everything on my computer. Prt 1
A Flower
something has been calculated wrong recently. in heaven maybe, if you believe in such fairy tales. the one I was infatuated with for many years to come now rolling around an estimated 6 has suddenly stricken my nervous system. beating all until only the last one stands. I know I claimed he once was different, the one whom was never mine and the sole purpose of my wanting. and I have been found wanting, but alas not for this predictable soul nor any other to which is my custom or what I once thought was my custom. like a diamond among just rocks it was never likely to seek my eye for I have always over passed such sentimental objects. possibly for the greater good of a certain heritage that is often to blame for my fathers greed. but still this now wilting flower leaves me with no sorrow but with relief. his antics and self put downs I see through now and the act has been subsided. I do not understand why now it has chosen for me to realize that this was nothing more then...a feeble attempts to lure the better half out of someone. or is that only what I wanted it to be? was it truly set for this one? or was it an act of assurance? however his game grows cold now and my temper even shorter. it seems that with each act of his it's tender at my rage; that at which I am trying less and less to hold back. if only not for the sole feeling I’ve dropped that once upon a time made me care. it slowly evaporates leaving my wilted flower, completely dead.
Abusive Husband
Impure thoughts about me if she were brave to tell,
But I trust she won’t, for I have taught her well,
My anger never misses, in fact she knows just when,
I come home a stumbling mess and colors start to blend.
She braces for the wrath; the ever growing rage,
The first one goes and now she knows the war is on the wage.
I am sure she wont betray me for I bare no key,
Yet when I wake a saint at noon she’s there to welcome me.
A shining disk among the clouds her savior at the least,
For when it hides and shows it’s pale it unleashes the beast.
A ravage fiend, a monster at best a mess among the poor,
Yet when it wakes a man it births upon the bathroom floor.
As opposite as triggering and favored to another,
one a man and gentle too; a freak that hinders other.
Hidden well and under wraps her tender skin beats blue,
Accused of buying and not denying , ok! So it might be true.
It’s worth a pretty penny a monolithic fine,
But when I’m with that prostitute I know I break the bind.
I smell of rotten champagne and musty hotel sheets,
I’m lucky if I find my home out on the twisting streets.
I find a door familiar and sorta like my own.
But when the door is opened I step in the twilight zone.
My wife a demon beggar, my children green in hue.
Living room and all in sight a mess of mass imbue.
I try to grasp the picture here and fight off demon arms,
And with my swings, contact smack it seems as if it harms.
Proceeding until lifeless I celebrate my win,
By hugging onto toilet bowl regurgitating sin.
Albert Was A Bad Boy
my fingers run across your flesh,
I marvel at your touch,
how do you keep yourself so fresh?
appear so groomed and such.
I see the fear inside you eyes,
why must I frighten you?
I’ve dreamed of plumped baby thighs,
and skin of pale light hue.
these ties that bind you heavenly,
I’ll break each every one,
and rid you of that seventy,
look of aging thumb.
I’ll take you in your prime at that!
I’ll bleed you, drink you dry.
the stealth you lack of kitty cat,
this breaking makes you cry.
eyes removed you are my art,
your nose was in the way.
assure you there’s no beating heart,
ligaments useless weigh.
into a bag they are bestow and locked in water doom,
as for your face, I did replace, inside the tender womb.
Beg For Me
So lets say I’ve given it thought. And liked the way I assume it would feel to have someone beg for me. Beg to let them live. Beg for me to spare their loved ones that I’d only kill to mangle their heart inside their chest.
We’re only speaking hypothetically right? Are we? How can you be sure? Am I that creditable? Somehow I don’t believe me either.
But it’s something deep inside the brain…that forces you to take a better look at things, at people. To look so closely that its almost not enough to merely see their outside. You need to get within. Inside the skull, penetrate the eye sockets, investigate each nerve ending-each vein. Until you’re satisfied. Or will you ever be? Each person is unique no? So how can only ONE person be taken in account for the rest of the world?
Male, female, downs syndrome, epilepsy, tumors, AIDS, chemical imbalances, ADD, ADHD, clinically insane and or depressed. Not to mention combinations. The world is a personal collection of misfits in more ways then imaginable…and I can’t wait to inspect each and every one. To find out why IQ’s differ, and why your hair grew in black after dying it so, or why you insist on biting your nails, why are you afraid of the dark? What made you molest that child? Why is this color appealing to you? How do you do math so quickly in your head? When did you decide to become a doctor and what influence the drive to do so? How do you talk so fast? What made you so annoying? What made you become gay?
Why doesn’t mommy or daddy love you anymore?
Our hate talks for us. It lingers on well after all else has failed. It seems the only emotion we can rely on to never fade out. It fuels so much of the world it’s incredible to think so much energy is wasted on it. Wasted? Is it wasted?
Hate: A strong dislike of someone.
Animosity: despise for a certain thing or person
Rage: A combinational over flow of unbarring hate and animosity
Rage=Self defense system.
For those days when you just can take it anymore.
