Poem: Learning to Suck Dick

When nothing is "bad"
all things are permitted.
It's like a final protest
against the Gods who made me.

Clearly I'm meant to learn to suck dick,
why else would I be in this place?

Penultimate Humbler,is there any lower place?
The closest near-guess is the anus!

I do it, just so,
if it's wrong, even better.
Maybe now my prayers will be heard,
on the back of the anguish of my heart.

If the devil truely loves
to demean and rule the purest,
surely I must be
a fine old meal indeed.

Poem: Dead Male God

The dull, pointed, phallus of masculenity,
spinning and thrusting.
it's passion far surpassing common sense.
The mad male thrust,
thrusting ever onward
murmering "relax baby, relax"
fucking to a stump-stop.
It doesn't know any better
and it is truly
the opposite of it's other half.
Sensitive to Insensative,
Rounds to Angels,
Compassion and Vengeance.

The world is run
by that blind male fury.
But it's time has passed
and the time of The Child
just begining.

Poem: Sickly

What's wrong?
It's hard to tell.
Blessed all over
though I still feel
like there is an inch-thick layer
of numb skin and numb emotion
surrounding my entire being.

Where are my options?
It's storming today
as I sit in my box
wishing not to leave.
Tired, yet unsettled,
hungry and nauseous.

The sweetness of Eternity
touched me the other day.
I should be happy still,
maybe I am.

It's just the rain
keeping me from walking.

Poem: Improv

And the True Freedom comes.
The one where I am Free.
Free.
Free.
To do whatever I can get away with,
for as long as it lasts,
bounded only by my imagination,
and the energy for
whatever I may discover...

It is so easy to forget the feeling,
the feeling of "Anything Goes"
- the feeling of
no plans, no net, just straight forward,
All up to me.
No real guidelines, no inspirations,
certainly not routine!
That one thing is sure;
moments unrepeatable.
Only made possible by the fact
that there is no routine.
It could not exist otherwise.

Surrounded by Creatures of Habit,
going too and fro,
I am strange here, but enjoyable.
So much more alive
than the world of the expected,
where everyone knows
pretty much
what is going to be happening.

No room for Improv,
but Improv
is where the Life is.

Poem: Nice People

Most people arn't nice
to be nice.
Most people are nice
to get what they want.
I keep trying to believe
that the person
being nice to me
is being truly good and caring.
I keep wanting to believe.

This results in my being repeatedly
used and crapped upon,
always by choice,
always in the sincerest hopes
that this time,
maybe this time,
things will be different.
maybe this time
things have finally changed
for the better.
God has finally heard me!
Only to be replaced by
my tears and shame
at how wrong
I could have been.

Poem: He is a Demon

A loser again.
The tears come freely.
I chose the wrong trap
and felt so good about it.
Where can I go?
What can I do?
All choices are ugly.
I am alone.
Escape!
Alarm!
Sirens blaze
throughout my entire body,
nothing comes but tears.
Tears and fleeting ideas
of "maybe" and "perhaps."
Arggg!
All of my choices are ugly.
Just when I thought
my luck may have changed;
it had -
for the worse.
He is a demon
looking to make others.
I pray for help,
spirits hear my tears.

Poem: Dellusion

I have just discovered
that the reality behind
which I have been laboring
for so many years
is a complete sham.

I have long suspected and intuited this,
but I have finally obtained concrete proof.

There is no such thing as authority,
or those that know better than you.
They are all pretenders and scam artists;
Those who enjoy control, for some reason.

I do not desire to control, only to love.
Apparently I was dropped in the wrong world.