The writings of Oddpoet

I sud­denly became aware I was
Dis­tinct
Sep­a­rate
Alive
Cov­ered in blood
Won­der­ing
What it was
This
Thing
Called life
I heard the cries of aborted fetuses
Seek­ing repen­tance
Seek­ing abso­lu­tion
For imag­ined crimes.
Their sin
Incon­ve­nience
There wails drowned
Muted and masked
By heavy machin­ery
Oper­ated by manic thought police
Dressed as sailors
Car­ry­ing hypo­der­mics
Filled with mind fuck

I was to be the trained seal
In the cir­cus of garbage
They didn’t know
I was bro­ken, incom­plete
I escaped to
The night­mare of the real

It was not really reality

Nor was it Lies
It was a hal­cyon era of apple scented mad­ness
Laced with truss rods of greased despair

Blind­folded visions of genet­i­cally altered cir­cus midgets
Play­ing mime to blind audiences

Painted vir­gins with jism stained dol­lar bills
Rolled, shaken
And stirred
Inserted Into for sale orifices

The screams of sev­ered heads plead­ing for body complete

Mutated Pheas­ants armed with auto­mat­ics
Butt fuck­ing hunters who scream why?

The dead become annoyed
Seek­ing eter­nal rest
Screech­ing alarm clocks
Awaken them
As the sadis­tic Gods laugh

Pissed off Zom­bies cry­ing “Brains”
Can’t find any

Bankers molest­ing children

Lawyers blow­ing bankers

Politi­cians laugh a creak­ing rusty hinged sound

Sight­less lovers seek­ing ful­fill­ment
Feel­ing only whores and lies

Mir­rors offer no com­fort
That swirling mist of promised magic
Merely con­firmed who we are not

Truth that cheap FILTHY WHORE

Screams orgas­mic shouts and moans
Body quiv­er­ing
Pre­tend­ing
She is not a will­ing sac­ri­fice at the altar of con­ve­nience
The vic­tim of lie’s ser­pent tongued promises?

Engulfed in an ill-fitted black robe of the lonely heart

They are all out of solace

Tears always pave the path to surrender

Emo­tions seethe and boil

Crit­i­cal mass reached.

I no longer sleep in a bed.
Beds are for faggots

There can be no com­fort here

I roll on the floor
At home with roaches and the denizens of the night

Leath­ery wings Play ser­rated whip saw sounds

Only I can hear

The sounds of bare survival

They laugh at joy

Chit­ter­ing know­ing words

They speak
Whispering

“You do not belong
You never did”

Yet they call me back
“YOU WILL JOIN US!”

The sound of cocked pis­tols
And lawyer lies
Con­gealed like Hye­nas
Bark­ing on an asphalt park­ing lot

Baby’s heads greas­ing the treads of wheeled deceit

Yet their vam­pire smiles
No longer frighten me

“YOU WILL JOIN US!”
The Zom­bie choir sings
Feign­ing Mozart

They do not suf­fer alien­ation
The law of lies and mad­ness will pre­vail
No sanc­ti­fi­ca­tion
No abso­lu­tion
I ignore them all
Mere tune­less wind chimes
Play­ing dis­cor­dant exis­ten­tial sounds of phony despair

Death knocks at my door
He claims us all as his own
He drips drool like Pavlov’s dog

I smile
I have been seek­ing you Death
Your lies stink
How can you claim one
Who has never lived?

His steps fal­ter
His sickle
Becomes
A broom
And I charge him to sweep the pain from this World

The though police
Cap­tured me
Finally

Kafka was the judge and jury
I was con­victed
Of seek­ing mean­ing in the meaningless

“Don’t you know?” he laughed
“Life is just a hal­cyon era of apple scented madness”

Tags: angst, conformity, madness, Poetry, society

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