Dated 16-August-2004
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I threw my brother down some stairs,
just to see if he could fly
I killed my sisters’ kitty cat
Just so I could make her cry

In granny’s mouth I put some lye
She was sleeping on her bed
To see what noises she would make
As it burned into her head

I put some glue in grand pa’s cream
That he uses on his butt
So he’d explode when he went poop
‘caue his heiny was all sealed shut

I poured acid in aunty’s glass
When she had her self some gin
Because she really should have known
drinking alcohol’s a sin

I disemboweled my dad one day
When he dozed off on a beach
I grabbed his guts and ran to see
How far his intestines reach

But mommy dear I do not touch
I act good with out a hitch
I’m really scared of what she’d do,
Because she’s a psycho bitch

Dated 16-August-2004
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Time flows by, slowly,
Like a cool water stream,
Washing the dirt and silt,
from my mind,
Leaving a polished stone.
The deposits no longer present,
No longer Blurring Perception,
But the effects still remain,
Leaving rings on the surface,
For as long as the pebble Remains.

Dated 15-August-2002
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I’m sipping the juice from out of his eyes,
I’m roasting them both his big juicy thighs,
I’m stewing his skull for its cranial prize.

His Feet I have bronzed as cheap souvenirs
Yule decorations from both of his ears
And I toss the butt, I’m not in to rears

I’m drying the skin a goodly sized pelt,
It’s good for some shoes, or may be a belt,
Scalp makes a sporran though I’m not a Celt

His innards are soft Slow cooked in a crock
His balls are the weights on my coo-coo clock
I won’t even say What’s up with his cock

The bones I throw out, I’ve got quite a few.
Intestines are trash, and not good to stew
They’ve really no taste, and stringy right through

If you know some things, to do with the rest,
Please send out a list, to my postal address,
I truly hate waste, I’m totally stressed.

Dated 30-October-2001
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Chicken soup and ginger tea,
This is what I need for me,
Warm and yummy
In my tummy,
Make me better speedily.

Blankets warm and comfy bed,
Big soft pillow for my head,
Safe and cosey,
head to toesy,
In my home and nicely fed.

Dated 10-September-2001
Failrly certain I wrote it in the late 80’s
=====================================

Red

My wrist screams forth red fury,
Angry at the world that forces its speech
Its words, Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
Forming a puddle on the floor.

Dated 7-September-2001
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Viruses, germs and bacterium too,
I feel like my bloodstream’s becoming a zoo,
Leaving me hacking and coughing with wheezes,
blowing my nose just to fend off the sneezes.

Body aches, headaches and pulled muscles too,
They’re constantly leaking vile fluids and goo.
Little infections that do as they pleases,
I feel the effects of their nasty diseases.

icky and yucky, just feeling like poo
Already inside me, there’s nothing to do.
I just want my mom to come in like breezes,
Make me fell better with warm hugs and squeezes.

Dated 23-August-2001
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Head colds head colds
They Certainly rot,
Blocked up sinuses
Nose full of snot.
Snorting and bleating
Like sheep with a Scot.

Mucus and phlegm
with no place to go
I’m honking away
Nothing to show
Unable to suck,
Unable to blow.

Stuffy head, fever
Ain’t doing shit for me med.
not sleeping at all
As I sweat in my bed
Feeling so lousy,
I wish I were dead

Well, no use in whining
Or Bitching out loud,
Ain’t no one to hear me
I’m apart from the crowd
So I guess I’ll just sit here
My blankie, my shroud

Dated 23-August-2001
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Today I give thanks to god
And thanks to my fork and knife
That I was born carnniv’rous
And feast on the flesh of life.

Small things scurry to and fro,
Living out their lives in dread
Of becoming an entree
And to something bigger fed

The strong devour the weaker
It happens every day
And the weak go very well
With Merlot and Cabernet

Days when people piss me off
My anger running freely
On days like this I’m happy
That something died to feed me

I gnash my teeth and swallow
And savor every taste
And pray the day will soon come
Its my enemies I baste

Dated 22-August-2001
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Freaks toting cell phones
Yuppies with ink
These cross-culture habits
Are starting to stink.
Stations in life
No longer defined
Just keep who you are
Locked tight in your mind.
No niches, no crannies
In life’s little game
Lost are the labels
That made us the same.
Drop outs made doctors
Preps stocking shelves
Now all our lives,
Are defined by ourselves.