Don’t write about the dark things they said

Don’t hide from the truth I replied

Well, part of the truth anyway

Which, any which way you look at it has two sides

A sun which hides its shadow

But even the sun must sleep sometimes

Then creeps and slides the oozy woozy darkness

Of drunks and floozies and drug addicts

Thugs and gangsters, hatchet men and fixers

These nefarious predators and scavengers of the night

Shuttered sight eating victims of urban decay

Never sated in their bloodlust and greed

That need that is so deep 

You could feed it without sleep

Forever and never fill it up

This is reality in our **** city

Where effluent flows down footpaths between bars

Climbs out of cars in high heels or collared shirts

“Sorry mate, not in those shoes"

Drunken harlots beckon rapists and sadists

Transfixed in the ever-pressing lusts of the flesh

Without joy or connection

Or even satisfaction, most of the time

Am I right? Ladies, am I right?

Another wine to fill the soul’s great hole

Another devastating moment when the sun gets in

To find you weeping in your make up

Black streaks down cheeks of bloodless faces

All because nobody told you what was possible

They simply told you what not to do

Which of course you did anyway

Over and over again with the same results

That part isn’t your fault, it’s society’s

It’s religion and propriety’s

It’s dogma and denial’s

The cultural hangover of the morning after the decades before

The holier-than-thou edicts of our preachers and teachers

And leaders without leadership

We’ve cut the slip

Caught the rip

Been flipped so many times we can hardly tell what is useful anymore

The answers you seek are inside yourself

It’s like Rafiki said: “Look harder"

It’s like Sigmund said: “Unexpressed emotions will never die.

They are buried alive and will come forth later in uglier ways.”

Our society reflects repressed attitudes to ***

And brings them forth in uglier ways

Like rapes and splays of legs to the most persistent bidder

Soulless sexuality

Stuffing ya pork sword into a drunken receptacle

Such a spectacle

You might swap names in the morning

It’s *** on a tray like a TV dinner

Forget the word “sinner"

It’s the lack of nutritional content that ills

That kills the real deal for these counterfeit thrills

This isn’t some moral crusade

There’s no need to drink the kool-aid

Throw out the gimmicks

But pay attention to the limericks

Be open, be honest

Be Eros, be Adonis

Be Venus, in furs / **** resplendence

Take lovers my dear

Make love and not fear

Turn empty lust in transcendence

the darkest of my fantasies whisper
Your body is a scuba suit
insist i breath with your *******, through your mouth
dive deep into claustrophobic waters, sink heavy to the rock bottom
where we petrify by gorgans gaze
i know we'll turn to stone because, of course, the gorgans can't resist gazing at You
nobody can resist gazing at You, land or sea.
Our permanent legacy, lost under layers of life
barnacles clinging, moss burying Our chimera god/snake skin

i am without Your oxygen
when breathing would terrorize the wind
where words belong
still, my forked tongue writes

i'm a theif to say i only want You to be happy
when i had You, it was still selfish
the revolving doors of pain and perseverance
more time invested in us
then money invested in the Pills that kept me from killing You
out of habit
You begged me to beat You
it's been seven hands dealt
rubbing my 5 o'clock sandpaper chin
on the tarot card of death
my tolerance for vacancy
a brownish red stain
i've only the thin line of medication between necrophilia and sociopathy
i want to lay with You at the bottom of the sea

the Pills... where are...
please no, God.
The Voice,            run!
         get out!

I would gladly go to prison
to **** your lifeless body.

I would gladly **** Myself in the afterglow
of your affection.

there is only one true Sin, Objectification.

I indulge relapse
in every memory, find

your shed snake skin
pull it on, like your *******

how disturbed I've become
with you gone

how selfish of you

of course "I" blames You
when the Pills dull

i indulge by studying Your location

i know where You escape too
i want to go there
does that scare You?

i want to bump into You
apoligise for what i want

"want" as a word
is like plexi-glass, or kevlar

standing between Us
keeping the bullet safe.

i want a hard impact
in a school hallway

where we drop all our
Books and look up and You

see my ghost, that would be enough for Me

i want the impact to hurt.
i want the tumbling of all our Book's
i want the messy hair and ripped knees,
then Our
eyes to meet
and linger
I want to watch the fear fill you.
i want to sit there,
watching.

petrify from parcel tongues
as i gaze at Your gorgon body
shedding skin

if i shed my snakeskin,
maybe i'll see You

i can't leave this Poem
i can't leave this Poem yet
i won't leave this Poem
please kick me out
Poem
Poem
end Me
..
end
.
I
..

lessons of life's sanctity,
clarity of reason
and chastity
elude
the sociopath unglued;

clouded lens
filtering threads
of sense
common from extreme,
relishing shreds of conspiracies
unfounded...

tying the falling dow and twin-towers...
to  call of duty and

the man....

in the slick blue suit
with the funny last name
sticking it to us,
stripping us of our  inalienable rights,
god-given,
taking our bibles and guns away
to mombasa

spiraling memes of dysfunction
programmed to propagate fallacies
in minds unhinged

on the fringes of reality...

like paranoiacs
sipping green tea

or a.m. fanatics
fueling the frenzy

of sociopaths unglued,
licensed to spill
sacred blood
of the masses

at a crowded school
or movie theater
near you

now previewing:

~ mass homicide XII
&
~ teenage terrorist in black - the sequel

home-grown
&
fully-loaded...

