Poetry for the long and lustful...

Mass Mask

If I knew then
What I don't know now...
The past might now reflect
that I'm a sacred chao.

Then I thought belief
meant things are as they seem.
The world held all my faith,
I was young and lean...

Time passes in waves,
cascade upon my shore.
Monsters from the deep
washed up at my door.

Creatures filled with hate,
fueled on ice cold blood.
Breath of foul meat taint,
voice like boiling mud.

Whispers, screams and moans
Merged into single voice
and preyed upon my fear,
tried to drown me in their noise.

Within this forced cacaphony
a pattern was recognised.
These things were mere humanity,
living monsterous lives.

An obsession with control
bought with blood and lies,
they've forgotten their face,
and now live the disguise.

Power has changed this race
into things which should not be.
darkest fear's that this new face
conceals a portrait of me.
Here's Spiff with your daily dose of young adult angst (I know you older WGBers aren't getting enough).

I want it all.
I want to be free.
I want nothing.

I want to be empty.
I want to shed my emotions like wet clothes and leave them in a dripping pile.
I want to be loved.

I want to have a voice.
I want people to notice.
I want to be outspoken without saying a word.

I want to feel hate.
I want someone to hate.
I want to be a victim.

I want to be strong.
I want to be unaffected.
I want to be a stone.

I want oblivion.
I want silence.
I want to live.

I want a purpose.
I don't know what I want, but I want it now.
Fuck patience.
Damage Deposit

Five fifty tightens
the jump into migration.
Downtown beckons
in arms of anxiety.

Don't try to plan for disaster.
Relief isn't in that bug out bag.

Tight hot ball stomach knot
in a pitch swirling
bubble and seethe
and lick and fly.

Release and breathe

of a new shape
the view from seven
looks into infinite eyes
of potential heaven.

Further and further away
from a kind of comfort
and in to another
more impressive.
Is that the shortest thing you've written? Cryptic, with a interesting flow...I like it, but I have no idea why.

untitled #?

Repetitive tasks
help whittle away
the bulk of the day
in a mind-numbing way...

This tragedy,
it seems to me
is immensly less
than how things could be.

"There's more to life than this"
dolesn't begin to cover it.
Democratic or communist
we've all been led astray.

They've found a way
to circumvent
natural selection
with an election
that was rigged from the start.

We the humble populi
will never have a piece of pie...
Stare at air and wonder why
nothing's ever fair.
a silent fire

Sometimes my mind wanders,
and it's gone quite far astray...
I've seen the opportunities squandered.
I cannot help but feel ashamed,
but hindsight's always retroactive
and shame's just a waste...
Of course there's things I would do different,
and certain flavors I'd like to taste,
but crying over the milk that's spilt
will not repair the glass.
So I'll just let this sense of guilt
be a silent fire beneath my ass.
That's awesome, Bravus!

Mr. Monster

Please now
Mister monster,
don't come
at my door.

I've been through plenty
of hard times
and I've seen your
kind before.

So stay then,
stay away from
all the things that
I hold dear.

You'll find no
love in my home.
You'll bend no
sympathetic ear.

In this world
and the next
I'll avoid you
like the plague.

I don't want you
to follow me
while clawing
at my leg.

Please now,
mister monster
just try and

Your evil ways
have changed your face
even if you used to
be a man.

You lost that priviledge
long ago,
you'll never get
it back.

'Cause once you
are a monster
you're never
a man again.

Once you wander
down that path
you're lost
until the end.

I know that
there are many
with you
on that trail.

A population
of blood junkies,
your infernal
ranks do swell.

So you see, then
you don't need me.

You'll not be
going hungry
while your belly's
always filled.

o please now
mister monster
just go and
kill yourself.

Leave the world
a parting gift
that shows you
had a soul.
Hymn to His B.M.

Praise God who art apart!
To whom the world is but a fart!
He hurts us cause we're better for it!

Praise God who eats us whole!
Grinding marrow, grinding soul!
Lecher, virgin, young and old!

Praise God who shits enthroned!
On this Mortal Coil entombed!
Dyspeptic with your stubborness!

So does your toil enrich the soil that
feeds the worms of The Garden!

So that the lamb lays down at last
feasting on rack of lion!

Pissing into the wind, my friend!
Pissing into the wind!

Pissing into the wind, Amen!
Pissing into the wind!
Longing for Control

An economy of faith
paid for this in spades...
A cultivated fate
has grown strangley awry.

The best laid plans
and all that jazz,
you get the point,
it's all out of hand.

The politics of belief
allowed what's real to be
consensus reality
fragmented from within.

One bad apple,
it's how the cookie crumbles...
Birds of the ruffled feather
might commandeer the flock.

The sanctity of commerce
is all that makes a difference,
the worlds only influenced

Do unto others,
fathers, kids and mothers...
Not heavy, we're your brother,
you shouldn't look aside.

The value of our little tribe
is sometimes overshadowed by
the actions of the few inside
longing for control.
Dense crystalline morning
Sun lurks behind heavy snow-bearing clouds
Field dusted inch-thick with sugar

Red cheeks poised behind sunglasses
Nonchalant postures straining
Waiting for the throw

It's up-
Scurrying begins, to seemingly aimless coordinates
Great circle parabolas being traced for interception

Caught! Relayed. Psychic powers.
Unbelievably perfect positions
A film of an expert at billiards

Girl from Dieppe pops up
Safely over the line
The throw speeds arrow-straight
Past the defenders, past their most desperate intentions
Into her mittened hands.

We roar. We hug.
Effusive compliments pour forth tinged with small victory
But they are tall, and fast
We reset our grins and turn to face the wind again.

Sunday morning Frisbee.

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