Insanity Meditations

Helping the masses understand insanity
Just a little bit better
Disorganized
Lost
My words
Aiding contemplative suicides
And real men that don’t bother to use a mask

Only 18
And already my heart aches
Like a swelling, slowly inflating
Balloon
Far beneath my ribs, and decalcified bones.
Where I forgot
That I too am human
Pump me full of another drug
And I’ll soon forget again
Hopefully I won’t remember
How it hurts
To be real

Masturbate, music, migrate, massacre, mediate
All of the things
At the disposal of 18 years
Of rot.
These are the tasks of a writer
Changing the world with words of wonder
While asleep on the girlfriends couch.
Fighting hate and fuckery
From the armchair, blue pabst in hand.

Like a Crooked Spliff

Like a crooked spliff
embers chase down to the filter
shrouded in layers of ash
sins taught by a book
With small declarations in gold embroidery

Bibles your family and friends flashed
Like Spanish vocab
Smoldering beneath layers of conventional guilt
Until ash is secreted in a series of grooves
In a never ending road top

Sometimes stogies
Are crushed into the pavement
Eager to burn
But chance has snuffed potential

In hell’s eternal flame
somehow
unable to find
The generosity
Of a 5 o’clock shadow
With a lighter