~ P (Pablo)
(8/5/2013)

it's embarrassing but it's true.
i just googled "how to fall in love".
and i googled "how to fall in love" because i am not in love right now and i really, really want to be.
my google searchings were inconclusive and i am just as unsatisfied
mind, body, and spirit
as i was when i started typing "h" into the search bar
there is nothing in my heart right now.
my mother knocked and no one was home.
it makes me anxious:
how did i go from someone so overwhelmed by the enormity and ever-presence of her emotions
to someone so void of them that i feel an echo in my chest when someone says my name?
i've also googled sociopathy,
but apparently i'm not one of those.
so here i am, somewhere on a sliding scale
between all or nothing.
and i report from the field that it is not, in fact, all or nothing.
i know i'm not alone out here,
but it sure does feel like it,
when i reach out and even shadows don't reach back.
it's not like i've already accepted dying alone but it's not looking likely that i'll be marrying my college sweetheart, either.
i just want my feelings back.
is there a link to that in the first page of google results?
i'll even pay for shipping, i guess.

The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

Bonding,
With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.

You said you
wanted to hold me
because I feel;
wanted to
run your hands on my skin;
taste the baseline
in the hopes it'd
make you heal.

My stone face
chuckled inside
as if wounds get
mended by smiles
and aftermath
gets cleared
by denial.

It's a momumental
discension of sociopathy
human feet
shuffling
shuffling
away from the empathy.

So you want to
touch me,
drag me into
the abyss
of your kiss
because I represent
what you miss?

This predatory energy
is disrupting the synergy
of Us.

Why do humans
long so deeply
for the things
that keep them weeping?


Beaten down
blue in the soul
stand by watching
chemical clouds unfold
and you want
just one moment
or an hour of my time
before you go?

If I placed a mirror
in front your face
you'd still only see
what your mind creates,
a mirage
a wish
a death grip in your fist,
caring only if
you'll get to win.

Another notch.
Another barrel.
Another halo snapped in half,
this is the aftermath
of a sky gone cold
and here you are
wanting to
hold me.

v.k poetry
venniekocsis.com
copyright @ dbv publishing 2011

ADD: fractal minds for a fractal era/error

Bulimia: self-reduction through the eyes of the others

Sociopathy: economy

Stockholm Syndrome: or, everyone loves a good marauder

Münchhausen: recognizing the physical necessities of a compulsive liar

Politicians
are simply
socially sanctioned con-men
(and women)
with taxpayer salaries
and a teleprompter.

"I'm sorry"'s and "forgive me"'s
Never rang less true.
I'd rather forget those I can't latch to.

There wasn't a dynamic, it's not intrigue
I wrapped myself up in your harsh words
Because I wanted to bleed.

If I could analyze this feeling
I'd say there's no feeling here at all,
That you were a passing fling.

I'm sorry that I'm not sorry for this
I don't have friends, you're not an exception
Just another number on a long, long list.

I see a galaxy of useless things
That I've set aside time to worship.
Bags of organs, blood, and meat.

If the boredom wasn't quite so intense.
If you could have pinned me down.
If you could have held my attention.

If I cared more for you, if I cared for you at all.
If I never got tired of your words.
If I never grew weary of answering your calls.

Would I respond better to commands?
-I have my theories on myself-
Would I thrive with my decisions in your hands?

If I cared for anything.
If I could feel more than amusement.
If I was less unsettling.

If I could curb the violence.
If I could put in the effort.
If my comfort wasn't found in silence.

If.
If.
If.

If I could remember artistry.
If I could fill these words with meanings.
Alas; sociopathy.


Insanity

In these streets gather grime and slime,
And an ideological undercurrent
That is by no means benign.
Indeed, this culture is rapacious:
Exploit, take, exploit, consume,
Endlessly, ever endlessly,
With no regards for when it all runs out.

This cancerous mindset
Is now mainstream.
It is default.
It is not only allowed,
But rewarded.
Selfishness and sociopathy
Are synonymous with success.
You are what you own,
And nothing else.
Your little words and little drawings,
With their little meanings
Mean little to anyone.
Pack up the books, the pencils, the paints,
Stow them in the attic,
And instead,
Slave away at something you merely tolerate.
That, my friends, is the American way.

