screaming at low volumes
war sweet war, blood upon sweat, dripping into my mouth, war, oh sweet, war, come and declare yourself to me! hidden behind your bullets, balls of steel, lead (and depleted uranium), piss upon me and declare me Your whore… oh, war, sweet war! How the children admire you, each death a trophy, each injury a … Read morewar sweet war
waiting on the fire to burn me to the bone, waiting on the message that comes out the god damned phone, waiting on an airplane to bring me back my love, waiting on a god to exist to take me high above, waiting on the dreams to come from somewhere else, waiting on a cold … Read moreWaiting
we don’t see you anymore, children of 10,000 wars we don’t hear you anymore, children knocking on our doors. give them jackets to stop bullets, helmets to stop the dreams; bring them back without protection from the dying children’s screams. call it a call to patriotism, call it a call to arms – the children … Read moreOur Children Go To Play War
Failures, at even inhumanity! democratize slavery, humility comfortable concentration camps – how your small penis envies even the tiny penis of Hitler! on your knees before Colonial Corporate American Empires – and still you fail! ball-less bitches suffering Tiny syndrome, your politeness does not mask the putrid stench of your heart; it only ruins dinner … Read moreOn the Eve of the Ausschaffungs initiative
I went to germany last week… or the week before. saw my nephew; he’s got too much of his mom. it’s a bummer that he’s gotta have her in him; it’s a bummer i got my father, and my mother. i ought to cut him a break given my double whammy, but standards are derived … Read moreVisiting the Germans
The ugliness is overwhelming, the tears are screaming out of my eyes, such dirt, such dirt, such filth lost souls devoid of space ( filling all of it ) their drunken teeth slurring broken bones, their flaccid eyes limply holding on to my skin, a billion faulty nerves delivering only fire, these craven beasts can’t … Read moreToo much Molly for a Break-Up
there are more murderers than people to murder and the moralists claim theirs is the good murder while they moralize their disingenuous progeny with all their ill-gotten murders.
it was all so innocent … late nights, under the misty rain, lit by the grins of leering pervert street-lamps; and now, it is the angry stench of death in the morning, rotting from hurts unhealed, from wounds filled with salt, that rapes, with such glee, that long ago innocence. a fan of history would … Read moreUntitled
your chaos stage is the wasted breath of empty gods, banging their noses against plain white sheets, bloody with their pretentious egos having slept upon them just the night before. you see, the proposition of unending prepositions stirs in me the motivations left over from unspent youth, until, like in youth, the heart is broken … Read morechaostage …
i could feel the disconnect – the finest bourbon falling to the floor. shards of glass everywhere, in feet, fingers in full silence. we slept and woke and slept and woke and it rained and poured all my misery and distrust pounding down out of the sky. i knew full well what the universe was … Read moreDrowning in Hope