

Don't Make a Mess of ItNot often enough Is the body viewed properly As Other Linked to the Self only as the torturer to the tortured We pretend to control it And have seen it as tool But in reality, it oppresses It restrains It torments It maims It kills Slowly or not, surprisingly or otherwise It will kill you Because it loves you And knows that its torture is less painful than oursDon't Make a Mess of It
I would choose a thousand times over To meet my death at the hands of a brutal mauler Than to die slowly and numbly as a model citizen


Poet's LamentIs it worth it to keep living When even the rain can't stay in this town? Lights flying upward from the streets Reddish haze the blood-wrought crownPoet's Lament
We're told that these things we do Will result in some greater good But when we each have to be destroyed for it I wonder if they really even could
And so bring me another round, boy I'll leave this world to rot Go and fill up my bowl, girl I've got to keep my mind burning hot
And here's another requiem For the lost meaning of life And yet another angst-ridden decrying
Of man's infinite


i i i insomniain the hours of darkness and silence each sound is much louder and ev'ry object more definedi i i insomnia
the room's details are newly outlined by the light cast from the massive ice cubes slipping slowly down the street
the footfalls of the stalking cat their very design to be silent boom like thunder with a hand to its ass
in the hours of stuttered opinions I! II! III! think that I will someday perish
and morticians will do carbon testing then throw my fossilized body out wanting nothing to do with such loneliness
y por el watch!!
--
15 jugglers
15 jugglers
and 5 believers
and 5 believers
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