Day 3- junkies warming hands burning the carcass of copper choked pipes. Hard cocked cocks drag the crippled kids out for sport. Shouting cheers for the home team, your soul burns beneath crack infested flesh. Pitted pores drowning amongst coke fried milk, grease slides upon the sick dying minds where the healing of God- choose a God, never finds its feet. Fumbling ambition, lost on the turf once admired. Winning lost its reality win death found a home.
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Monday, June 10, 2013
Lazy Faithless Wins- Pt. 2
Day 4- Visitors strap on sneakers blaring daily hypocritical sneers and fancy shedding of those laughing tears-applauses masquerading as holy prayers as he calmly assures a win for the home team's faith found rebirth as cracked rotten limbs dead long before these wounded lies find life once again. Bitten by black tar dripping from hard rocks singing, popping. Hang on courageously for a few remaining years, hidden years finding truth when your soul soon disappears. Shake the hands of losers and righteous shadow casting pricks who claim victory. Yet the only game played was bitches and fagots slicing hands where nails once split the beast from that Holy Land. Death is upon us, u and mother glued to empty wombs. Sweet silence finds its place as u slowly find rest with the sun, never rising again.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Demons and You
The Web is stirring about demonic facades lurking amongst us, snuggling beneath tacky upholstery. What pillow commands this wretched souless beast, enabling its turn at expression filled guises. Or is it expressionless art clipped from Adobe or other phonies.
Do not misunderstand me. The light I make of this fumbling of minds, sights, and interior designers doesnt negate one Very important truth. Demons and their composer are all too real my choir. Surely, they lurk within crevices and cracks that ring out reality, scattered among the clutter of our faithless realm. Adjacently, and yes intermittingly diving into our spiritual world, they are no phonies I assure you. How do I know? Because I've seen enough to believe, wholeheartedly. However, I doubt seriously demons bother masquerading as some character from Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' while using a ugly couch pillow as cover. No my dear fool, there much more clever then that. And Closer as well. Tell me youve never felt a chill, a presence carrassing the wind as it brisks by you. Or tell me youve never felt eyes upon you when no one is home. Leave the photo stitching to wise asses, but give the evil is do. A empty room, a lifeless couch, upon a computer screen hiding for all to see. Ha. Much more clever, ... and Closer.
Another note from the Hymns.
Do not misunderstand me. The light I make of this fumbling of minds, sights, and interior designers doesnt negate one Very important truth. Demons and their composer are all too real my choir. Surely, they lurk within crevices and cracks that ring out reality, scattered among the clutter of our faithless realm. Adjacently, and yes intermittingly diving into our spiritual world, they are no phonies I assure you. How do I know? Because I've seen enough to believe, wholeheartedly. However, I doubt seriously demons bother masquerading as some character from Edvard Munch's 'The Scream' while using a ugly couch pillow as cover. No my dear fool, there much more clever then that. And Closer as well. Tell me youve never felt a chill, a presence carrassing the wind as it brisks by you. Or tell me youve never felt eyes upon you when no one is home. Leave the photo stitching to wise asses, but give the evil is do. A empty room, a lifeless couch, upon a computer screen hiding for all to see. Ha. Much more clever, ... and Closer.
Another note from the Hymns.
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