Perish Into

Monday,
December 19, 2011

7:34 PM

Happenstance.

 

 

Why do I wield the
blade that cut me? As I grip it I feel the wound in memory. That pain then was
proof to be, evidence which trained my empathy.

 

I know how the
victim feels, when I, villainous, make trauma real, for what else are the bare
intentions of one who holds a knife, concise, trim, implement, simplifies the
medium, and makes little pieces out of bigger problems, cuts little hearts into
shadows of involvement.

 

On my knees I truly
prayed, and asked faggot god, to switch my soul with the little baby abortion
to be.

 

That the baby should
live my life, happy and absolved of sin in a body that his father gave to him.

 

While I would perish
into nothingness.

 

In a fever fantasy,
the deal was done, and we were crossed as one. The premature consciousness of
such small life was his, now occupied the flesh and frame of strength and speed
in magnitudes of factors exponentially.   

 

The young child
cried out in a man’s voice, I feel the weight of the world on my facial
features, I smile and lift up the earth. Exclamation!

 

The new soul free
from the pains that brought this body to this place and time, seized the reigns
and made my tired limbs surge with wild power.

 

While I now, crammed
into a ovary, half-dead, asleep, a coma thinks, stop, barely, wake, long
enough, to rumble, thoughts.

 

Waiting for the
vacuum tube, the relief I was waiting for, would come with no ulterior dread.
Just non-being, just, …

 

And then I’m taking
birth, from the womb that I conceived me in, the light is red, the doctors
hands, the ceiling white, that devils grin.

 

My childs eyes in my
old skull staring back at me to believe he had aborted the procedure, producing
me another life to live,  I a new born
air-sucking, infant.

 

He was a better man
than I.

 

And I will resent
him for it, until I outlive him and watch the life peel off of the calendar
page every year on the day he died, drinking whiskey and copulating recklessly,
I’d like to buy the next poor bastard a round of applause, so clap for damn
near anything, our fate is not worth mentioning.  

Recoiled Kiss

Monday,
December 12, 2011

5:49 PM

I wonder what it
feels like to tie the knot,

around my neck right
before I really do it.

I ain’t that
curious.

Merely mildly
interested, like the steamy flavor

of cinnamon apple
oatmeal eaten off the

flesh above that,
(little-monster-Goldilocks)’s snatch.

Just a tingle of
implied insight, want to crave the better angle

where I can see up
god’s skirt, and snap tweet pics

of Thongless-Sunday
pubic hairs, a freely flowing

+1 up-vote and like
talk about a hash tag. #smoke#ish

I don’t need the
uniform can reign hell in civilian attire,

carrying the
standard issue hole punch

bout a switch-blade
in length and as wide as my fist,

the girls really
seem to inventory it.

Your life is
meaningless because:

your sour grapes
dried up into bitter reasons,

the context of your
day-to-day is overly vanilla,

you’re too smart to
live love laugh and languish

like a
contraliberbarbarian,

pillage on like an
art star,

forage through the
foliage like you’re looking for a fuck,

I see smears, and
stars of devils , and the blinking wonder,

I’m mesmerized
staring right at it until

my eyeballs are
nullified,

not seeing,

but understanding

like an electric
wire

I’m on, bright as a
the setting sun

starring me down on
my evening commute

eclipsed by my
raised hand.

Twatted Admiration

Thursday,
December 08, 2011

11:26 AM

Sitting on a park
bench, sun on my face, and I’m eating a cup cake, white cake, frosted with
vanilla coconut shreds.

When an ex, a jilted
lover, turns her head walking by and recognizes me. There in that flash across
her face the hate, the contempt of my being is perceptibly clear.

This just as I bite
into the cupcake revealing the raspberry filling, the sweet joy of sugar
dopamine, I’m truly happy at a chemical level. And she can see it in my face.

This enrages her to
no end. That I dastard, evil deed doer that I am. Villainous scoundrel, rake of
damned devilishness, should deserve the bliss of sun, and air, and sweetener.

She was kind of a
bitch, so I savor the next bite, wipe my mouth and call out, “Do I know
you?”

She just shrieks and
runs off to pinball inside the twisted world her errant cunt fumigates.

I smile, I’d never
call her so foul so intensely to her face, but in the warming waters of my
sapient sentient  sea serpent, I feel
like she’s a real twat proper.