Masochistic, Baby..that why

Esphixiation is so nice
When lying here in mee garden.
The strangling limbs
Of this beautiful, blooming rosebush
Are just as deadly
And ominous
To me
As overdose is
To the
dear
junkie.

A fist that
Grips
For
Life,
That grips for
A slow,
Nice,
Death,
Will
Hold the suns rays
In an incandescent
Hearn,
Which it saves for future dinner parties,
Of course….

I grind and bash and mash
Stained glass into powder
To flavor my lamb,
To sweeten my cake,
And then I relax
And enjoy the blood flavored
Spittle.

I have always been a little self-destructive
I bellow to the unsuspecting sky.
While
Admiring the shape of a mortar shell,
I attended a peace rally
And was thrown out on my
Ass-
The ungrateful bastards!!!!
Don’t they know that without
My appreciation of death,
There are no hippies
Or peace rallies……..


They just don’t know
How
To appreciate
It all at once,
It all for what it is,
it from both sides of the spectrum,
it as a sad, happy, daunting, exuberant…..
experience.

‘cause that’s all it is, really-
An experience I choose to experiment with-
And I choose ignorance of the ignorant,
Abstinence from acquiescence,
Absence from the domicile
Of
Obligatory love,
Faux love,
perpetually abstaining
from
the engagement.

Don’t get mad,
Don’t talk about it,
Play the normalcy game,
Play the ice game,
Own the reality game,
But never buy a club
Membership again.


I wont be pious….
But I will say
Preconceived notions
And established normalcy
Will
Lead to that most
un needed of
emotions-

Guilt.