear it going
knowing that the immensity
of what I hold inside of me
will either **** or free me.

I hear the sound of thumping.
A foggy night finds me bumping,
as I keep running from the stunning
sound inside.

Now it is deafening,
but no one else can hear it.
I rupture in side spewing lines
but no one else will feel them;

The poetry of love
thud thud thud,

The poetry of peace
Thud thud thud,

The poetry of compassion
Thud thud thud,

It is all the poetry of me
painted in red ink
working its way
in the form of a heartbeat
turning me inside out.

The time has come.
Soft silk shirt
unbuttoned.
Lacey *******
slid from
the skin I want.
I dive in tongue first.
Let you scratch my back
as I latch on like a lamprey
feeding on your juices
plunging deeper.
I hope you’re a screamer.
As I slither to and hither
twirling my tongue
like a cheerleader’s baton
or a helicopter rotor
around and around
with such frenzy
till you gasp fiercely
and squirt me.
Then I return to taste
your flesh,
trace your breast
with gentle brush strokes
caress your neck
and nibble your earlobes.
Then when you shiver again
I’ll send my soldier down under.
That up and ******
grinding out another ******
as your pink slit gives in to it
my body going in you
like a hyperactive tide
Just the tip then ****** in it.
Just the tip and ****** in it.
All the way out
and all the way in.
Till you are ******* again
and again and again
and again.

The crow, parrot, raven, and parakeet
Meet across the cracked street
Scuttle along the wrecked concrete
Where human feet once walked
Flutter up steep uneven steps
Not missing those tripping fools who
Cracked the earth with metal tools
That split lumber with chainsaws
That destroyed thin and thick limbs
With loud rusted wood chippers
That incinerated hated legal papers
Shredding evidence with precision
These birds do not miss one person
Just go searching the soft grounds
for deliciously slimy worms

The wolf, coyote, and lonely fox
Hop and trot from here to cross
Separate paths to their favorite snacks
Bloated bodies swelled with stinky fat
Exposed corpses sitting back so that
They could watch their favorite clips
Catch invisible monsters on their phones
People who now become kibbles and bits
For two howlers and one quiet hunter

A mouse, possum, and racoon
Hunt under the split moon
Going through the monsoon
Of decaying human garbage
Devouring all the waste they want
Finally, free from the humans
Who used to hunt and **** them
Now they just have to watch out for
Other local predators

But all these animals are so much better
For the lack of such a destructive species

I want to get lucky.
I’m not trying to be
a slick trickster
who makes you
fall in the love with me.
I just want
to fall into
your wet ****
and ******
and ****.
Till you ***.
Then I ***.
Then maybe later
we can chat
share a bit of this and that.
Until the urge strikes again.
Until you bite my skin
and invite me back in.
I’ll call that sin lucky.
Cause you feel
delicious on the tip of my tongue
and I want you to *** and ***.

I am the unpacked parachute
that will not stop the fall
but the fall will be beautiful.
Till the ground catches us
crushing flesh under the force of
gravity’s hateful love,
as you take in air and give it up;
Slip in the quicksand
that becomes mixed with blood.
Till, the dried terror trap becomes mud
and the earth spins like a ****** up
treadmill. You will learn to feel
just enough to die from flying to high
and coming down from that
hormone honey drug,
cause I am not big or soft enough
to stop this collapse.
Perhaps you must be flattened.
Perhaps this **** must happen
so you can be free.

**** the society
that tries to
inseminate me
with hateful
violent tendency.

**** those laws
that cause
liberty to be
denied to those
who don’t
make as much money
are look the same as me.

**** those reality stars.
Stuck up,
liposucked
money mongering
artificial
Hollywood housewives
that sell lies.

**** those fake
pop stars
who claim
their art is
making them
brilliant artists
when it is just
poison
their bringing.

**** me for singing,
poetry writing,
Not injustice fighting
cause I enjoy my
lazy lifestyle
and social justice
seems like a losing war.
A hundred battles
I lost before
I even started;
Fucccccckkkk.

I’ve got anger for days
and you call it my rage.

