$6 Trillion Condom

The callous hands of clock towers
Age the ignominy that has become
The very face known as American society

6 billion pricks occupy every anus
Engraved within this universe
And the one prick who appeared distinctive
Behaved like that of an equal associate

What are such clocks good for
Minus aiding the counting of fiendish nightmares
Foolishly published by such an inviting succubus?
I rue when I had first acknowledged her existence

Tachyonic Antitelephone

Fuck! Her choices establish tragedies
The key that fosters felicity long since marred
But now she’s found the freedom she so passionately sought
It was gifted to her as a straight jacket
In the colour of her choice

Every evening she sleeps within such paraphernalia
As the solace pacifies her in classic tones

With the cushioning characterized as a mirror
Emulating the shape she has so flawlessly taken

Two years in the knapsack
And to your very eye I am the poster child
For used condoms and tampons
Am I not worth more than fish?

A Thousand Funerals

During the pre-evening liturgy
Betwixt a shabby stall
Irate I sit scribing seasoned verses
Silent as an infant in production

Whilst the slaughtering of pacifism
Across the universe ‘tis my soundness
Perforated by the eerie current

‘Twas delivered via the vapors of her breath

Curtly, such graphic memories gnaw the very bones
Of what I had thought to be timeless romance
Though once again I’ve been forsaken
To drink all ‘twas left unsaid and unknown

M.E.A.N.

Tones of depreciation eject forth estuaries of spittle
Causing unsought billows of panic
Why can’t society be more appreciative
Instead of dejecting them
And divesting them of criticism
Communication is significant
Yet people omit it’s qualities

Famous Nightmare II

For a while I fancied revivifying our alliance
Though I have satiated the cavern
I take honor in the many publications and poems
That years and years from now I will compose
Even though you are a dogmatic hellion
You shan’t shun the clasp of fame

Leafless

A role is fashioned for each of us homosapiens to portray
Though what if such a role ‘twas fashioned
by a fallacious organization of fabulists
Who decode billions of renditions of one monograph
for narcissistic purpose of monetary gain?
Naked fidelity shan’t be placed upon a hollow existence
Nor should verses be fibbed
Why can’t religion be real again?

Sour Scars

My bones take the shape of guitar strings
a genesis froths a sequence of irrevocable refrains
Like eradicated jars along the brink of some nameless beach
It matters not a damn to sulk in sour memories
When all they are adept of doing evolve into forthcoming tribulations
resulting in yearly scars as well as the razing ‘tis lifeless amour