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Psychobabble is drooling
Filth sliding off your tongue
To a world that doesn’t want you
Chaotic rambles spill
Flourishing idiotic sentences
To only a southern cult following
Despised and detested
The walking anti Christ
An asylum meant for your family
Raising children to scream
Not speaking with an ounce of intelligence
Your mother should have used a condom
So the world didn’t have to put up with
Your nonsense and illogical thoughts

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I am used

to color a fire truck

I am used

to color a stop sign

I am used

to color a red light

I am used

to color flames

I am used

to color Santa’s Claus’s outfit

I am used

to color a red ribbon

I am used

to color lipstick

I love the red crayon

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Strutting contradiction

spewing selfishness

Child like temper tantrums

dilute your balloon ego

Even the scarecrows

don’t want you

A strolling blood clot

aimless direction

A rambling anthrax

Mindless and foolish

Even the soulless

don’t want you

A marching eye sore

Belligerent and foul

A corrupted delinquent

Hop scotching bitch

Even the demons from hell

don’t want you

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Never do I rest

Some are addicted

Always being used

Some abuse me

Rarely I am shut off

Some break me

I am full of so much

Some ruin lives

I can be a problem

Some people die

My purpose grew

I’m often used

at the worst times

I have a price tag

Unlike a human

Please use me

appropriately

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I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.

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Requesting peace

Uneasy separation

Raising the white flag

Just wanting to be alone

Clearly misunderstood

No need for drama

Let me sulk from your daggers

and just leave me alone

For you couldn’t see me

You take no responsibility

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I am clear

I am measured

I am defined

I am used every day

I am a necessity

I am used to solve problems

I am beautiful

I am dramatic free

I am essential

I am needed

I am every where

I am value

I am not a color or a race

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Strolling down

Bleeding Havoc Lane

Counting the

shattered porch lights

Awakened by the

mountains of trash

Recognizing the last

names on the mail boxes

Falling aluminum siding

Mesmerized by the

paint chips

Boarded up windows

Awkward silence

Desolate skeletons

in the mourning closets

Tortured furniture

is howling at midnight

Roots below the ground

remain pessimistic

Only whiskey pours

from the ancient faucets

Slowly I pull up to the

street sign

Eyeing up the tape covering

the name

Tearing it off like it’s a sore

underneath

Burnt Memories displayed

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Eighteen is the magic number

Defines maturity and responsibility

Perhaps it’s just a digit

6570 days of being alive

But don’t know what you are living for

Answers and claims are unreachable

Eighteen is a number of legality

But not a number of wisdom

Talk to someone who has lived more days

Life isn’t about digits and numbers

It’s about the choices we make

Every choice from the 6570 day is critical

You just don’t know it yet ….

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I’m written on

Sometimes I’m wasted

I’m typed on

Sometimes I’m abused

I can be in different colors

Sometimes I’m crinkled

I’m different sizes

Sometimes I’m over used

I’m made into an airplane

Sometimes I wonder …

If I will ever disappear

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Oh Poet the emperor

Shall I dive into your

18th century plagiarized manuscript?

It’s not as hidden as you

believe as educated as you are

I can read you like the pamphlet

Yes pamphlet – the size of

your sweet vocabulary

Diluted words of nothingness

Playing with Drama

Because you are the Queen

Not the King of Denmark

Despite the riddle you keep

reciting your manhood and strength

Keep taking a step further

with your playbook

I will rip apart and expose you

for who you really are

Lonely just the like rest

Minutiae among the minds

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Spastic clutter

Opening up a can of debris

Mixed up predicaments

A compilation of distress

Walking into turmoil

Gazing at a eyesore

A mayhem of selfishness

Mishmash of ideals

Seeking light in the wreckage

Tripping on hindrances

Overlooking headaches

Disoriented from the gospel

Ignoring the theorems

Forever searching the self

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Exasperated point of view

Tearing and ripping me in half

Accepting my tired faults

Ruining what was too good to be true

Reality digging in my insides

Watching my mind crash

into a broken down train station

As the clock barely moves

I stare into the wrecking machine

Seeing a glimpse of my skewed

perception shine bright

in my dumb blank eyes

Realizing my mind needs to be

examined and reprogrammed

Refusing to stay on this damn street

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I’m a wounded prize,
Laced up in bitterness.
I’m a lethal injection,
Trapped in a empty bottle.
I’m a bullet from a war,
Only shot through my veins.
I’m a discarded black heart
Only seen in the shadows.
I’m the venom from the rattlesnake
Only to swallow with salt.
I’m a chill on my own spine
Only to stop from being numb.

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Yellow submarine taxis growl

Chauffeurs flipping the bird

Traffic jams six miles long

under a melodramatic sky

Hearts flutter and change rattles

Scent of Pizza and hot dogs

fill up the obscure potent air

Surrounding big city talkfest

Delighted with lipstick flirts

Walking by high dollar men

Staring at petty indifferences

Nonchalantly cursing

Engrossed with constant image

Consumed with the red lights

Unable to cherish or embrace

seconds of life on Broadway

****

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Blaring hardcore

Metal music rumbling

Guzzling down a fifth

of Jim Beam at

the snakeskin wheel

with her licking her

saturated lips in the

passenger seat

Scorching engine

Curbside flames

Gateway to the

magnificent underworld

Drenched in the

madness and her

lustrous eyes

Salivating on the

speed lane to hell

as lightning crashes

Aching for the bombshell’s

fingers on my

trembling knee

to release the

infernos tension

She’s worth the

impact and ashes