satire420

[satire420]

Void Slugs

A draft for the first to be raptured By the true vine’s observant friends Was held for every species

Requiring an involvement of the speed At which they could approach new talents Particularly upon the formalities Of the human perspective on their death

Though even under a most empathetic circumstance & the avoidance of a constant sliming

It were unlikely that these prerequisites Of a future evolutionary popularity For their consumption of the narcotic reverie Would be anointed by one That did not speak their language

Because to not imagine them beneath you An assurance for the majority

The pace at which a response accounted for An improved literacy might be reached, eventually Again by man when their sound barrier Has been physically boxed Into a zero-gravitational environment

The answer assuringly positive From those floating towards outer-space On the basis of a burgeoning celestial employment

Of total escape in the metaphysical emptiness Of the ego-driven vortex Which would be the road Into a rehabilitation of their public image

The windows from where the soil Of communal entertainment Is made into a righteous filth Would be cleansed by these under-appreciated & “out of their time” species

How a neutral obliviousness could wash over The instinctual gullets of those sucking fish From the plastic of their hunger for soul

To remain in the control position Over old social orders Yet to accommodate the elitist lifeforms

As a shape able to leave What technology can only moderately capture Stricken with an ill at ease filing Of their possible class of augmented research

There is also a feeling of detachment From associating what might disgust some With a purifying of excess impulse & subsequent compulsion 
Stemming from a slacking Towards non-spatial reality Of a euphoric connection

To the limits of your own procession Of thoughts that must be seen into For what can be built upon

As a larger imposition of their own edicts As to manage our sanity’s numbing stress

By the light of a travel Between the ground and the world’s removing The accursed & useless patterns That are pushed into the visions We could defend if not for the masterplan

Like tears upon the spinning plates To hide the cracks of our parallel subordination To a routine that causes such decay As to stop us from breathing, eventually

With the potential for a word Left like smeared ink made clear

As a supernatural confiding In the environment itself But only when viewed from the inside out

Like the thoughts themselves were lacing The webbing of the sludge that resinated So casually into being remembered Like a bullet that grew a forest Of a billion eyes

Trained to document the code Being passed like it were the glue We’ve yet to use to sew up a place in eternity

Of which this membership is engrained Into their every responsibility While avoiding the salted inexplicable dimensions Offered by the dead stars shaken upon the cosmos

-

Bunny Sabretooth Chameleon

There’s an anguish To being conceptually beheaded By your own comprehension

That seeks to appeal to carrying Those of a similar material Outside where a past levitation’s reduced to memory & not what the monotony liberates in our patience

In these colors absorbed from within a pile of towels That pause their hallucinatory defilement To take a photograph of what will be bitten next

Like sawing wings of an airplane That are creating films of a movement Away from melting the earth below

Merging into an island upon their back The victim is causing such mutations to alter The already jettisoned but frozen correspondence

At gestation’s reproach To a permanent state of transfiguration

The essence of dreams lost Only to be magnified by a fortress of a rabbit That’s allowed its particles to shift

Depending on the karmic individualism Of our response to sleeping Under its gentle takeover Of nearly the entire sun

Unable to move when not brought upon the screen Utilized by a sympathetic sculptor Who is then likely disposed to await The destruction of said creation When appearing off of any electric channel

Through a belief in accordance With this latest blasphemy Upon a supposed historical accuracy of our origins That writes itself in place of science

Of which this entity owes to the cellular signal Any further clarity & ambition

How many bodies will be integrated Into its jagged coat before it becomes impossible To feed one’s self?