When you snap.
Your revenge upon resentment and torture.
What powers this? Obviously I have stated accordingly, but when does it finally push the bounds and cross over into too much? How is it that fear has the proximity to over cast rage and leave you a bloody mess on the wall?
And when you beg for me, ask yourself, “Is She Really Listening?”
Bite The Whip
what has brought this onto me?
have I crossed the line again?
a pattern of discipline I see,
but I don't break rules I only bend.
whip does strike the blistered skin,
knowing I’ll get it at least once more.
the whipping to cleanse of my sin,
remove the crimes with every sore.
beat me hate me it all feels the same,
when I agree to roll the dice I always lose the game.
deny my strength; a healthy heart inside of me,
body perishes and die but soul lives on you see?
red drawing near, it clutches at my throat,
closing in I hear the one "lay down and die" I quote.
pain replacing all of fear and bursting into night.
I collapse my vision is gone, I have lost all sight.
I am of the floatation devices, but only of the sky,
although I tremble at the height, up and away I fly,
a sudden weight is forced on me as I plummet to the grass,
it seems that god's against me too,
and down to hell I’m cast.
Blondes Do It Better
counting back the times I see this isn’t the only occurrence,
but this one was the best and I give you my reassurance.
never had a blond before fallen into my grasp,
and now that I have tasted you I hope it's not the last.
see my face is true to you and one you wont forget,
haunting every piece of you you'll be my best regret.
for years I’ll roam the world and free, I do my job too clean,
with sown lips shut I am so sure that you can never tell a thing.
I wish to keep you as my own. to consume you in this hell.
but rotting is an issue you see and secrets are broken by smell.
even now I hear you cry and it sings a song so pure I squirm,
please know you ate a part of me and both tender here and there so firm.
You were my pleasing prize of day, and one day all is yours.
tomorrow is another day and so that day is hers.
So what if you, to me, you are a sight for only short time?
greediness isn't faltering dear, it's now to share the crime.
You turned me on to blonds and now I search for light haired lass.
like I said before my dear, you wouldn't be the last.
Bye
I see that smile again and ask myself it's meaning,
is it genuine? or is it neglect that she is feeling?
her chest beats hard with thoughts in mind of future far too soon.
can it be that when they look they see the same damn moon?
how has this become a mess and oddly found itself neat,
for him I know but wish not still her heart it does fast beat.
is true or on the bound and re of lost first glance?
the way I am right now is not the exact starting stance.
I hate to be the bad person here but it's getting out of hand,
it ended I know because the love was turning horribly bland.
he is blood for me and still father too and never to be replaced,
but in this house I sit in now, he has been regretfully refaced.
Childhood In A Box
Open up your tired eyes and take a look at me,
Raise your head to levels eyes and tell me what you see.
A broken child and fragile mind is shaking in this skin,
Down to the bone and under still I save my deadly sin.
Cast away at birth I feel this tingle in my spine,
Tinkling like dirty water, and ever so divine.
Within this withered box you have outstretched to me,
I lift the lid and close my eyes to its conformity.
Shunned away like I at youth it falls to broken sound,
For deep inside I see not I but childhood gagged and bound.
Crazy Is Nothing
What is crazy? When asked again and again no one can seem to come up with a logical answer. Although society has given us many predesigned examples of a psychotic person we are still struggling to place our fingers on what precisely makes them insane. Of course you could say it was their ungodly longing for a child’s flesh, or the haunting will to take another’s life, but when it boils down to the core, what makes these compulsions so insane? You think it bad because of your morals. Well, what if these morals are stripped from you? What if famine became your utmost concern? Then one would not take it as a sin to devour a child younger then 10 to keep themselves alive. It is only insanity if it is conveniently place upon those we wish to incarcerate. For the term insanity only exists for those whom we want off the streets. It is the low blow of our humanly greed.
Those who murder, those who rape, those who eat their brothers and sisters, they have listened to their inner voice. Such voice is all you wish to own, all you wish to taste. It is that itching in every pedophiles right leg when they lay eyes upon a tender child or the ache in the fingers of a rapist when they catch a glance of their favorite type of girl. Everyone has their personal thoughts and everyone has their compulsions. It is these people whom we fear that act upon both. Those who are not afraid of consequence but only are thinking of quenching a thirst for sin.
In their minds is it sin? Of course it is. No matter who you are you know what’s right from wrong. The only persons who can escape that fact are children that have yet to develop enough to realize what is praising full and what is a no no. Their longing is a withdrawal from action upon compulsion and when acted upon it subsides this withdrawal for only a short time. Now realizing what will make them feel better every time they have this withdrawal, they continue the act when it comes on to them. Thus the endless circle. Even though you see them as monsters, they do want to be caught. It’s like a drug for them, only an intervention is of no help. If you have a desire to hurt someone, kill someone, rape someone, eat someone, and you obey it, you will never be able to walk among the streets a clean man ever again. There is no sobriety from it for you will always have that taste of flesh upon your tongue. Escaping is futile.