In the tomb of my memories
I lie stretched out like some limpering anusmachine
staring into itself for eternity, transfixed by machine eye

I wish there was a nicer way to say this
but there isn't -

memory defines our actions in life
we are prisoners to our past
and nailed to our fates
such as whimpering
such as being pathetic in public
such as drawing from the circuits the
treachery of turds descending

Morning ****,
Oh the release.

Lust is gone because of broken hearts.
Living terminates as excitement fades.
Love stops when meaning is lost.
Life is arrested at the scene of the crime.

the rain
just keeps on coming
and coming
and coming
and coming
taking away
the dirt
the grime
with buckets
and buckets of water

i just hope it takes away
some of my thoughts with it
leaving only flowers to grow in its place

Can't

I can't kiss ***
Must be something i ate in class
Or was it mother's scalding tongue
That'd scorch ya just for fun
Or maybe brother's saucy mouth
That'd shake ya 'til all the loot fell out
No I can't kiss ****
Can't figure out this stuff
You might call me a brat
Say I'm a loud whiskered alley cat
But it could be that bull in ****
Dying for just another hit
Whatever it is
I can't seem to kiss ***
And if I did now I'm done
Maybe it sounds crass
But god help me
I'm no good at kissin' ***
I might get hell for this
An
You might think I'm takin' the ****
But I just don't have that kinda class
I just can't
I  can't kiss ****

Sadists, aren’t we all… abusing that for which we fall…
The way that I’m obsessed… with the fabric of your dress
Although it doesn’t feel as good… as tender skin beneath it would
So it deserves the claws… and lacerated ribbons’ flow…
Of all the fingers, it’s the thumb… that sees the broadest, like the sun
Runs in circles on those knees… the sweet of you I love to read
Yet passion thrives on sacrifice… with aftermaths of melting ice
To treat the paintings on your skin… which lust, in trance, would blindly leave
Like every coin, there are two sides… and truth is tasting both in life…
The things that we adore… our hunger paints in gore
And now you’re in the palms… their lips brush off the calm…
The sinking of the teeth… the flavor underneath...

There is a string of things hung with ideas as clothes pins
They take off the ideas and the string can't hold the thing
Memories are strands that if you pull it will never stop unwinding
The common person sees something in the little he won in life
The rest are rather useful than pleasant
Nobody received flowers or fame
If you could see now I'm dying to drown in flames
The love I've been placed through has to be the stuff of myth
It seems to hold back until the graze
The way it holds by taking
The way you hold by cradling
There's so much in me that you already know
I have a bit of wrinkles and the acne scars too
The whole of society sees me as living the dream
But the parts of me that people think are hidden are on the internet
See what the world knows
I should be aware of all the rules I've broken to be here
Then no purposeful ignorance can be said of me
There has to be someone who can point out the crumb on my lower lip
Rather than speak without the relevance of politeness
There's something about the way you hold me
That says you're trying me on
There is no transaction taking place
Treasure is most found on the map of my slow heartbeat
The calm before the storm siphons its way into my blood cells
Making me believe in the little I know as well
You have to be well read to read someone else's biography
You have no language if you only understand yourself
Take a bit off