In every burst out from the clutches of females Attempting to stave off an invasion That would not only be viral but entirely hypothetical

Its menace in an attributive ubiquity Towards the possibility of its existence representing A miscalculation that might defile the air itself

Until becoming pronounced enough To stare into the nothingness of life’s initiation Into the promises of a unique framework

That we each invent until unusable in a watery abyss Of a clotting always threatening To eat the light itself

Aware or not of its holy epicenter from the idea Which cannot be divided except evenly In a mirroring that makes replication by our hands An absurdity and a cheating

Toggling like a motorized drill Between its power status

As the drip that its mustache must then represent To the manufacturing of this rarest crossing over From the theater and from which facial hair Tends to be a novelty to hide a lack of talent…

There is no other combustion of a foreign agency That deserves such a mysterious addition To their fragmented performance

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Heroin Trolls

Illusive as the scams of the missionary Between the countries & their cameras Where data is sold for its legal history To be stored in a laboratory beneath the dam

A slab of scannable ink For the artists to sell a buzzing death From the creative brink of bugging out

The ocean has its lows but not to stay down And drowning slow amongst a crowd of chum Seems like only the sun’s idea of a comfortable cold

Framed forever by the orbital wisdom sold Of bouncing towards prisms Like save points for your light beams To never have listened

Bask in the possible cases like laced brownies Way too pungent to have been cooked properly Bringing people off of their face’s immediate pain

The reinvention of a classist reign After the teacher failed the entire bleachers America won’t stay the same For long enough to drink its beers

What trust can be acquired From major motion pictures & the system’s invasive interrogation lights?

As dusty as the spirit’s haunting These liar’s clumsy oversea’s fights With what’s just honest corporate war-clucking?

A peaceful, tortured bum but lovely When the remote is turning internally Quicker than its coat was being thrown Over the water for a female soccer player

Stunning the fear of any mental violence crowd With a sound as loud as the fence crashing out

Like what more can a bent wire pick-up From the nearby store or in a white van?

…It’s where the vision is composed most A signal penetrating from the coast…

A childhood where the voices were more pedophiliac Than a gymnastic’s coach That won’t let you leave their house And stayed like that were my choice Until I was legal to vote…

If I tied a knot around the hope As it learned to bleed dope?

Maybe they were not being abusive enough To be have introduced us to their idea of love… …Which was what I didn’t want to think of at all…

Who in the room awaited a call From child protective services more? Than when I was kid that didn’t need Another cracked symptom of loss to be poor?

Is it not clear enough that I understand How good it feels to fade in front of the drop? Like everyone I know has been made by cops? And I was the last of us that knew when to stop?

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Squid Chateau

When its defenses are being raised Like the killers each with their own oil To be shot from any patio That yawns itself into existence

Before the architecture converts From a many-colored monster Into a leafy flower arrangement

& the view in its guts is darkened Further by the paranoia

As lights of jellyfish hardly breaching The skin’s wallpaper of the remnants From the floor in a stuck position… With even the depressed fish Trying to avoid the predator…

Beckoning them home For a chance to see the ultimate vacation To smoke whatever in the trailer they’re allowed Since heaven was taken over

As though they’d reached the crashing waves Only to realize that they wouldn’t be saved

The sprawl of the tentacles react to their every school Forming with a hunger that doesn’t only rule But forces them to conform

This corporation will never let you go anywhere If you’re not clever enough to invent a threat To its very infrastructure…

With even the bones melted by the one-eyed lore Unseen alive but definitely with enough vacancies To sleep well in the gold of the dead That made their bed in the dirt

But it’s not just open for the armed & wealthy This is an industry where you can be anybody And still get vacuumed into its infinity

Shamed as announcing your efforts In larceny to a court through the brilliant ideas

Meant to distort your innocence Into a check that can be sent to the occupants Its design causing slightly more fear of the depths

A falling spineless pageantry To present the uninhabitable areas Of the trenches through a suffocating build-up Of descending mentions in a hushed reservation

To be noticed by security as next in line For a hospitable detention

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Volcano Shark Monks

Bred from their fire-resistant relative’s skin For their theoretical organs

Only surviving thanks to constant supply of vitamins In the mineral pool where they’re held Meant to represent a somewhat dirty spring

This tamed, introverted & solemn variation Supposed to offer an extension of human life Has inherited the protection Without historical precedent

