You listen to Alanis Morisette? God, you're such a Fag! I love it, though.

This is completely retarded, but it made me laugh.

SoCo makes me psycho
And, bitter, like a lime
Zima gets me date-raped
Wine makes me feel sublime

Bud tends to make me giggle
It's fun to lose one's class
But, I do not like the jiggle
That it adds onto my ass

Bacardi makes me swoon
Captain Morgan makes me sing
Jager clouds my judgement
Till I cannot see a thing

Tequilla makes me festive
It also gets me hot
When I start to feeling restive
In the bushes, I will squat

Vodka knocks my rocker
Sweet gin unpins the sinner
Jack Daniels makes me wrestle with
And, sorely lose my dinner

But, when I've had too much to drink
My business becomes risque
And, coffee makes me pleasant
If it's spiked with Irish whiskay

If guns are made for shooting, then skulls are made to crack.
You’ve never seen a better Faig than with a bullet in his back.

PLUTO

So, is this what death is like?
I was gazing at the stars
When I got hit by a car
And so I died
On the spot
Stupidly

Now I find myself
Tied to a funny fluffy fuchsia chair
On Pluto
Watching the same music video
Over and over again
All day long

(Not that there are actually days and nights here:
The sun is hardly bigger than any other star)

And here with me is a guy named
Franz
Who says he was a
Catholic
And he'd much rather be in Hell now
Waltzing with Mephisto
Than here enduring
Icelandic pop music

And here is also a guy named
Charles
Who says he was a
Buddhist
And he'd much rather be back on Earth
Already
So he could write
Poems
About the breathtaking beauty of
Nordic areolas

And here is also a guy named
Howard
Who says he was very much hoping for
Absolute nothingness
And he's extremely disappointed
Mostly because he can't die of
Intestinal cancer
Or anything else
Anymore

And me?
As long as I can hear some
Popular musics
I just don't care at all

"This future racing toward us paralyzes the wallet and the brain"

I will not die
No
The ambitious young man
That I am
Today
Will only change

And it is an old man
Wrinkled
Tired
Resigned
Who will die
Instead of me
In the end
And it won't matter much

Because he will only be good at
Stirring memories
Old shames and
Old glories
And pictures from the time of his youth
That will give him the impression
Of seeing countless ghosts

For the self is only a
Point
On a path
That is to say
Nothing
Or
At most
A vague idea
That fades as soon as we start to grasp it

I analyse myself
And it makes me
Become someone else
I elude myself
And I will elude myself
Forever
C'est la vie

I will not die
No
That old man
Tired
Resigned
Will die instead of me

To be insulted by these fascists is so degrading

In reply to:

---

So he could write
Poems
About the breathtaking beauty of
Nordic areolas

---

Will you please write a little poem about Nordic nips?



Tomb of the Utimately Unknown


I have never heard the cries
Of a bare and beaten Youth
For, I am far too soft and unprepared,
I'm told,
To hold that blood capsule of Truth
Inside the center
Of a Virgin palm

Yet, still
I feel
His fuzzy head, there
Cradled in my arm
Inviting Him to thieve my warmth from me,
In servitude;
Entreating Him to suck the light of life within my breast,
Which hollows more each second
Following the end
To gasping breaths
In turn, the blade invading my own chest
In reverent
Remembrance

Brine, it is the wine
I am but the chalice
Dread, it is the bread
Fuzzy, green inside my womb;
The malice

Although,
This feud, this horror, is not tactile
I have only viewed the war through futile
Pink, plastic binoculars
With roseate-tinged lens
Magnificent!
Their lack of meaningful
Magnification
Oh, Our damned nation!
Witnesses
Standing by to each and every
Haunting,
Reminiscent coronation
We are too magnanimous!

I've been thankful
I was not delivered
To this rotting earth;
A gun sewn into the carnation,
Silken lining of my flesh
Not rigid,
Stark
As flesh is made to be in
Passion

Fruit will never answer from the soil
Irrigated with the cardinal water
The crops dusted with blood of Children
Gristle of Man
Degraded to tallow
Their bristle braided into wick
We light the Candle
Fan the fire with our palms,
The wounds,
That, which we cannot lick

Their waxy faces
Lifted bodies
Sallow,
Hallowed,
Statuesque
But, in the flames
They're dispossessed
They deliquesce
To nothingness

A miracle is life
The elegy
Is not so eloquently lyrical
Each pure manifestation;
Made to wither or be plucked, at random
Plagued by infestation

The red bells
Roll in on themselves
The toll is for whomever
We are All
The Slaves
The Blind
The End

Virgins can't be saved, forever


I have a couple of fag women I go hunting with. - Altoid

I'll think of something, don't worry.

To be insulted by these fascists is so degrading

When it was never said
it was for the best
to come off second best
and stand in the corner like a man
who words had already failed twice in an evening
and proceeds to finish his drink and leave
his only wish to be forgotten along with his deeds,
both good and bad,
and be reborn in another place
with new skin and fresh bones
to make the same mistakes in the years still to come
that had already passed him by
spent alone
in hindsight, squandered
like a meandering metaphor straying too far from the original concept
only to reveal the concern that 25 is now closer than 18

I bet people can't wait to read my memoirs

What a shameless way to bump your own thread, young man!

NINE YEARS

So you're in love with me
And you know I don't care
But how could you guess
That in nine years from now
I'll still be your best friend
And I'll be smoking your Thai cigarettes
Gulping your Burgundy wines
Cutting my lips on your stubble
And stroking your not-so-sexy paunch
(Today you're so thin!)

All night we'll be doing these things
That our mothers wouldn't approve of
And that our girlfriends don't need to know about
Mine will call
And I will say I'm too drunk to get home
As I notice how much my jaw hurts already

Later on
Other parts of me will hurt
I will marvel at your velocity
You will marvel at my voracity
And in the end you will look at me
In that special way
That says
"No girl could ever please me like you just did."
And that will make me feel so warm inside
(The oxytocin rush, I will think)

But today
We're just two virgins
On some silty beach
Knee-deep in the Atlantic
Frustrated
Confused
Untanned
And all we do is make each other unhappy
While others have all the fun

The most beautiful words in the English language are not 'I love you,' but 'It's benign.' | Mon Espace

My muse deserves better
than to see her offerings subjected to the slings and arrows of outrageous Frenchmen
yet I don't care
because he is a queer
and his poetry is shit

I bet people can't wait to read my memoirs

You just wish you'd been a gay Bukowski instead of a drunken whoreski.

The most beautiful words in the English language are not 'I love you,' but 'It's benign.' | Mon Espace

Stay,
Copper moon
Our grins both agape in recession
Auburn heads tilted sideward in mirrored expression
I am caged in your gilt, amber glow
You seem still, but I know,
By and by, you must go

Gaze,
Bloodshot eye
For the sunlight does threaten the deeps
Farther, still, from this night, the pearl crimson moon creeps
I shall keep you some desperate way
You are gone, but I pray,
By and by, that you stay

"we went to pizza hut after school and lived the rockstar life for the first time that day." - 13athroom