DescentBB

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Don't worry, I won't be another apathetic Messiah
I'm a pixelated superstar with long hair fanning out from cyberspace through your occipetal lobe
I hang here and make believe my counter-culture cynicism is an enlightening breeze 
In the middle of a hurricane.  
Is that called the eye?  
I'm not sure, all I can do is grieve as you read my bad poetry.  
Don't worry that my drawers are filled with silver spoons
And I sleep on drifting clouds with the sun shining on my back
You can plainly perceive from these scarring words that under these hooded eyes I see
Seas filled with pre-packaged individuality
Now let me tell you a lie and I'll be a real boy.

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Even a handful of rainbow happiness
Synthesized and wrapped in colourful casing
Can't ease the searing of the Morning Star

Downing the upper won't stop the burning
The empty bottles by the telephone
The lids strewn about the floor
The dirty laundry in a pile, steaming from the heat

A little girl is crying in the sunshine while 
Sunshine slowly caves under the fist of her drunken husband
A handful of rainbow happiness and a fifth of Jack 
Makes Sunshine ooze her life into every crack of the apartment
Every nook and cranny and corner where the Morning Star can't shine

Please tell the Rainbow to help me cope.

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And when the curtains of my slumbering stage
Open to the chair-edged audience
I shall prostitute myself to you
And give you aural pleasure.

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Let me rewrite your history book
Add this as a footnote:
"Four score and seven dead men ago
I had a dream of fear, and fear itself
Fell behind an iron curtain and was not a crook.
Read my lips, I did not inhale, nor have sexual relations with that woman.  
How could I, when she was bearing my weapons of mass destruction?  
No, instead I simply gave her my seed of democracy."

In this way, we can look back on our timelines 
And decipher which good man needs to sink back into
Obscurity
And which good man needs to be exhonorated 
Though we burned through his teachings like weeds
All our lives.
And which good man simply needs to die
So we can adorn our dark clouds with silver linings
And thirty pieces of silver for our pockets.

You betray us with a kiss?

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Don't look now but,
your existential is showing.
So go strive after your wind
Like Solomon said
It's all vanity anyway

Vanity?  I'm not vain.
I just know the right buttons to push
The right words to set in line and place
In the end all my well-put art drifts into the stars
So I might as well put my mask on 
and make them giggle

I know the right buttons to push
To make them believe this pillar of salt
Is really more than just a sand castle
And though its not the wind I strive after
In the end, it's not all about how much pretentious bull★■◆● you can write and rhyme to make women sleep with you. 

So put away your bongos, you existential anti-Christ
Undim the lights.
We've heard it all before.

Uh oh, was that poetic?

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You're burning your wick at both ends, they said.
"Damn, beaten on the river card again"
The taxed out middle man blows his brains out
Over a seven of spades
But that's what happens when they force you all in
And not every chip and sidepot can cover what is owed
But in this game, the house doesn't always win.
In fact, in this game, nobody wins
Because the chips are phony and the decks are stacked

The kings are all suicidal
The queens are on Zoloft
The aces have gone to seed
And the numbers simply fall into line, accepting their domineering fate.

But what about the jacks?
Well I'm afraid we all failed to see
The poor middleman's fate.

We are the jacks.

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It's funny how we keep on this desert road
Sand leaping out and cutting dirty grins through 
A barren wasteland
This single narrow path that leads 
Directly to a dust-laden grave, already filled
With a dead end.

It's cute how the babies cut teeth
On shards of shattered glass
And despite their battered bleeding smiles,
Or upside-down frowns,
It's cute to see their imaginations run wild
Like pools of blood on a Persian rug.

It's cute how we keep going 
And this stupid dirty cloud keeps hovering 
While we keep wondering why our Gods have yet to show
They're already here - upon this pedestal
Upon your mantle, upon the TV, upon a cross
Down in the dirty desert graveyard
Down in the dirty crowded Earth
Down in your filthy putrid lies 
Down in your lint-infested pockets
They smile with bloody teeth and mouths slashed 
Like babies eating glass.

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It is what I call love....

If you dream about her every waking moment
	and every sleeping moment.
If you don't worry that she loves you
	because you know she does.
If you hear her voice speaking to you
	even when she's not around.
If your heart flutters with happiness
	whenever you hear her name.
If your world has been turned inside out
	since you met her.
If you can't stand to be away from home
	because you miss her.
If everything seems right in the world
	when she's holding your hand.
If you find when staring into her eyes
	you could spend the rest of your life with her.

This is what I call love.