It has caused the nervous self-examination Of those who eat when they are unhappy To calm their intuition towards analyzing The disgrace that’s inevitably cured By a directly unrelated consumption’s disassociation

Which has elevated their stress and weight To where they’ve difficultly in open water

But as they are just the end from which new life Will be able to heal from their operations Into gathering rare species existing In the purest energizing warmth of their exotic meals

They can be placed on any number of weight-loss aids That will ensure their parts of long-term prospects While killing them off in time for the next batch

It was not expected From the predetermined stages of its origins That they would develop psychic strength, however

In possibly failing to mimic the original genetics It has overgrown an incomplete branch of desire

Where such internal communication is engaged To prevent any divine action From being dispersed alone

Of which they are able deploy a stinging vibration Through collecting the brain-waves of any around That shakes the targeted area until it can be expelled

And as it neither generates gas nor installs liquids The only fix is dying as soon as possible Before you are driven mad

From the resharing of your own knowledge Placed back inside while out of order & layered Unable to recognize any of the actions In attempting to save yourself

That in wanting to be made anew We lost the ability to damage all that we see Without biological consequence

While in recreating others The subjects have they accepted our impersonation As a chance to idealize themselves For the battles their weakness might get approved

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Hollow Fish Rain

…I’m only engaged With the weather’s reaction to pollution Because of these emotion’s falling out Like a trash-can dragged behind a truck…

How honest can people be As they switch themselves Into a tidal wave of opinion?

Does nature not remember the lakes Which were laughed dry?

…The psychosis in presenting a funeral For the freezer aisle…

…Are we convinced yet? That a spirit can attach itself to belief For long enough to attain to a friendship at least?

This isn’t an acting gig, however My demons starve that you might Have claimed victory over them Enough to be spoken to as an equal

A heart stomped on that’d been revealed In exchange for the heaven neither could trust

That they’d rather something less sacred To demolish like a business That sells an invading of your well-being

As a legal outlet for people To ignore innate psychic-barriers Meant to promote love

…This method from which to seek another’s style…

We don’t get to break each other And watch the consequences Like an engineering project of trains & dominos

There’s only the feeling of their pain As a foreign object

I wanted to write exactly what you had As it manifested sickened framework From which to prove The theory of apathy’s entertainment as a vessel Of our environment’s dejection and distracting

How many others shared in that idea Where we must leave or fight over sentences Until one falls asleep without saying “I love you…” Enough times in the previous hour

The original basis for a need To fake the reoccurring doubt As somehow less real for the observers

Was in denying an attraction To the forests & rivers & isolation ever existed

Maybe we’ll not have figured one another out For a truer reality possible Of which an infinite billion or two Will always live on in this particular time & place

Doesn’t matter The water was not ours anymore Blessed as what might survive instead

Which is to imply we’re a death-wish From the shredding of the molecules That could’ve warned another hand Being held by the fin of a thankful creature

As it goes lifeless in the meditation-level event Of candles and the unforgotten Brought over through the sorrow That’s now temporarily removed

Which they’d sprayed on their previous headstone For its not caring at all if a single artifact Of their eventual discovery continued to remain

I cannot resist being in agreement For an instant longer

Bring on the landfill of a marriage Destined to feel eternal remorse For the death of a co-conspirator

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The Last Polar Bear

It would be possible To be buried by the oncoming rush Of a landscape which hasn’t stopped stealing

Throughout their dreams Of a decent meal But it’s sadder on this sinking path

Having grown-up alone The preparation helps block out any chance That they’d have to search through the waters For a more dominant family

As the worldly, assured pleasure is removed From sharing in the rewards of the slaughter

In having controlled the outcome With a definitive blood-drenched iceberg & plate To document with their prey’s intestines Images of solace from the authentic beauty

To reveal itself like a street of parties Bouncing off of each other

The commercials that migrate from an emptied pool As a killer to the wars you might never have lost Without intervention of The Great Hunger

Where no connection will arrive Outside of the legacy being faded away With the future as unaffected

