The Puppy That Barks In His Sleep (Soon-to-be Grave)

My mind has stopped working
However, do not worry
It is merely gathering memories and sorting
Perchance to tell an exquisite story

All the while
The world has turned gray
And dull like a nail file
Maybe this is a better way for it to stay

Everything is neutral
The milk has gone sour
But reality has curdled overall
Dreams or false perception in it's power

My heart pierced by crying bullets
All the while, harsh smoke leaves my lungs
My brain's job is to fool it
Into thinking that nothing stung

Afterlife

There was a knock at the door
And heaven knows it was not God
Nor any other friend for scold
You see the funny thing is the situation of this card

There was a rap on the window
But it was my heart that shattered
Into fifty small pieces of a dead widow
Ne'er did I know of a divorce from life that was so tattered

There were scratches on the carpet
And if he hadn't been so kind as to lift his feet higher
I would have not given him my chest locket
Making me more adamant about my dying fire

The lights went out
He guided me over the couch
He smelled of rot and sauerkraut
He feared my religious doubts

Away from this hovel
Far past deep space
Where no messages reach, not even postal
I am face to face
With simple nothing

On the Relevancy of Fear

The night is calm like her dull dying eyes
Its immortal beauty feeds off her nightmares
And keeps secrets shrouded in a moonlit disguise
A trade one can say is fair

However, on this night
Much like that of any others
The blood in her veins carry fright
And her skin nurses transparent creeper crawlers

Her throat is drenched with sour saliva
Bits of her skin rot like overdue cries
There is a pungent odor of cafeteria guavas
Then a white sheet is pulled up over her dull dead eyes

Some Unfinished Business

 

I have been gone for some long time

Doesn't mean I am not alive

I have some unfinished business to take care of
Some pills to take
Warm salty morning saliva to swallow
A thousand blinks of the eye left
Here I am
A non-prolific, decrepit, sans dignity deity 
DO NOT WORSHIP ME
Leave me for dead in the icy tundra of a dictator's heart
Tell me I won't make it
Make me cry
Because I want to cry
I haven't, can't cry
Let the salty river stream down the crevices of my aging face
I am young 
I am getting old
What emotions?
Yeah shoot me point blank with those too
I have been gone for a long time
But life waited

Now what about you?

What Is Your Worth?

The elements in your body that will one day be returned. Like for example, that thrift store sweater. That you wish was once, twice, and thrice worn… So you end up in the ground either dissolved or fossilized… in the end we see who lasts.

The Fat That Seeped From His Abdomen

Outside the rain seeped off the side of the house and into the Earth. The soil drank it to quench the thirst of decomposing bones n' hair n' even flesh… decomposing is a tedious and long task you know.
After many years of evolution she would come to to hate him. He was ancient and boring… no, not in the manner of lacking the talent to provide excitement in her life. HA! She was bored of the fact that he was scratched, like a record, on certain memories.
The entire day had been cast in gray. It is a flattering tone that complements her skin. Gray he thought, it was as if though all around him storm clouds closed in on him but she… she was the one white cloud that reminded him that the sun would be out soon…she, the only one to drift peacefully in his artificial tempest.
He didn't cry. Crying was for the weak and defeated. Not yet defeated, he had no reason to crawl into his closet of past shit and weep like the rain. In short, his soul is constipated. His soul was constipated and when he needed to let out the steaming and salty solution, that would crust under his eye, the ghost if masculinity would prohibit him the right.
"You might want to close the door on your way out," she said enlightened. What had he been driving at… a quick fix… with what he usually did.
¿Why do we do the things that we do?
A black and white fantasy that memory cells transmit constantly that eventually… it has a heart-beat and being of it's own.
"Sorry" is just a bullshit phrase that politicians and the almighty use to pardon their faulty reign.
As he sat upright, the door slamming shut in the distance, he thought: well you got it. You're free or have a stronger illusion of freedom. He felt that liquor would sanitize the wounds as weed would numb the pain. How easy it would have been to follow through or not to be. But he couldn't… because he was neither Ophelia nor King Duncan. He was not done yet. Life was at the least 1/6th complete with his life. He was not done yet.

I will choose who I want

There just no reasons why shouldn't hang out or even like you. Though you extensively lack table manners, personal hygiene, and etiquette... Your stupidity is your ultimate downfall. Oh God... Has no one ever come up to you and told you to close your mouth when you were eating pizza? Honestly it's disgusting. We all don't want to see you showing off the Saulray of the mashed up nutrient trapped. And nothing else between your braces... We already know you eat to live is it not torturous enough? I know how one would like to think that having a crust on your nose would be better than having crust on your socks at the bottom of your hamper but having no crust at all is much better. HOW DO YOU NOT REALIZE THERE IS CRUST ON YOUR NOSE! It's remanence from a previous sneezy build the cover and will call for next academic. I sometimes wonder if I get enough people to jump off a bridge if you would follow sheep. You are such a good sheep! Sometimes I wish you were sheep in Scotland. Your attempt at humor is so asinine... No one found it funny that you actually voted for Romney to be ironic, Many actually lost the last shred of shit they had for you.