Feeding the beast as it is.
WoW backwards is wOw.
yap.
So here is some brief new crap-ola!
* * * * * * * * * *
Beach Boys
I was 9 years old.
Listening to the Beach Boys sing…
”I can hear music”.
Singing along.
I thought that this is what life will be.
I was so wrong.
I wish I had that moment back.
Are there stars above us tonight?
The sky is empty.
And I am paralyzed with fear.
Heaven has disappeared.
What then?
What now?
The ground beneath my footsteps is so very scarred.
And our stars are gone sweetheart.
Our nothing has arrived.
My secrets made public. (The hanging of a stupid mans soul)
A little child.
Clothed in rags.
Wide eyed and afraid.
Shivering and hungry.
Standing in front of a sea of rabid wolves.
Screaming for blood.
Screaming for tears.
My soul complies.
The gallows at the ready.
The noose around my innocence neck.
Tight.
Exposed before the world.
Before this night.
Before these hungry wolves.
The knees weak and almost at collapse.
The trap door opens and…
I have to turn away.
I can’t bare to look any longer.
The outcome is always the same either way.
And the little body is scooped up and locked away.
Until the next time.
Fear is the mindkiller
When I said “I love you”
I never lied.
But most of you did.
Maybe still do.
Lie.
Love.
Whatever.
Just do what you do best.
I will just kindly bleed out here up on this
God damned cross.
Let’s love like teenagers
It can be new and extreme and exotic.
Love notes and a heart ache in absence.
Like a roller coaster.
An emotional Love high.
Where a kiss can last an hour and conversation is still
what gets us through the night.
Making mix tapes and finding out each other’s favorite things.
Where we can walk in the rain holding hands forever.
If you don’t have something nice to say…
Don’t become a writer.
Learn to lie.
Say something even more cruel than what you were going to start with.
Say something nice about yourself.
Pay a prostitute to listen.
Karate punch a nearby wall and/or person.
Run away screaming.
Where are all the super villains?
Sick of terrorists?
Fuck yeah.
Where is Skeletor?
Where is the Cobra Commander?
I need my Lex Luthor.
I need my Dr. Octopus.
I need my Darth Vader.
They made bad look cool…
Not fucked up…
Like the assholes we have in the really real world nowadays.
Give me a villain with class.
Give me Boris and Natasha.
Give me Catwoman.
Give me the Dark Phoenix
Give me the Baroness.
Give me something that sticks to the torment of super heroes,
And leaves us the fuck alone.
When you find out.
Look up at the sky and scream.
Pray on your knees until you bleed.
Laugh out loud.
Finish your sandwich.
Join a cult.
Break a heart.
Go out and Fuck every form of disease into your body.
Buy a new outfit.
Paint a picture.
Write a shitty poem.
Make the funeral arrangements.
Brush your teeth until your gums bleed.
Wait patiently by the door knowing I am never coming home again.
Flowers in a graveyard
She lays the plastic flowers at the foot of the gravestone.
Sits on the freshly cut grass and weeps a little while.
Tapes photos of ghosts to the front of the gravestone blocking out the name.
And listens to the wind carry through the tree’s.
And the insects crawl around in the subtle indentation she left in the grass when she quietly left the graveyard.
__________________________________________________________________
Goodnight and I am sorry I don't really feel like saying a whole bunch right now.
Captain PirateFace
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