Learning where its competition will replace The signals causing the ocean to alter its waves Through a lesser dominion

As though they’d earned aid to have swam Directly into a smaller system From an adapting to their reflection in the water

A makeshift resilience To note which reactions they might expect

Mostly it’s peaceful to be delegating To a purest cause of closing down This endeavor’s success

Towards the wisdom Finalized & giving over the blanket That protected their land

From the attentive greed which builds The guilt in bricks of poisoned history

Through not asking for a specific result There’d be no changes to the joyous seconds They might catch mid-stride

…None too altered by death…

How devastating that a child of weather Might never return

If reincarnation held true It’s a charade to become nearer Only in the approaching extinction

…And who else could have waited?

Perhaps, they might train to run Upon any surface to be welcomed Into the unstoppable collisions

Like they’re tragic flowers Removed in their anger From a creation that could’ve remained unseen

If not for a pressing upon the heat To remember at a cost To not understanding As a way back to sleep

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The Skeletal Jellyfish

As volunteers for a living orgasm To possibly annihilate their muscle-mass As it were only theoretical as well

This cryptographic cycling of a recorded inner-world For those tethered to a strand of urgency From being prodded by lapses in entertainment Where such voids to be filled like egg cartons

Added to a program following their personal history Whilst demanding the packages be resent On account of an underdeveloped education Creating a paranoia of their see-though scalp

Leading to textual control over a frequency Amassing prior psychic chemicals Broken down into their routines of growth Like a garden of starts that mean only to stack

As if they were timelines Representing a rarified quantum scenario Quantified until relative in their training Towards a new mathematically-dynamic host

A nature-aversion belayed By the whipping of the controller Into a violent vibration Against the ground to approach goodness & without their leash, they become anarchic

& indulge in processed foods, perhaps In their familiar, seemingly bottomless alterations For when the organic seen as detrimental To the sipping from your oxygenic seeds Sent into the extreme edifying of confidence

Not requiring to learn but only recall When unable to initiate a look away From their biologic ownership In such an androgynous post-science Having known all sides of our suffering

The focus framing the subliminal flashbacks Into a literal narcotic displacement

If not from the gathering Of a lifetime’s non-perishables Then in the solutions going unused

Having defamed other strains of thought In a contest over which will get more hits For the elimination of doubt and shame In that order

Even through reading As where it were necessitated Had been removed through a blasphemous faith

With the ability to be deconstructed daily Into a universal but healable image of man

& in over-sharing’s messianic response Their mercifully killed & unseen contributions To an electric above-ground ocean Held down by the end of our feathered mimicry

…Of recoupable cells shedding their weight With each evaporation of an attention-span…

We must access their attempted charms As though they were possible soul to burn Into the synapses being separated like recyclables

From the output with which to overload areas Of the soil with nothing but a device Able to deflect brain-activity into a conduit gene Instead of the usual plastic and glass

This self-replicating body of a vile certainty Towards files being streamed to a database Of their former invisibility overcharged

Until a subtraction of a collective Into a temporary absence can rebuild both In a vacuum of gloves & sterilized conditions

What will create the perpetual motion clay Needed to gauge emotional response elsewhere

Passing through the cables in their generative stanzas Based on a chronicling of their activities As they become more regimented & complex

Beware those that were purposefully held back As they’ve mastered how to allocate For every distraction

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The Frog Viking

Adrift in the galactic nonsense forever But born again, eventually As a hermaphroditical star-collector

From the source code of a lesbian paradise Populated by all manner Of impregnable correlations

That went dormant after crossing the divide Of an after-matter quasi-vaginal portal

Triggering a later gargantuan elemental bomb That brought the conceptualization of the phallus Into the creation of a universe at last

But was it only such power that caused the migration? That such an illusion must have promised A new way of looking in the mirror

As they had always been near-reptilian Causing the guilt that would lead To a chaotic waste management service

From which mankind would be responsible for In nearly every pursuit Towards surviving their own deathless curse