I was seething before,
writhing on the floor
by the kitchen door
that led to nowhere.

Which is why I
never ever got there.
I just got more ******
felt like I was
being dismissed
because no one appreciated
my humble genius.

So, I put ambition on layaway
paid on it a little every day
financing life with a little hate
that drove me towards
working out late
and writing even later;

Popping ephedrine
to make it through work,
crashing all day
then waking up
with such a deep thirst
that my whole body hurt
that much worse.

Honestly,
the art wasn’t as good
as I thought it was.
I mean it was still better
then this modern pop ****,
but I hadn’t, still haven’t
mastered it.

I’ve calmed a bit,
but the anger is still in there
waiting to push me farther
then I went the last time.

Tonight she is crying
calling via digital replies.
There are zeros and ones
clouding her eyes
as she types out why
she is hurting inside.

So, I reply
with kind hearted attempts
but it doesn’t seem right
when it’s just a couple
of zeros and ones.
I want to offer one hand
on her shoulder
one deep look
into her eyes
to take her pain
and truthfully reply.

Instead all I can do
is text back
“I am really sorry dude.”
According to
her zeros and ones
she understands
and appreciates
what I have done.

But it doesn’t seem
right to me.
I want to offer my condolences
in her presence
so she can see my eyes,
hear my tone,
then accept or decline
The hug I offer
when I ask her
if she wants to be alone.
I’d just like to give her that option.
Instead of giving her zeros and ones.

How many times
have I begged you
to break bread
instead of breaking heads
taking supper together
instead of shaking
in your oil burning bed?

How many times
have I begged you to smile
not sharpen your teeth
but sit separated
from your serrated
fingers and toes
let go of the bombs
that sizzle and blow
burning the skin
off of enemies
and dearest friends?

How many times
have I begged you
to take up the pen
not the guns
to write words
of hope and love
not rhetoric
that eviscerates
the very soul
of kind intent?

How many times
must I clutter these pages
with weak metaphors
and strange similes
till you finally see me
and all of my
disgusting humanity
all hugs and handshakes
all dusty skin flakes
but still reaching out to you
to remind you to
try to be kind to?

I don’t want to forget
How to cry
Don’t want to let them
Rob me of the ability
To release this tension
That squirms inside of me
This anguish that tries to ride me
Lying to me with its knots
And churning stomach
Anxiety in reverse
As my lips purse
As I curse my broken heart
I start to kneel and heal
At the altar of soft, warm,
And oh so needed tears

You are a cannibal,
hungry beast
wearing human skin
tearing and trying
to rip my fleshy ship
to ****** bits,
while my heart
still beats under
my malleable chest;

Like bullets
like talons
like a vicious *******,
you eat me like an animal,
carnivore to my herbivore
affinities.

I scream as you dig into me
not metaphorically
cause you are a cannibal
feasting on my body

Have you mastered the art of war?
You, artist of destruction,
poet of pain and devastation,

do you see these bodies
pierced by our technological evolution?
Skin polluted by metal
stretched, torn, and eviscerated.

Mass graves of stillness;

Parents who hope this
is just some nightmare.
Life relegated to rigormortis.
Bone thin, friendly corpses
that touch such fierce coldness.
Photos that beg in black and white
for the shutters to stop.
Instead, we shudder and start
to forget all those body parts.

No ticking clock, just silent hearts;

While you acquiesce
I sit in shadowy corners and obsess
over our well-equipped darkness
as each victim becomes a painting.

Some splatter art spreading
all the shades of red
that they know,
while others are punctured pointillism.

But each body was once someone.
Now they become a hollow chamber
in a soldier’s gun
as a wounded warrior scratches another notch
in their already razor scarred
memory.

I want to be
the belly laugh
that makes you
crap your pants
something
both good and bad
because it is more fun
to be both things
instead of just
one.

I want to be
the air you drown in
lost in so much beauty
that it leaves you gasping.
Ears listening. Heart grasping.
Eyes searching
the starry nights
for flashing lights
that we know
have already died.

