Eyes

Celine
Never really gave much thought to you, did she now?

Amber
Oh hell yah, that bitch is doing time.

Natalie
Remember her ashen skin? She's doing time in heaven for smoking pot.

Deniese
The outcast. Yah, she committed suicide. What did you ever see in her?

Yah,
I never really thought you were a special guy.





Candy,
You made my life hell
You drove them all away
Now I'm stuck at home typing a God-effing letter to you
To say goodbye
'Cause you love me too much to let me go

Maxim

Resignation
E
LoSers
Is
G
N
A
T
I
FOR
N

Breaking Addictions is Like Puling Teeth

I give up.
I've given up. addiction
I've given up.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST!

I did it.

I've given up!

Nothing important, of course.

Breaking Addictions is Like Puling Teeth

I give up.
I've given up. addiction
I've given up.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING CHRIST!

I did it.

I've given up!

Nothing important, of course.

Righteousness

Resignation
So often the better, wiser option
All our resistance, crumbling beneath

WAIT!!!!!

Their reason?



What in the name of Jesus fucking Christ said they could-
God.
God, of course, you little twit.

Your God. Their God.

All the same, it is the right God.

Right for you, but not for me, though.

Too late.

It is NEVER too late.

Really, now, but isn't it always?

Nothing Important, Honest!

Man in wheelchair Guiding them
Is he really a person?
That one, no that one,
His arid, blubbering mouth
Lips shuffling across his face
He must be daft, she says, and flounces off down Poverty Lane,
With a capital "b" for "bitch" sand-blown into her eyes

She saw his skin, his lying flesh
Just long enough to cut a smooth incision
His already damaged soul broken again

She did not see his youth
Lost it to the nuclear mushroom cloud of warfare, that's what 'e did
Didn't see it coming now, didja, missy?
Didn't see it screaming at your lost soul
Least he has 'is- what have you gone and done with yours?

His mouth she saw, but never read
Dancing and swimming his face around to hide
Burning saltwater she has turned her back to,
But it's better his way
She doesn't have a soul; why should she deserve to cry?

Progress

Ghosts of Chernobyl and Three Mile Island
Slowly snatching the fame
From their material hosts
Tossing it into the recycling bin
In heaven labeled "For Witless Jerks"

Shadows of scrawny, one-armed trees
Stand sentinel
Propped up by plastic sheaths and asphalt soil
Merely for show, of course-
Concrete is more lively these days

Then again, progress was never wrong.