As was likely the laziness incarnate Developed by the future amphibian As requisite for their suffering As a psychedelic plot-device Amongst obsessed mental gardeners

Traveling into their bogs specifically for the memory That their burden housed on both accounts

The entire discovery signed by the power of the void In having the dinosaurs try out this union Between different forms first Successful as they were, spiritually They still resembled what women were

Before exiting through the tears Of a consolidation of an atomic fever Back in the time before creation

Which sent them into a recursive reimagining Of power dynamics they would have to relearn Of their former godhood from their own lawlessness Despite their newly overwhelming beauty 
In the resurrection of rampant sexualization Between different factions Marked for homosexuality as the only option Within the derangement of infinite mutations

That had previously brought about drugs To a state of being as present As an evolutionary integration Of their cannibalism of one another

How many ways of using these sacraments Given their many orifices had they once known?

Their flight above the roots of trees Granting them a soft blanket to drop a blotter upon Like veins to sense thought at every height

But in their copious angelic visions Also sought like moths to the sparkling floor Of a deep water reconnaissance in their throats

Do they still exist as what they were?

Having been remade in the reflection Of a previous heavenly order, possibly?

It would make sense if only through the skin Of a creature that was most identifiable With an ancient race of warring plants Able to capture various insects upon their pollen

These visions might appear to those chosen To collaborate, however briefly With this interstellar secret society To reveal them in their permanent habitat

That’s only touched earth through celestial seeds Of their heroic patch of imprinted usage These unseen damages & recuperations

Contained within their previous flesh Of a multi-color radiance now the essence of light

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The Playlist To Be Listened To While Reading The Book I Just Gave Away

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All of the books are free. Here's another cut from 2024.

It's written from the perspective of a lesbian widower. I am a male. Don't worry, it's dope. Not my first writing of the formerly alternative lifestyles.

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Evil Red Bear

A food critic for the downtown scene In their own thrift-obsessed mind As it is a way to get more out of their purchase

& such a remorseless, predatory near-vampire With an angry fanbase not at all aligned In a communal set of beliefs

Except that he has supremely sexy politics Where he dresses simply and speaks critically Both as a protest of the opponent’s education

His disappointment in the live meals That are consumed despite The chatroom’s benevolence Towards actual violence…?

…He’d hoped to be a dictator by the age of thirty But is treated like another customer, usually… Enough that it’s awkward when a fan is met Especially when they cannot smell the animal blood…

I’d hate to upset them, he thinks With a subpar performance That they might not use this to become introspective On my newest capitalist endeavors

The brief silence to be the closest thing to genius That they will ever know

Amongst how some of have learned To portray their own masculinity Through listening to his verbal & unwritten articles

As though study were a decapitating sword of truth Towards getting laid without having to be spoken to

But in their hands the weapon becomes soft As their stance on government privatization

In that they couldn’t actually give an opinion It’s a long way off, anyway, they assume

While also being able to walk around amazed By having been constantly impressed With what they didn’t know before

And for that, you must be somewhat dim, originally Perhaps, at once lost & righteous

He annoys dates by asking questions To see if they agree That his favorite band will be a success & with your whole heart’s shared ambition…

…Upon which they will allow these guests To live, after all…

The adequate meat-preparation versus extraordinary That it usually involves killing it yourself

Where their cultural appreciation Akin to playing the stock-market In that it allows them to buy & sell Quicker than a luxury automobile being used as a taxi

As he is constantly hallucinating… Is convinced stereo was the death of imagination… In all of the memories that mono allowed to form…

But that is also due to his insistence On antiquated female roles in music

He doesn’t actually create art at all, obviously But maybe after enough of their followers Decide to copy his dangerous success They will demand to be considered as such

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Czarbles Hydra ’95

Those who sate their thirst for an approach From other-worlds by conducting The gathering of their own theater

In incredible isolation Amongst a scorched breathlessness From the hours in reading back their invocations

