To Eternity – or bust!

kick me in the face!

wake me up

shake me hard

tell me I am alive!

Look around a bleak world

realized I have survived!

 

Only to entertain lies

of those who’ve lied

about love.

Shove them from a roof,

let the truth

splatter on  the cement,

I cannot lament

this absurdness.

 

Do we go on and dance again.

Do we play the song over?

I think, my dear,

our  time for dancing has come to a close.

I think we know where this goes.

Ill be in the hood,

here’s a rope… head for the gallows.

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118th

I had to watch all my pain staking effort  fade like a 1930’s photo;

and no one will ever know what it meant to me to see you… finally!

And I marveled the moment My mind finaly unraveled;

And finally accepted that the universal truth does exist;

 

it’s just a phase;

its just the drugs;

its just the sauce and bitches;

the bed bug itches;

and if you were me in sure you’d be just as insane!

lay no claims to my name; let the shit talkers lay their ill guided blames;

let the little shit talkers play their games;

I may be on fire….  but im not the one going up in flames!

 

Speak what you think of life and it will never be what you wish;

for a kiss – you will dismiss all logic – she’s a cocain, meth – gin N tonic!

Super stoner chronic – smoking blue berry god kush!

give her a push – and put the money in her hand;

surrender all of Eden and, –  your – self – indulgent -eternity!; like a man!

 

I think of sometimes taking command and showing the world a sight –

they weren’t built to understand!

And I’m sure when they finally see – they made me snap!

I’M sure last they will finally give a good god damn!

 

it’s just a phase;

its just the drugs;

its just the sauce and bitches;

the bed bug itches;

and if you were me in sure you’d be just as insane!

lay no claims to my name; let the shit talkers lay their ill guided blames;

let the little shit talkers play their games;

I may be on fire….  but im not the one going up in flames!

 

 

 

Humble Mumblings

And if even “The Greats” were just mere regular,

idiosyncratic – day to day observers of society;

Loud muses that mused nonsense – out of boredom,

stress relief, simple idiotic entertainment –

What of me then? My so called art – ponderings

of a directionless point becoming less with each …

*Sigh* … It’s insane enough I talk out loud to myself,

God help me when I actually take time to write down

the humble mumblings of my inner muse.

I’m easily amused, taking advantage of space and time,

making rhymes – poetry is as poetry does, line for line.

Poetry is like life – random and chaotic,

occasionally coming together beautifully in wondrous ways.

Poetry is life.

The best lines obtained through years of disillusionment and pain.

The never ending struggle to fight; Finnish the race!

The journey, discovery and utilization of what it  means to not just live – but to actually feel connected to your being;

That is living.

… That is poetry…

Dead to Me

Empty waiting.

Pointless hunger.

Lost words.

Cursed existence.

Bored,

out of what little mind I have left.

Bored,

with what little time I have left.

 

This is no life;

This existing,

one day to the next.

I wan to live.

I want to feel;

feel something real.

No more people placebos,

No more of everyone I know.

 

I’m tired of assumptions,

tired of the masses making asses of themselves.

Too tired to listen to anyone

Who doesn’t already see me for who I am.

I couldn’t care less.

I really don’t give a damn.

So go ahead and curse me!

Go ahead and finally be dead… to me.

The View from Space

Winter is at last coming to an end.

The snow recedes,

revealing the stench of piss and shit,

that layers a cold – dead – earth.

 

For a time the world will seem unsightly.

Until the day the insects wake,

and pollinate the flowers;

the paths we walk will be muddy and bare.

 

The ruts we’ve strutted in,

more than obvious;

begging spring to bring its rains and wash,

the world a – new.

 

May the rose buds bloom,

the green grass grow tall, to leave no trace,

of piss & shit & death – upon the earths face.

Such a beautiful transformation;

only to be witnessed by the moon and void of space.

Dinner and a Show

Rambling gibberish to humming wishes,
A symphony of frogs prepare a vile dish.

Hell paints it’s self-pink with girlie glitter,
To torture a quitter who believed he was fitter.

Fairy tales are pure evil and breed badness.
For evil is innocence and ignorance, making madness.

Slow cooked, honey-ginger ribs make a lovely meal.
Since when does smacking on bone and flesh not appeal?

Humming wishes to rambling gibberish,
A vile dish presents a symphony of frogs