Praying for RainTaking up all the spaceSoaked the color from this placeNow everything outside is greyI look up every nightFor some alien spaceshipsSomething that could take me awayFrom this earth from this townLift my feet of the groundTake me to another dimensionTo a mystical placeWhere I have something wise to sayAnd where maybe someone will listenCause if I don't know who I amThen how dare you say you love meWhy rhyme. If I don't. Have a reason.Don't know what ill doWith my life, I'm just a childSo will, you please, stop asking.So I scribble and bang out these stanzasOne by one till my mind is contentI have these overwhelming visceral feelingsWhere I shake and I sweat and I shakeI know I created this prison im inSo that I could get out somedayIf I could only reach the chainI could steal a keyOr a time machineAnd then I'd be free I'd be free!To pull a head of the raceSpit in their faceAnd finally break free of this placeIf I don't know who I amThen how dare you say yo
Interstate 42Walkin on down the interstate, walking on down interstate 42.Hitchin a ride to nowhere, riding my thumb to somewhere. Somewhere new.I'm just waitin on the future, hopin for the future to come.Thinkin about nuthin thinking about everything its what I do.And there a train that's comin along sideAnd its goin to the city of the lightsAnd im all alone here just watchin peoples lives fly byAnd I was hopin that you might stay here with me for tonightWalkin on down the interstate, walking on down interstate 43.A shadows walk so close to me, the lost souls all surround meGoing to there cubicles riding environment friendly bicyclesAll out to make money but the moneys making them intoConsumers of faux happiness consumers of faux happinessAnd sometimes I see things that shouldn't be thereAnd I wake up in places I shouldn't beAnd sometimes people tell me that I'm crazyCause I see things that I simply shouldn't seeAnd they lock me up in a building cause I'm crazyBecause I see thing
The last Show everBlack and white calligraphyTelling of a graveyard celebrationBig Kids Over a Cardboard SeaContribute to this night of elationJoy and sorrow surf the crowdLost in bodies everything is rightThe people are fuel the music is loudIn celebration we wreck the nightWe dance through the dark and at dawn we flyLeaving holes where man met wallThe sun lounges over the hill still shyWhen we wake we must rebuild it allWe absorb all we can for we know it is our last mealThe dishwashers words are shouted togetherThe memories of tonight will never healFor this is the last show ever
Not ForgivenLiquid reality fragile as a flameDestroyed by one ghosts passingOn a cold windless night a babe with no nameFor his heart was apart, and his breath thick with wantingWhen one life vanishes another takes its placeBut my father ignores this philosophyOn a cold windless night a blanket with no nameHere a lone soul starts his biographyA street urchin I was left to my own devicesFrom an early age I was filled with maliceOn a cold windless night a king with no nameRules over his cardboard palaceA paper bag on my back and loss in my eyesHand outstretched lips pleadingOn a cold windless night a dog with no nameOn the end of a stick finds meaningIm taken in by a counterfeit soulFreedom at the end of his leadOn a cold windless night a soul with no nameIs given for fire and feedI am dancing twirling gracefullyPainting crimson on the snowOn a cold windless night a killer with no nameFalling farther with every blowA man dies every time another is bornI am a man
RIP TinderboxJoy and sorrow surf the crowdLost in bodies everything is rightThe people are fuel the music is loudIn celebration we wreck the nightWe dance through the dark and at dawn we flyLeaving holes where man met wallThe sun lounges over the hill still shyWhen we wake we must rebuild it all
HummingbirdIf a hummingbird stops its wingsIt will fall lifeless to the floorAnd I know if I stop runningThe same fate it will comeBreaking down my doorCause I know theres someone out thereWho would kill me in a secondIf only presented with,The right circumstancesAnd I see him in my rearviewHes a symphony of lightsHes gonna spill my gutsCause hes drop dead gorgeousAnd when he sings my heart outIts to die forCause I know theres someone out thereWho would kill me in a secondIf only presented with,The right circumstancesSweat blinds me as I pull overAnd my wings they start to flutterAnd hes walking up behind meAnd he is fingering the triggerWell Im gonna spill my gutsCause hes drop dead gorgeousAnd when he sings my heart outIts gonna blow my mindHe stands outside my windowHe looks from side to sideHe shows me his revolverPoints the gun insideI slide my hand inside the dashboardFeel the cold hard bite of metal
Acceptance Admittance Patient: He has a drifter look, messy hair, plaid shirt and cords. Young but talks like he has had years of experiences. He plays with a coin, flipping it through his fingers. During the play he gets increasingly calmer and more comfortable. Never stops his smug and knowing smile. Interrupts himself a lot. He is fidgety but in a comfortable and composed way. Psychiatrist: Boring, clean shaven, hair combed back. He wears a white doctors coat. Intelligent enough in a traditional sense, he cant keep eye contact with the patient. Speaks in a monotone voice until the end of the play. Patient is on one side of a table. He is picking at his nails and leaning back in his chair, looking around uninterestedly at the Psychiatrists office. Psych enters and sits down never looking at the patient; he opens a folder and reads over it. &
Monologue Im tired of being mind fucked everywhere I go. School is bullshit they mindfuck you with textbooks about what didnt happen in places that I will never go. At home Im mindfucked by that tube that sits at the end of my bed taunting me all day. Dont do work, dont interact with reality, stay in bed and blow up fucking aliens all day. Its like the whole world is set up to mindfuck you and if you want to get away from it. they tell you to go to church (the biggest mindfuck of all) or to go live in a cave in the Himalayas with the fucking Dali Llama. All anyone does is tell me what I can and cannot do: Buy this, throw that away, dont have sex, dont take drugs unless the doctor prescribes them, then fucking have pills for breakfast lunch and dinner for all they care. Its all a great big mindfuck man. You know my dad always bugs me hey why cant you just be normal like your brother haha what the fuck is normal? H
Devils GrinVivianBlood rolls down her tongue againLands upon the floor and thenShe knows that she has reached her endBenjaminYou know that youve just killed your kinYou have no remorse for your sinOn your face you wear the devils grinWedding dayThe words you said now thrown awayHer body lies soon to decayNow you must make your merry wayFirst time you metAcross the bar you saw her silhouetteYou offered her a cigaretteFrom that day forth you had her in your netBenjaminMarried nine years almost tenYou loved to listen to her violinWhat made you commit this sin?Its quite simple really.The fucking check cleared.