Have wizened to the spirit’s incitement At a bitter zealotry One often reserved For an unreasonably over-employed promoter Of trash from God itself

That is, they demand an experienced cooling Across the entirety of the on-going defilement Of their perfected accommodation to your request As though from the deepest oceanic revue

It is from this repetitive criticism That such a particular bloody stem of the planet’s eye Hath been downed from its wholly & discreet interior In a determinist reflection

To appear as a mental virus capable of blanketing The land in its existential wasting of what promise Could’ve become a normal ambition

From removing, simply, a single unborn thought Before causing the overgrowth to revert into And not for lack of foresight Desperation towards being considered An integral part of the industry

It has no physical matter And with only cause & no effect The gauntlet, that must be seized on its own terms Decided to ensure immortality as a challenge

The judge with its hands in an established void Which arrives but in a severely diminished & traumatic ignorance

To assume a place in the stead Of a proper historical context Is to unearth the failings of an intrepid kill Outside of someone else’s home

But what’s lost now is the lightness granted For having outlasted the work of pointless effort As a calling aboard the vessels for truth in its era What a personal ethos were to have accomplished

Is the extracted idea ever revealed? In the educating offering one’s recruitment Into the realms of total external compliance Towards their unsuccessful cause Of an academic investment for everyone, yes

How important it might be to matter itself As a myth, remains elusive… As do the scoundrels that are responsible…

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The Czarbles Doe

…We ran to where the hospital could not find me…

Shut up, she said And there was no one for miles “Are they expecting a show, you think? The woodland animals, I mean…”

Nothing you’ll regret later, right? The satellites’ preprogrammed wonder Had not wrought a helicopter yet…

Though on whose house would that land And in the heat of our midnight refuge That made some sense

It’s not enough To leave behind everything you’ve worked at, no…

The warmth of this peace & quiet Like a drunken evening With a malfunctioning air-conditioner

We’d begun the week with each of us In a white van

She’d worn a mask for years at that point The attraction? It was how we searching still That the forest has a hierarchy in place Not the disrupt or kill anything, fuck no…

To not even summon a freak god With such behavior

Enlightenment! The alter that’s been reserved For the faction to elect amongst themselves A bastardized ascension

Towards the brazen integration Of human and nature’s spiritual vortex

The losses of a profound version of those they’d loved Enough to welcome A new story of whoever knocked, assuredly At the garden’s resolve

As though it would not ease their pain But it could not be more severe as well

What of the deer that handed out The true will of victims Made to struggle with a legal spite as time served…?

An assassin, yes, but one that humiliates The living dead before they’ve passed Through a tunnel into a crowded court-room Upon their fate finally secured

But in the throes of lust, I only saw you…

Had I been possessed? There should have stood the devourer of sin In your face pressed to mine

Except the myth had trouble Finding the promises of science

And the light’s own answer Was in being forced to trust you forever

When I could pretend to hardly recall my own name Many would assume it were truth Though it’s not the easiest thing to recognize, I hear

A moment was all it might have been to be alive Where such a break from its trial Would’ve meant your invitation Was received as planned

If we’d found ourselves guilty in our continued shame It was suppressed by the summoning In a most elite audience

Those that refuse to meet But in their account of a contribution To the prophetic sight From the infinite waiting room

It’s rare that she has someone around That she truly likes, I hear In such layered protection The knife took all night to reach the heart

Upon seeing the police lights We decided to be united in blood

What could be known Would be approached untangled

No one would interfere with that Ever again, we thought

When I awoke, however There were not even the memories Left from her own hands

That, already, the sun itself To become obscured by this failure To ensure we might communicate again

I guess that being foolish isn’t respected By whoever’s controlling the trees themselves

How diving into the snow Became a long ride into a bed That was prepared for my sweat in absence

[satire420]

AHF4Life

The "Next Book of Poetry" will have a poem for every member of The Anti-Human Fantasy. Which is also the title. That means 80 poems. As we now accept The Deep Ocean Worms of Numerology into the fade. Those are not towers, that the worms are forming, those are numbers/symbols...