I want to be the door
to never and always.
take dreams and use them
like a clever lever
to leverage truth and hope
to mortgage poetry and prose
paying the principal and interest
that finally takes us
to a world where
“Star Trek” fantasies
are fully realized realities.

I want to be
the healing hand
that helps you up
and slaps you in the face
to finally force you awake.

I want to be the mistake
that you learn from,
so that when time is
finally done with my
physical form
you will be better for my
poetical existence

I am not the bar fly
beer drinking
kind of guy,
can’t stand the noise
of wild girls and boys.
I prefer the quiet nights
but there does not seem
to be a place for me
in this Pokémon Go
***** loving society.

I want conversation
while other guys
pretend to be patient
so they can slip
their small *****
inside her drunk ***
or drop a sedative
in her wine glass
and become the next
Bill Cosby ******.

I can’t seem to face this
rambunctious crowd.
They are too loud
and I would rather
get to know a stranger
or simply talk with a friend
then try communicating
over aggressively loud music.
I want peace and contemplation
but other people are partying
like they are on death row
cause they know
that they will have to go
back to work.

This scene doesn’t work
but that doesn’t make
them jerks
it just means
that they haven’t evolved enough
to catch up with me.

Addiction makes me
a sick clown watching
a killer circus
filled with empty seats
and dead animals.

This wickedly twisted world
spins me around
like a broken carnival ride
that goes faster and faster.
While chuckling *******
wear plaster smiles
I sit sick and vomiting
spewing lines of black ink
half-truths obscured
by metaphors and similes.

The nightmare men
stare and grin at me
military twin to the police
wearing violence menacingly
strangling the landscape
with rubble, mace, mud,
glass, bullets, and blood.

I would wear goggles
to protect me from
their blood soaked insanity
but I prefer to look
with crystal clear
chlorine eyes
that burn
the very core of me.

Signs for shopping
pollute the night
with their gaudy lights
pointing to my next
great buy.

But in my head I hear
the poor souls say
you do not want to
come this way
cause if you see my pain
you will have to change
or face your shame.

But I hide myself
inside my house
while the tv shows
our upper class,
high rise,
high life
that I can buy.
So, I work my way
into a community
of iron gates
and golden golf carts.

But in my heart
I hear the music play
songs of sorrow
free ranged runaways,
immigrants,
refugees
longing to get
just a fraction
of what I already have.

But with enough
music, and movies
I can distract myself
quite easily
so I don’t have to see
my own inhumanity.
It’s great to be me……isn’t it?

I was born free
and I’ll die me.
This ain’t my society
it’s just a phase.

There ain’t
no one
who died
for my freedom
cause my freedom
came free.

My government
tried to put
chains on
people who
they were
preying on
those who
were barely
hanging on
so for them
here is my
truth song

From the womb
to the dirt plot
they want to take
what we got
but those things
do not define
you or me;

And their taxes
and their prisons
and their religions
want to confine
my already free mind

But I was born free
and I’ll die me.
This ain’t my society.
it’s just a phase.

Welcome to the age
of nightmare media
where you can find
the truth between
the lies they’ve
been feeding ya.
Welcome to your
internet prison
that splits your sanity
like a cracked prism.
Welcome to the age of you
cause you don’t care
what your violent leaders do.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do.

Pressure building
from the bottom up.
Cops keep shooting
our brothers up,
but when people
try to say
that their lives matter
you get *******
blame them
and not the system
that has been
intentionally broken
for as long as we
have been
our own nation.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do

You’ve been blaming,
the gays,
blaming the immigrants,
blaming the poor,
blaming innocent victims
for the problems you created.
I guess it is easier to hate
then to find the truth
and risk being hated.
So, you celebrate
how great it is
to live in a place
that keeps arming
our police with
military grade weapons
in case free citizens
give the rich grief.

No Saint
no sinner
no loving fool
has ever been
as cruel as you.
No saint
No sinner
no loving fool
would ever do
the things you do

Are we better together
or do we need to be separated
so that white privilege and power
can no longer discriminate?
I hope that you know that
I am still searching
for a better way
before America comes to
shoot me down to.

