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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
An autobio of sorts...

Submitted: October 20, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 20, 2008





A lit cigarette

between my lips

I inhale the smoke


like a lizard


My tongue is a log

of shit

Holes in my teeth

worming me


- fetidness


Ruin to the heart

Great loss!


The words just ramble

meander and fester,

and spew like vomit

(Insanity works only in

small whispers in the

little ears of little children

who run mad possessed

and dark as death in

the wrought garden of



I have been lead

all along

and I've gone my way


Motherfuckin' awry!

Hell bent life


My face will rot


from my skull

like a leper


My skin will sink

into my brain

exposing blood and

eyeballs in savage

sockets and my

hideous jaw and

wicked oozing


My head shall be

lopped off


I will wither and

decay and corrode

and atrophy


I will

and I don't care

II. -


The stars no longer weep

for any man

or angel


They merely hang

& bleed

& dwindle

in the bowels of night


like lonely candles


III. -


The original idea

was to dance & laugh

and thrash and


(Defilement has been

my inspiration

Knowing this

confirms my idiocy)


I rebelled against


I slapped reality, hard,

across the face and

I cackled, horridly

like a fiend or wretch


I've gulped wines

sweeter than ecstacy

I've tasted pleasures

more vulgar than



I've cursed and I've

damned and I've

scarred & I loved it,


like a dog


Now, I'm a lesser man

Now, I'm sadder, badder


I deserve a suicide's

burial, alone, on a hillside

w/no marker

o'erlooking the wasteland


IV. -


Labyrinth turned to


in sure easy strides


Eternity in a moment

by the wayside


Along the path, you can

fight and steal and kill


You can get high


V. -


In the midst of the horror

Amid the depths and

wreckage and cold despair

(-a low dry hiss like a

scorpion or serpent)


In the rotten shitt of it all,

there is a grand garden there,

a butterfly glimpse at bliss

w/all Things possible

(In this exile,

Chance is your only



Estrangement is our ennui.


Cities are our asylums

and great hives of

worst fears.


crawling nightmare

maggot groping

writhing sick and



Cursed in the tumult

Blessed in the conflagration


Let no one say I didn't

love you

' -o crazy days and

' wild nights!


I'm alive!

Did I survive?


The maw and enthralled


reeking urchin-


I taste death and


on the winds of

everything spoken

and every kiss

and every smile

On every whisper and

each soft sigh


I can smell the lie

on the fumes.


The noxious evil

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