(no subject)

[symbioidlj]

Here, kiddies, is a little stream of consciousness poem I wrote. Laugh all you want. I am. We pretentious artist types always need to self-deprecate cuz we know it's the only way to survive in this silly world. Silly rabbit.
----- I call it something along the lines of "lovebomb"-------
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
nihilist cyst upon thy wrist,
cut it and watch it bleed,
at least,
take heed,

for the war mongers
are the scoundrels
who scavenge

for lust
of blood
and love
of god.

dig deep into the dirt
you one big dick
you great large prick
that we call a bomb

love bomb suicide
drops heavy down on me,
my heart the fertile earth,
that gives life to my whole body,

and you,
you big pricked penisenvyking,
dropped yourself upon my soul

earthquake create
that foundation of slate that stood rock hard,
floundered failed, intoxicatingly derailed
and slept itself to sleep,
and dreamt itself to death.

Death not the ego, said i,
with a small i, not a large i,
for if it were a large i, would not the i be an ego,
but it is not the ego, and thus that is why
the small i
said it.

But YOU have a big I,
and that I call you, you call Me, Myself and I,
that I, the big old cock that teases me and drowns me in
hate,
that calls itself love,

like the wolf
that calls itself sheep.

Like the holy lambs of god,
stained by sin deep underneath

that woolen cloak of theirs.
Blood of the innocent,
blood of the martyrs,
blood of the holy,
blood of the sinner.

Release me your hate,
and shed me your tears,
she'd show all her fears,
if it weren't for your wasted space...

time.
continuum,
continue on,
she said.

to me, not to you, the you that you call I with a capital I,
not like me, the eye that sees by making itself small,
not so big like your egohungrycock.

drip stain bleed
on the floor you need

my love,
you feed

on drugs called misery
and despair,
temptation,
sex, death, the existential misery,

that dark night of the soul that some christian philosopher talked about
so long
ago.

There is no dark
there is no night,
and most importantly,
there is no soul.

By seeing that with my small eye,
i (the small i) knows that there is no pain,

for there is no soul to feel the pain,
there is no ego to bleed.

There is no love to feel anymore,
cuz there is nothing to feel anymore that love that she sent to you,
cuz you were too wrapped up in your own little world.
you were too wrapped up in your own self-hate,
that you called self-love,
or vice-versa,
the self-love that you called self-hate,

too wrapped upside down
never enough to spread around
the love that you wanted
and the love that you sought,
the only one that kept it from you
was you,
you the capital I,
with an eye that could not see,
an eye that was blind from birth

cosmic birth, cosmic death, cosmic destiny spins the wheel 'round again,
your fate is your fate and no-one elses and this pain is all you want, cuz it's all you know
there's a certain joy,
a certain peace that you feel when you wallow in your pit of self-loathing,
because by loathing yourself,
you know
you know
you know that someone is thinking something about you, even if it is you.
even if it isn't your own mother,
or a seeming god that you were taught to love so long ago.
even if it isn't your father,
drunk and stumbling on the floor with his shirt untucked and his hair unkempt,
and your sister with her 10 a night boyfriends who beat her,
while she's seeking the same answer as you, as me as all of us,
love that indescribable undefinable thing that we make so much of that means so little to so many.
drink it up, your wasted longing,
drink it up, your pathetic wanking off into a loony-bin,
dropped into that shit-stain garbage pail can that you call life,

you call life,
and i call death.

It's one and the same,
one and the same and whatever game you play,
whatever rules you use,
you know that the rules are playing you and not the other way around.