I just want to listen to music through the headphones of the globe, I'll mix their screams with the cries of laughter. I'll cross over from obese greed and drown it in tragedy. I'll take one shot to a building and ignore the millions of bombs we drop to compensate for our more expensive lives. I'll bask in the glory of being able to eat the African families weight, malnourished and all. I'll parade around in clothes I don't need, expelling exhaust. "everything i could say would feed into insignificance"

Welcome to my Journal. IGNORE GRAMMATICAL ERRORS, or become my Editor


The Black Widow

No she hasn't lost a husband, but she might as well had.
A finance is good enough to explain the damage that dwells in her eggs.
I haven't met a spider so deadly, so attracted to the sweetness and kindness
- does she look at it as weakness.
The praying mantis, bite off my head after we mate.
*not nearly as close to the match we speak of

I think she thinks I'm the spider hawk, the delicate animal that paralyzes the tarantula,
when my babies hatch they will eat her from the inside out while she's conscious and breathing
I hope they tear her limb from limb and feed on her corpse like a delicate treat.

But she calls me cute little boy, like the lesbian that called me princess
My anima, my feminine psyche, they intrigue and disgust, I'm in touch with my sexuality
Oh its ok for her animus to be intact, her boyish features don't bother me,
but when a man is emotional the spider will feed
and find every excuse to tear me apart

*note to self, when one finds themselves wrapped around the arm tentacles of the octopus, don't mistake it for clinging and loving behavior. It is only the animals natural extinct to fear and if the beak was large enough to feed on my overgrown body than I would have found a sudden retreat from this existence. Unfortunately not worth the bother.

anxiety; I'll fly through your window

I'm a widow I'm a recluse.
I'm every Spider you fear and I've been set loose.
I'm the tears you hold at night
I'm the wings you've broken.


Apricot & Clonazepam

Good morning to the star, the beautiful widow in my bed.
Despite the natural urge to regurgitate at the sunrise - not because of beauty, but because of another day with people I have no business surrounding myself with other than my own greed and prostitution.

Pay me on a Friday and I will be here,

'What are you looking so Xanie for?'
-"I'm just a happy camper." (with a fierce grin)

Fierce or forced, there is no remorse when one is bent over taking it up on the arse for a grand a check, check the grand, check the money, the fuel, the disease that keeps me running. Let us begin shall we.