Tag Archives: karma

enough said

You wanna move mountains? Go ahead
I think I’ll suffocate instead
A change of scenery won’t tame
The endless earthquakes in my head
They’re all in my head, so I’ll suffer through
A means to an end, it’s all I can do…

~*~

i’m not the one at fault

but i’m the only cause you see

so i have to take the effect

what do you want me to do?

i’ve cut myself up until

both my mind and veins are drained

but not of all the guilt that i carry

and still, would it be enough?

would it be enough for you?

.

i’m just so tired of waiting

until i stop being such a fucking liability

and i start being your healthy host

that you parasites can ravage

just so i could atone for what i did

or at least just so you would see it that way

because what else is there?

saying “i’m sorry” when i don’t mean it?

that wouldn’t be enough for you, would it?

.

but then again, it’s my fault

for being way too fucking optimistic

i don’t accept good and bad luck

and that this time i struck out

no, it’s all about positives and negatives

call it a karmic irony, if you may

find a way to be a little happy for once

and life drags you down through 7 layers of hell

tell me, loved ones, was i never enough?

.

and i couldn’t even write about it

because you’d call me selfish and shallow

that i have no right to be depressed

because i’m living the “good life”

and that i see only myself in all this

well, of course i fucking do

i need to place myself somewhere

otherwise i wouldn’t see the bigger picture

but don’t you see, loved ones?

will you never see that i’ve had enough?

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Incompetence

I’m just another ire fathom left to be relentlessly haunted

Parturient resolution before optimism goes beyond demented

Classic then archaic, brash before karma shows face value

As once again, assurance suspends and is left with odd virtues.

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A Pontificating Performance

Today I fell and felt better
Just knowing this matters
I just feel stronger and sharper
Found a box of sharp objects
What a beautiful thing
Do you want a song of glory
Well I’m fucking screaming at you…

~*~

There isn’t a need to stick

Your sanctimonious wooden nose

High up and mighty in the air

For you reckon you’re so clever

And a marvellous timely troubadour

With your prevarications of despair

Oh, special, pretty, little white flower

The crowds adore your recherché

And a flounce of your plaited hair

But your hagiographic glass eyes and

Pinocchio nose impales mendacity

The audience bleeds whenever you share

Soon they will disperse haughtily

Leaving your stage in its desolation

And next time no one would give a care

So pray not be quite presumptuous

And see all sides of the icositetragon theatre

When you’re performing to be fair.

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Mr. Moneybags Will Have His Fickle Comeuppance in Los Angeles

It’s so relieving
To know that you’re leaving
As soon as you get paid
It’s so relaxing
To hear that you’re asking
Wherever you get your way
It’s so soothing
To know that you’ll sue me
This is starting to sound the same…

~*~

You were smoking bones

As if they were cigarettes

Miss the tale called home

Affiliated with a sickness

That ate through cuckolds

Made fools out of cocottes

Making poker dealers fold

And hat in hands to fought

Where were you when she

Died last night? Asking for

Extra straws from the sea

To suck up its open floors

.

Ambitious was your hobby

Buying fortune from clowns

Earning leprechaun money

Wearing a replicated frown

With apparels of gold velvet

Canes of candy in platinum

Fevers of e.coli and scarlet

Eye contacts tinted iridium

Where were you when she

Died last night? A roosting,

O’er open fireplaces calmly

Whilst she was screaming

.

For help, with blood flumes

Cascading down her nicest

Sunday church dress, lunes

Devouring into their behests

Waiting for your latest calls

When broken windowpanes

And her tears started to fall

Pilferers feast, no shame in

It; where were you when she

Died last night? In bed, with

A hired trophy wife, unguilty

Living a millionaire’s dream

.

Now you’re a failing destitute

Case, has-been in showbiz on

Industry, hailed dropout brute

With a buck to his appellation

Living in a cardboard box flat

Selling signatures no one will

Take off your hands, you’re but

An extra in life’s silent film reel

So, just where were you when she

Died last night? Wishing that you’re

Dead, junkie OD’d, madness addicting

Suffer as she sits in Heaven laughing.

~*~

She’ll come back as fire
To burn all the liars
And leave a blanket of ash on the ground
I miss the comfort in being sad…

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