To My Bitch Boss.

You trying to kill me?
Bossing me like I'm your secretary?
Your bottom bitch?
Coming down a ton of bricks?
No warning nor a friendly reprieve?
It's all up to me, huh?
Well, I'm telling you to wait.
The good times are looking vague.
You know what I'm saying?
Yeh, you better walk away.
You think you are grade A?
Well, I have seen you shiver
at the first sigh of hard labor.
"Tough" ain't in your vocabulary,
so step out of my way.
And shield your eyes,
your fairy land's built
on the slaughter lane.
Hey, don't hate the player,
you ain't even in the game.
High morals & low dresses,
you dizzy yet? Of course not.
Who you're looking at
but your brand new bitch boss?

Don’t Run Away.

It's hard, no? When you had enough &
ready to call it quits.
Where you're down on your knees to
pray, throwing pride away.
Don't you know it's good for you, get
lost in a brand new space.
Don't run away, now, ageless voices
are cheering you on.
Make yourself the guide & them your
witness, through winter comes spring.
When you're at your lowest, know that you
are never alone, feel the warmth.
It's your chance at living, like those that
came before, make them proud.
Don't run away, now, it's your gravest
self saying, "Don't run away."

Love Poem to My Bed #2.

Oh, God, my bed, I'm
so in love with you.
Please don't leave me.
I will keep you warm.
I will do "any thing".
I will rub against you until
it's time for a wash.
We can have a three-some
with the pillow,
no body will ever know.
I will crumble you up
like a feathery hill,
then wear you down like
a melting marshmallow.
Please don't go,
I know it's noon.
I put a sleepy
spell on you.

Thunder & rain.

Tangential rain,
void of substantial things,
passing with no delay.
In mind it spatters,
making gentle waves
smoothing the cuts.
Oh, dear thunder,
how long has it been
since your flash has
illuminated the state of grace?
Sing again, mourning souls.
Wipe away your tears.
We are still the same.


It's not my fault they are all twisted twines.
It is my fault for ever believing in them.
Tying my worth on fragile egos,
hiding my made-up sorrows.
"I don't want to be strong, yet."
"I want someone to carry me
to tell me it's all gonna be fine."
Now I know it's all bullshit.
The intuition is always correct.
Bypass the ritualistic liars,
it's about who gets fucked &
who gets paid double time.
It's a world without reason:
you can be cruel & people
will worship you if
you set the rules;
the thieves thrive while
the kind-hearted lose
their lives & minds.
A world in our image, burning
from the inside.