She is a child of death metal
blood red but fading petals
black hair to match her despair
like the emptiness of the cosmos
as her stars burnout one after another.

She stays up all night
cause it is the only time
she feels free to be who she is
the only place where she feels safe
enough to spare her sparse smile.
Little lithe dancer bending her body
soft and slowly for nobody.

She sings such a sweet wounded melody.
Half siren and seraphim calling out
to her only true love,
some dark anime character
who isn’t half as dark as she is

We could have been a united front
but my brothers were on a **** hunt
trying to gets some young yum yum
and my sisters were lamenting
demented exes who left them,
young ladies obsessing over men
who were possessing less then
normal mental facilities,
mundane male brains unable to calculate
the value of the love they rejected
leaving both sexes so distracted.

We could have been a united front
but you went and knighted ****
to become your new favorite leader;
Put poison in the bird feeder
so you could watch the mockingbird
fly off and die from the **** you fed her
burning up as she swallowed self respect
and turned it into a Hindenburg ego.
Goat gut got blown the **** up
so instead of a united front
we got homicide by mental castration
a nation racing to debase men
who pursue scientific truths.
Instead of science you use
Astrology, Numerology, Yahweh
And Buddha
praying all day to Allah
but the real spiritual leaders
are your specialty shoppers
and the divide gets deeper.
Instead of together we splinter
Leaving little wooden bits in the parts
that were supposed to unite minds and heart.

We could have had a united front,
but you were out trying to buy more stuff
playing Pokémon Go and you didn’t know,
while you were leveling up digital creatures
our human lot was getting slower
fat bloated cattle walking into the roads and off cliffs,
driving into parked cars, or just barely getting missed.

We could have been a united front
but you botched it, wrecked that ****
with one perfect hit you blew it
trying to buy new things
to cover up the depths you are missing
hoping something shiny will blind you.
Now you are whining “what did I do?”
But we already lost.

We could have had a united front.
Now you ask how;
Had your time to change the world
but that time has passed,
so there are no more united fronts.
There is just six billion plus people
looking for their path to consumer greatness.

Time does not care for you or me.
Even years after the trees
sway with the breezes
that once carried our laughter,
time will not remember us
not care or want from us
a single second more
then what we got before.
It is neither fair nor unfair,
simply part of the air out there.
Like the currents that carry
our boats from one shore
to the next sandy beach
it will not be worse for our loss
or much better off.
It will merely be
continuing sans human being.

These are ancient pains
repeated rhythms
of love’s addiction.
I tire of their incessant pounding,
beating flesh,
molding skin
as if I was Clayface.
I shape and retrace
this identity
to connect me
to humanity,
but it is a lock
without a key
and the gate won’t open
to let me in.
So, I die
deep and alone
drowning in
the underwater
ocean currents
that pull me farther and faster
then I ever dreamed I’d go.

There is a little fleck of blood
lightly smeared inside my yellow shirt
hiding like a speck of paint
from a day’s work that I did not do.

It is a thing of shame because impulse
prevents me from being sane
as I scratch at scabs I know would heal
if not for the urge I have
to pull and peal until
a speck of blood pools
inside my now open wound
which is less than half the size
of real life bullet holes.

Now some sheets at the hotel
hide a small blood spot,
but you’d have to be an expert
to find it amidst the folded fields
of thin bleached white covers.

Like someone being abused
I try to cover this ****** bruise
this scab that wounds my fragile ego
making me feel uglier than I did
cause I can’t help picking at it.

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I am letting you know that
you may not understand
but tonight I am going to die man.

I am tired of being dried
by the blood crusted black water
that rushes like a river
right over the heart of my hopeful soul.

Tonight I’m killing that angry *******
who despises me more than anyone
but in hating me he has loved me
cause hate is so much better than apathy.

At least that barbed wired *******
acknowledges me as worthy
of some sort of recognition.

So, I stare into the dark mirror painting of my life.
I smile as my reflection snarls,
“I am going to **** you, you *******.”

