whore

like a dirty whore
who
was once someone’s daughter
I too
wear the crusty crotch clothes
of
a nightwalker

but my crust is not
deposited man glaze
my crotch does not
ruminate the heat of
another’s loins

my body was not taken
for another’s pleasure

it was my spirit
my soul
my livelihood

I gave it all away to show
her
that
I
loved
her

and she raped me
she took advantage of
that
love

she spun her tales of lies
knowing
I would keep my
tongue
to myself
and go along with what she said

protection

But no more.

I have reached the breaking point
and she soon will suffer.
She will learn what it is like
when
radical
truth sets foot
in her world.

soon
the vault will open
and I will be vindicated
and I will walk with my head held high
and she will become
the
nightwalker
slinking from shadow
to
shadow
hiding from the truth
embarrassed and afraid

soon.

damn the torpedos

the zombie eaters walk the hallways of the schools
as public speakering sophomores imagine them in their underwear
desperately attempting to open their locker
using a forgotten com code
the teachers bear witness to unfathomable horrors
rape
sodomy
gluttony
hierarchy

follow the toboggans down the hill
kill, kill, kill.

happi joi

the needle pricks a hole within the skin
as morphine drips down into the raped vein
injection of happiness
begins depression and loneliness

liquid sunshine rampages through the inner workings
of a circulatory system that
begs
to give up
medicinal miracles cannot forgive pain pleasures
of the aching muscular framings.

dry mouth
breaking a sweat along the edges of the bedsheets
not winding down, but ramping up
in a matter
of
speaking

your bladder fills with urine
and the hair along your jawline
grows
inch by inch
as you sleep soundly
in this coma
of
pharmacological
glory

run

The control was all theirs
they made sure to leave it in their hands
blood spilt
feelings hurt
society changed

now the threats are beginning to become real
not until you pry it from my cold dead hands
the battle cry
through violence
peace abounds

he with the largest stick will rule
not with a clean conscience
and not with a clear mind
but only the most powerful grip

old friend

I see you shake
unsuspecting; misdirecting
no reason to wake; this is going to get more stressful
your personality, a pitiful facade you display
your honesty means nothing when pride lies in your way
responsible; of this you are incapable
you pride yourself
lie to yourself
a smile of distress
when really everything you want is piled
in
a
mess

Find a reason
a way to make it through
Committing treason
you lost your loyalty in showers of betrayal
Quite deceiving
every word I spoke to you was disregarded
Your disloyal thoughts were peering through
I tried to help you
like your worthless servant, i was dismissed
Don’t plead for help if you can’t accept the life you missed

Taken apart
i’ll diagnose that which you can’t accept
You avoid it
to think about it makes you sweat
You cry for death
although jokingly
someone can deliver
Do you deserve to live?
could you live your life much better?
Luxurious
an understatement of your life
You get what you want
you know not the meaning of strife

Hearing your voice
a daily annoyance
a reminder of pain
I trusted you
you took my trust
and friendship in vain
You wrote yourself
in writing that i inspired in you
You’d be lucky
to meet someone that cares
about a stranger
a life in danger
the world
and humanity stares

Well you were lucky, but blinded by your own black cover
You couldn’t see the sincerity I withheld, undiscovered.

Brought to you by the letter ‘V’ and the number ‘2′

a sharpened dagger pierces through

willingly the blade cuts inside

almost

as if

premeditated.

bringing an end to suffering

the bleeding stops once the flow

slows to a trickle

and a slight

small

still

whimpering is heard.

crying

weeping

the pain continues as the body loses it’s lifeblood

and the warmth

trails away

in silent streams

of

A positive

Candy apple red cannot compare to

the taste of the bloodthirsty hounds.

She agonizes.  He hesitates.

they stab at each other with weapons of love and reckless abandon

steel blades of emotion.

love is too closely related to hate

and

hate is too closely related to love

Theirs is one of elegant tragedy

Theirs is one of arrogant poetry

Theirs is one of scarring humility

Theirs is one of aching, owning, buying, and pursuit.

Theirs is one of self torture and radiant insanity.

Peace is not theirs for now.

poor

the darkness fills the skies

as clouds

make their presence known

with help from the stiff wind.

a roar echoes

in the east

as another one presses down

upon the helpless ones.

no one can escape

from the oncoming terror.

Yet,

a plan arises.

Archaic as it may seem,

Hope prevails.

Only to be crushed

by the sickening

thud

caused by the violent

storm.

life.

rain falls down and washes away any sign of dirt and filth streaks run down every surface.

sickness ensues and forces collide that strand any ordinary person alone and in chaos.

The guttural sounds of stupid men with their poor grammar fill the spiderwebs of technology, bringing about aching pains from myself.  Stabbing, searing feelings growing deep within, while others are abandoning knowledge and information to ride the cheap and easy route.

life could be easy

locusts devour

what was once good, is still good… for them.

bringing about change is so difficult when you are caught in the middle of the past…

and

you

don’t

want

to

change.

so I sit and write

trying to bring about

a new sense of peace

or something that could make

the past

disappear

within itself.

Why can’t we all just live in a cartoon land

of thirty minute episodes, where we could

have a grand happy ending, except when

there is a ‘to be continued’ episode that usu

ally leaves us hanging until next week’s same

bat time, same bat channel.

Life would be so much easier then…

how do you like me now?

when i’ve truly walked out of your existence, do i fail to exist any longer?

will my life continue on without your permission?

will you continue to contribute lies to attempt to bring about my ultimate crushing?

do you not remember that i control this?

i am the one who allows you to continue on.

you are powerless because of your lies.

i am the truth-teller.

i am the one who has held their tongue.

i suggest you begin to hold yours.

something’s missing

I cannot sleep, so I stretch my neck out for the executioner to silent measure.  His swift strong swing will bring immediate relief.  It will bring to me a sense of empty enjoyment, where I can breathe once again.

Shall I wait, neck stretched and hands bound, for the permanent blow?  Or should I wriggle like a child, twisting in defiance, against the cold steel ropes?

Once again I’ve taken a path of insignificance and one filled with less wonder than warm beer on an early afternoon.  By testing the binds, I see there is no one who can cage me, yet I bound myself over for this enduring hell.  Will the sunset bring me eventual glory or will I bear down and release the sickened animal that most closely resembles my darkened soul?

I fear the brightness of the one who can save me.

something’s missing.