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Yeah I want to spit on you
You horrid worm beneath my shoe
You will do as I tell you to
Struggle squirm and suffer

Want to hear you say my name
Smear your pretty face with shame
Useless toy, you're all the same
Screaming crying pleading

Now clean it up, you're such a mess
Ripped and stained that pretty dress
Then toss you out with all the rest
Gutter refuse garbage

Wiped that smile off of your face
You don't exist, you've been erased
Vanished now without a trace
No one nowhere nothing
Don't read too much into this one, I really have no idea what I was thinking when I wrote it.
In the shadows of branches
Without leaves
A lace pattern in the snow
Footprints of little birds
Before a stray cloud obscures the pale sun
The moment is gone.
Call yourself a friend of mine,
Forcing me to “neck” beer and wine?
Lovingly mixed with ***** and gin,
And dash of ketchup added in,
Wasabi for that extra kick -
The whole thing just makes me sick!
It’s not fun or cool or clever,
But a study in peer pressure,
Present in the world we live in,
Where for a guy or girl to “give in”,
Is expected for their reputation.
But what kind of expectation,
Is encouraged sado-masochism?
A concept likely to cause a schism,
For those who didn’t use their head,
And unsurprisingly now are dead.
I am sure as you will surely see,
And the poet Dylan would agree,
That as long as you ignore
The deaths of one, two three and four
How many, many, many more,
Are needed til we scream and cry?
“We caused too many youths to die!”
And for what cause? Acceptance.
Whose loss is needed for our repentance?
It’s all well acting free and wild,
But each of us is someone’s child -
Whose loss would surely cause sadness,
Hurt and pain and grief and madness?
And stomaching death is much harder
Than soap or dirt or grease or lard or
Whatever miscellaneous things
This activity inevitably brings.
Just saying “no” might make you quiver
But trust me; it’s better for your liver -
And living x years sans hurt or maim
Is worth > than 15 minutes of fame.
So do the maths before you do it -
Or else I bet you’ll likely rue it!
When the thought of an absence
tears at the spirit
leaving a vacuum in its place
Perhaps it shall be called love

When a life would freely
be given for another
without thought or hesitation
Perhaps it shall be called love

When the happiness of another
means more than ones own
Perhaps it shall be called love

When walking away is the only option
to allow for that happiness
Perhaps it too, shall be called love
32014
How am I
supposed
to live for
something
when I die
five times
a day?

This repeating
image of
sanity
will drive me
     mad.
"A coward dies a thousand deaths."
take me to the edge of oblivion,
promise me your empty lies.

sweet ecstacy,
you take me to the edge of madness.

I have been here time and time again,
I always trust you with my heart.

In this brief moment of sanity,
I choose the mundane reality of my life
with promises of joys and pains.

There is a quiet transcendent ecstasy
in a life that leads to wholeness.
This, the first promise
A test of trust, of will, of want
No excuses, time will tell
A smile so liquid, designed to taunt
Will there be disappointment
To join me in hell?
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