This is my sort of suicide letter.
I used my blood to write it,
took my reflection to task,
broke the glass into a hundred
jagged pieces
hoping I wouldn’t have to look at me,
but each fragment stared back you see
a sick distorted version of the person
I wanted to ****.

So, I took the most convenient shard,
then scratched a map straight to my heart
and as tiny tributaries flow away from
my cold and soon to be numb body
I smile greedily painting my poetry
in small lines of red that I hope will be read
when I am finally dead.

So, this is my sort of suicide letter.
I wrote it all in my head.
You will never really read it,
but I can see it perfectly
every night before I go to bed.

This isn’t Eleanor Rigby
but I still see all the lonely people.

Young man makes plans
to be better,
but it is so easy
to stop resisting
old temptations,
especially when it feels like
no one really loves you.

Why not do
what the drugs tell you to do
cause a moment of relaxation
is one moment
against a lifetime of rejections.

So, he picks the closest poison
bottles, cans, pills, powders, or joints
to do what everyone was expecting of him.

Each failure is etched in his skin.
One more lost cause to remind him
that he is a worthless *******
so bad that even his dad
and mom don’t want see him.

This isn’t Father McKenzie
praying over his non-existent flock faithfully,
but I still see all the lonely people.

Crippled vet who hasn’t eaten yet
with a small cardboard sign
asks for a sandwich or a dime.

Ten blocks down the line
there is a blind man with a book bag
using his monthly check for
the cheapest hotel he can find.
Until, he runs out of money
then spends the next week and a half
sleeping on the sidewalk.

Or the old lady just off the highway
with a medium size dog,

Or the young man just of the entrance
that takes me up to the Wal-Mart
where I buy enough food to get by
throwing left overs out
at the end of the week.

At the end of the month they are all still lonely.
As am I.

As a child I was devout
Faithfully glued to
An idea with no truth

But I spoke clearly
Understood the fictions
Better than most adults did

Like little girls understand
Barbies, My little ponies
And monster high dolls

Like grown women
Who still want to be
The princess they saw
On Disney

Like little boys understand
GIJOE, Spiderman,
And Superman

Like grown men
Who still want to be
The Batman they saw
In movies on tv

I clung to this fair unreality
Hoping it would be redemption for me
Because the bruises and red marks
Demanded I believe
Insist I must need
A superhero Jesus to save me

While I was drowning in a sea of sin
I had to beg the divine to let me in
Noah’s Ark,

Hoping that god knows my heart
Was full of good intentions

But the bathroom florescent lights
Made me feel ugly
Like everyone was judging me
With all my pores and acne
With all the scar my mom gave me
Though she hid them perfectly
Just beneath my skin

I thought god would save me from her whims
Or at least take me away to be with him

Instead of leaving me in pain’s den
To lose those faithful delusions
One heartbreak at a time
One history and science lesson at a time
One standup routine and comic book at a time

Till I lost my taste for the divine
While at the same time
I was just plain losing my **** mind

I push back
against
the frothing
phlegm
that clogs my throat
and drains down
my cleft chin.

I push back
against
the razor
that has been
like a pendulum
of madness
and human
suffering
cutting left to right.

I push back
against
bad influences
with a few exception
because a little bad
ain’t so bad
and you gotta get mad
to change that
which keeps pushing back
against your desire
to be a decent human being.

You are not blazing a new trail.
You just failed to notice
that you had doubled back
on old trampled grass
that others had treaded
before you ever headed
in that revolutionary direction.

You ask in a moment of affection
afraid of any sort of rejection
but your desperation
is volcanic.

Your strangled *******,
mangled flesh
is stressed by
over handling.
Blood vessels
over expanding
till there is a little bit
Of blood in your ****
and it is a little sore.

You are tired
of those lonely ejections,
messy ejaculations
that shoot up and over your head
making it hard for you to ***
then go to bed.

Not to mention
you got to be a ******* ninja
in the bathroom or your bedroom
hoping no one catches you.

All that ****** frustration
you’re facing
if you knew ahead of time
perhaps you would find
chemical castration a
more preferable option.