By: Forrest Jorgensen ©

She has aged twenty five years
in five
the lines around her eyes
from too many nights
of crying
the downturned frown of her lips
from her love dying

Now she's ancient, centuries old,
the aftermath of sociopathy
being fake loved and discarded
has left her broken hearted

There's no filler for this space
there's no way to erase
the deeds of the takers
so she huddles in a dark cave
silently scribbling out her mistakes

loving the wrong ones
trusting in the wicked
it's a sticky situation
when the heart is pure
like children who love the hand
holding the stick that beats them

everything is gray
the wispy strands of hair
the wrinkled skin of her hands
the callouses on the tips
the false admiration leaving their lips

The blood has left her veins
It was drained by every lover
who ****** her dry
then left her in the pain
like raindrops can erase heartache
like the moon can glue the breaks

She's a cup, shattered on the pavement.
She screams she's hurting
They say "well don't."
as if sadness is a faucet that
can be set to drip so the pipes don't crack
she watches them disappear
because she's too sad

this is the trap
the liquid seeping into the concrete
as she weeps on her knees
scabbed from falling repeatedly

She's aged twenty five years
in five
Sometimes she wonders
if she's even still alive
or if she's watching a mirage
from a death realm that fakes being human
just like when she was

Nights spent quiet away from the hive
counting days until
the one she dies
hoping it goes quickly
even in her sleep
so she can bury
all the secrets she keeps

but for now its
comparisons and agitation
dismissive relations and aggravations
humans walking obliviously by
caught up with their own
uncomplicated lives
they press their heels
into flowers until they expire
or pick them to hold as they wither

She's aging sixty minutes
in one
and the process is agonizing
she didn't make this deal
to be alive while she is dying
in the rubble of the aftermath
she hears God laugh

v.k
copyright @ 2013 dbv publishing

Ever wonder how that guy in the papers wound up that way?
Do you think about why you may believe it's bad to **** people?
Ever fall down and lose the desire to get up?
Ever stare at a door because you don't want to be on the other side?
Have you stared into mirrors for far too long
in public bathrooms because you realized your mind
is somewhere in that carcass?
Did you say something you didn't mean to
absolute strangers just to get them to say
something interesting? Did it work?
Did it surprise you when it failed?
Do you feel emotions or just wear them?
Is your natural state humanism or sociopathy?
Do you think about suicide at least twice,
even on a good day?
Does your head scream at night so loud that
you can't believe others aren't deafened by the noise?
Do see others as putting toothpicks in the sand,
and failing to measure things that are ephemeral?
Are you alone?

society takes Icarus
and warns you not to fly too high.
cut your losses, accept your lot.
warns us all—
stick out your neck and you'll lose your head.

"sever yourself from empathy
and cauterize the wound.
you can't help anyway,
so why should you care?"
right, society?
that's what you mean?

"if you fall from the top of the ladder
you won't get off the ground again.
midway is safer,
and the landing is softer.
your ambition is misplaced."

because of society
should i be content with mediocrity?

(i think not)

h.f.m.

There it is...
I can feel it!
Something great
Is happening...

Better than any
Pill or shot.
It's so real; it...
Feels so hot!

What's this feeling?
Such emotion!
Senses reeling,
Such devotion!

No more guilt
Or remorse,
Or regret!

Finally,  my
Insanity
Is something
I GET.

Sociopathy.
I have no regrets.
But I still feel
Depression.

There's nothing left.
Just this
Aggression.

If I go to sleep
I wake up
And I weep.

But you disrespect,
And you'll wake
In the street.

My sociopathy displays
The same old gray haze every daze
This nothing and I don’t know why
I try and try and try and try
To make myself feel just like you
But rain drops fall, the sky is blue
Not some symbolic shade of sad
I don’t get mad, I don’t get glad
I just exist, persist, repeat
I add, subtract and then delete
The joyous moment mental notes
And transcendental anecdotes
A host of ghosts that walk beside
My shadow unbeknownst in stride
Such lovely, lonely, little people
Nurturing their inner peaceful
Living out their lucid dreams
But take a look behind the scenes
Of melodrama entities
And masquerade identities
Pretending to be happy so
This suffering we need not show
To those who sing their caged songbirds
Without emotion in their words

Slowly going from sociopathy to being ruthless.
It doesn't matter to you people what the truth is.
All of these games are despicable stupid.
But you people lie so much that it's just made up to be true confusion.

Notice me,
as I sit swaying
in my grief.

Please pay attention
when I mention
what is nibbling
at my sleeve.

As the monster comes
to gobble me,
and I start wobbling
and sobbing
on the street
where my family
fell before me.

Please see the sorrow
that adorns
the ragged clothes
and pains I have worn,
the scars that have adorn
this torn flesh
as fresh wounds
well up with new blood.

Please see the poverty
of inhumanity
that has bankrupted
our society,
turning empathy
into a handicap
and sociopathy
into an attractive trait.

Please, while I wait
for the hate to abate
see me and acknowledge
my minor existence
because I am human
and only here for mere minutes
then gone
never to return.