I was thinking that we should start a poetry thread inspired by Jer's latest journal entry. You can be dark and random and well down right anihilistic. Lets see what lurks in us.
here is the inspiration
03.17.06 Evil man of Earth
Eat your cake, and choke on it. Suck it down, force-feeding even yourself. Blind fool. I never knew such a caresser of destruction. Could you really exist? Sadly. Always. And ever before. It doesn't matter what decade or century we are in.
It seems pretty damn even to me. You're as bad as you were in 1492.
Take yourself down to the very last city that is perfect, so you can really pillage it with your horny greed. Leave it in the finest dust ever crushed. Walking tall with such pride, thinking the Devil can't even touch you. He'd have to at least respect your efforts. For you worked so hard in your goal.
Even truer thoughts meander through your unknowingly dirty mind at this hour; bringing the pot closer to boil. You think you can have everything without conscience. Only to eventually find yourself on your deathbed, terrified by the Godforsaken loneliness around the next corner. Realizing eternity was the problem in the first place. Quiet. Gone. Forever. Thoughts leading yourself into the fuck of your life.
Too bad. Life had it in for you from the start.
Time to take the last train to Shitsville. Please take your seat. Freshly laid crowns of thorns on every seat. Sign says 'please be seated'. With the stern yet slightly effeminate demon stewards always running the tightest ship. Running every errand with vigor. Fast and even.
Shitsville is nowhere baby!
Joy is hopeless now. Sweaty fear, cold and shaking. It's Hammer time. They even gave you the big pants. Room to move now, boy. Let's all have a clap now. You move with your huge pants...in wonder at your sudden stamina. Could those really be sparks from your shoes? Yes. You are dancing your ass right off. Dancing until you're mad. Whoop it up. Give me a hell yes! Light that fucking brimstone with those lightning feet.
You always hated dancing. But now you'll dance for your new boss. The boss you never had, though he always had his eye on you, and you always thought you felt it. In your Fathers hand, when you rarely touched it.
Much worse than any first day at school. You traded friends like bad hockey cards. Bought into anything that had your name in the final headline.
Amassed a fortune of golden shrieks. Slithering charred Demonettes cry for your unforgivable sin. Sitting by your forever-dancing feet.
You Become a very stale, yet still pretty funny, description of irony.
Jeremy
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