PussycatPointyShinySneakyLazyFangs, claws, ears, tail--so pointy! ShinyFur and eyes; sneaky hunter: lazy brat!
You Don't Understand"It's unbecoming," you say."You look unapproachable! Go change."You tell me that I look unapproachable,But everyone else seems to think I look beautiful.You're the only ones who don't get it.Everyone else seems to like it.I've had even had a teacher tell me she liked it.Why can't you see it?I may have a liking for dark things,But that's no reason to question my spirituality!I'm not part of a cult. I don't worship the enemy.Christ Jesus is the only God for me.I stay away from symbols I know are evil.My intentions should be clear to you, of all people!I may tone down on what I wear on the outside,But you cannot control what I feel and think inside.I know the culture enough to know. I'm not blind.I just wish you would have a more open mind.
DPFF Why is the Rum Always Gone...Everyday I'm such a bum.My companion only being a bottle full of rum.You're the replacement for my mumThanks for being such a chum.Jack Daniel's, for he is always the scum.He's the leftovers of every man's cum.Your affects, they always make me hum.That or take a quick quickie at maxim.But don't let that nudity speak certain volume.Or else it will lead to a risky, risky harem.Don't add men though or that will be a problem.I don't want the entree to be my poor rectum.I guess it's okay if they use the condom.I'm young, I'm dumb, I can always play possum.Thrust in, thrust out, the new born blossom.It has now become my new life custom.They took pictures and all, I'm all over the forum.There filling is now my only daily income.One last hunk, he shot like a magnum.It's force was one that went up to my eardrums.So sad I am that you buzz is always a strict time column.It dissipates, it fades, then I'm back wholesome.Rum, you're always that pure mean sadismWait, why is my
PostedI hung a sign upon my head,"No Solicitors," it read"No perpetrators or facilitators,I'll have mashed potaters instead."
The Red Circle: Mrs. WarrenMrs. WarrenSheltered a tenant from lands far and foreign.If the Warrens hadn’t needed the money,What would have become of this little plot-bunny?
The 'I' in Team is Hidden in the A-HoleIf at first you don't succeed-destroy your competition.Nothing but wasted time comes to he, who waits:that's wisdom that bears repetition.Good things actually comeTo he, who steals them first:that's the real and inconvenient truth.Every good-hearted poor person,who's forgottenfive minutes after they take their dirt-nap,is more than ample proof.And it's true that there may be no I in team,but without me, there's just T&A;and 'team' also spells 'meat'and 'mate' and 'tame'-or take out the m,and drink tea before we eatand after we ate.Your tam fell offwhen you were slammed to the mat,so you'd better call the EMT-What? You've already met?Well, how about that!There really IS only me!And sue unto othersbefore they can screw unto you:get rich the new-fashioned way-that's what all those Ampersand Associatesroadside billboards are telling you to do.Because everyone's a victim-especially the ones you create.The Beatles talked about the love you take & make?To Hell
A Philtre! A Philtre!A philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!Make this mine endto die from want of loveis to make a heart to rend.A philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!My pulse threads weakbefore it ever beat fastand naught there is company to keepA philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!The sparkling crystal bluepour me a vile and send me to the starsto bring me a lover, true.A philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!There lies my last dying breath.Oh, what shall you do?When this is truly the end of my death!A philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!Why do you frown oh, sweet doctor dearest?Won't this cause you delightto know I never drank the vile, sweetest?A philtre! A philtre!One more blasted philtre!I poured it in the brandy you sip every nightBut why does that turn your face such a hue?Surely someone like meCouldn't poison one such as you
Why Do I EvenWhy must I alwayswrite of angels and demons?Theological hallways?Death, horror and treason?Would it not makea mighty fine verse:My Oatmeal is Mushy! RakingLeaves is a Curse!There are many unsettlingtopics on which I have discoursedrape, lust, and murderingand those aren't the worst!Why do I write thus?Why, why indeed!These things have been discoursedbeyond well my creed.There must be a reason.Hasn't there, sir?So you find it pleasing?Well, actually, mister!It does make me happyand even what's moreit makes me all sappyto write up some gore!So, take that and shove,I'm a gladdened ol' it!I'd be happy in loveto be horror's new git!
Why Writing?It is folly to ask a writerwhy it is he writefor some, stories must be toldand each tale must have an author.One does not ask why the seas must tideor if the wind must blow.As those who take a pen to handknows that their words are life.As earth is nourished by the rainand fed by sunthus the writer feeds uponupon the words he writes like a dog in chains.The thirst he feels for printed pageis as akin to lustit sinks it's teeth in while he's youngand turns to wine with age.So, writing is a way of lifewith ink flowing through his veinswhere each moment is a passing taleand each morning is a new line.
WoopsEvery time you read this a fairy dies...