F**k you, I’m trying.

Its been a little over a month since the last time I’ve published something. So, here’s a little something to wet the chops of the wolves who have been barking at me to release more poetry(which is a joke because no one gives a fuck).


#???-My most political poem

These men

with bellies that look

like fat pig bellies,

and wallets that are

much fatter.

They have their

overseas bank accounts

and wives that are

like plastic models

with plastic smiles.

These men

who wouldn’t lift

a single one of their

immaculate fingers

for a drunk

idiot junkie

laying in a gutter.

They wouldn’t know him,

would merely


at the idea of his



the very men

with the power,

all of the

fucking power,

are the very men

who’d think you

should be ashamed

for not making more


These men,

these fat,




They try to appear

like the good guy,

the guy who’s gonna

make us all fat winners

just like them,

and then when we

look away,

they shove their

sausage fingers,

their immaculate

sausage fingers,

into our pockets

and take what we have,

because their the winners

and they can do that.

These men,

these fat, piggy,


fucking winners

know what their doing

in their game.

So I suppose,

we’ve just got to

play a different game

if we want to win.


#???-The dumps

We’ve got a place

for things we

don’t want anymore

and we call it

the dumps.

We put all of our


in the dumps,

and we’ve all

got trash

in the dumps,

even the hippies have


in the dumps.

and we all know

about the dumps,

but rarely

do we talk about

the dumps,

who wants to

talk about

the place

pieces of our lives go

after we’re done with them?


#???-PinkPeachRose dreams

I’ve got the pink dreams,

the ones about the peach.

I need a finger

running down my back

and I need my hand

wrapped around a waste.

I need sweet dirty grimy sweet sensual.

I need curves

and softness and


I need roses and flowers

and the thorns that come with them.

I’ve got the

pinkpeachrose dreams.


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