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loss & luck

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Building My Hell For Another Victim To Weaponize

…Like a robot’s eyes ejected from its mold After being punched in a sensitive area…

The stomach is falling out with the development Of the reverberation’s pounding itself awake

A flashing of your hatred Weakened by their control Becoming the only I’ll know until death

That we’re without even the systems To hold accountable This is not a reminder For those about to kill themselves

No, I wouldn’t dare force myself Into the possibility you might not forget Every moment on this planet

…Where are our devils? Those like the forever That we are chasing as a species But that only seek to make life more difficult

The skin is getting sick regardless… I can believe in so much less Than they’ll force the children into recollecting…

A red river running out of any filtration But endlessly in fear of its own blood still

And who will never be told of another like them That is not at war with itself

Did you need to watch us suffer To prove that we’re different When your God returns, finally?

This country hasn’t learned That they’ve been infected at every level Of regaling their leadership With power enough to never have to deliberate Over their freedom again

Not one question asked on their behalf And it’s as easy, philosophically, to turn Into the image of false contentment As these sinners are now beneath you

Until they’re forced to move away from your cities And your land is that demonic adversary That you’ve warned lurks in a scientific darkness

Because language is a completed form From which you’ve built yourself In having no one else to study off of

Besides the marked denigration Of whatever eternal compensation You wanted to earn through the libraries Being forced to eliminate your competition

Only reflecting the lack of generosity Of your truth’s own materials Towards healing the possible rebirth In being born unfinished

When sleep is a brief romantic stealth From the hunting & anxiety’s response To our terror that the door will be closed On every side until we’re contorted

By the boxes that you’re placed around A religious beyond deathless threat For a prevailing stage

Where those who’ve not been baptized are welcomed With bombs, homelessness and the fires of either Going into the forest

For the entertainment of a similar nocturnal glow In the eyes of those who search for a divinity That will alter them like the drugs Born of an integration but that they refuse

Because of the possible nightmares That traverse in a flood Of having only known a cool enough love When alone with the danger of war elsewhere

I’m reverting back to a bedding That was always warm as the crackhead Looking for a single hit From what took us weeks to afford

…But that’s our leadership For the next half of a century… No one to be protected Except through their proximity to the throne…

The resistance will lose more than their lives In trying to present an alternative But shall at least know the difference Between thought and crime

With the conservative political investors Trying to assure their kids As yet frightened of their own damnation That they will force the non-believers Into a military church of capitalist christian doctrines

Even if they have to pervert the liberated souls Of those they have mired in a detention center As a possible insurgent

We would, of course, have to be At the end of their rifles For nothing if not the empathy They’ve abandoned to pretend The war was enough to feed their loss As a betterment of their immediate surroundings

But you’re too alike to realize how corrupt You’ve been made in the decision For giving your imagination away As being entirely you own

[satire420]

I only want pictures that capture your disappointment in having wasted your time pulling out a camera where a memory could have been more important. Look at how I take photographs. Like it is a negative thing. As forsworn by the stupidity of eventually having them captured in a less creative lens. "I guess... If there is no other way..." I scroll down Instagram. The presupposed beauty. The captured awe. I vomit on the whole thing. I don't want to look at a disheveled lunch that obstructs the rays of sunset. I'd rather you salvaged your broken camera as it took a picture of a block of bloody wood. Give me a story to attach my brain to that will weigh the hydrogen bomb inside of a balloon of my disinterest down. This is disgusting. It's like you're having fun while showing me where I am not. Am I supposed to clap at my desk? Congratulations. You have reached a destination of trite and prestigious boredom as a person. I judged you from the moment you decided nature is not ashamed of the sleep you had wrought upon it. A glass of water that hasn't moved from the counter of a filthy house in years is special. Your sky is a colorful as a test being hidden by a math student from his peers. I see nothing but your own self-interest. If that was how you are. Great. Only you should be there. Everything happens for a reason to some people.

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