Consumed By Rage

I’m chilled to the bone,

Frozen through and through,

I’m cold deep down,

Another warm Florida night,

God I wonder,

What could have caused me such a plight?

It’s the attitudes,

Which at me have been threw,

How does anyone know,

How many faces are possibly hid,

Behind the eyes of each and every ma’am and dude?

Fuck!

I’m shivering inside,

It boggles my mind,

Do they all think I am blind?!

Icicles are hardening my soul,

Thanks to these motherfucking trolls.

I feel the temperature of ice,

Being slowly transported through my veins,

It flows along,

And I silently scream in torture,

Oh when will this nightmare be over?

Blood so cold now,

It has turned to snow,

The flakes and drifts,

Threaten to send my mind over a cliff,

I can’t think straight,

Everything’s in a haze,

Thoughts more confusing,

Than a harvest-time corn maze.

I’m so sick of lips that lie,

And eyes that spy,

They make me scream,

And they make me cry,

My body is becoming,

A furnace of anger,

Explosion is an imminent danger,

This high heat,

Hot enough to melt bars of gold,

Has gone and turned me stone cold.

Thanksgiving, Under The Influence Of Jameson And Fireball

I think sometimes it’s actually easier,

To list the things for which I’m ungrateful,

Than to think of some,

For which I am thankful.

But today being what it is,

I’ll do my best to turn that around,

And prove to the world,

I’m not completely upside down.

I’m happy with my loyal friends,

Who are my actual family,

Despite the fact that my blood,

Tends to treat me like crud.

I’m happy I’ve moved on,

From psycho ex bastards,

Despite the fact that if I’m not careful,

It will lead straight to my next disaster.

I’m happy to be a stunning beauty,

Boasting both muscles and femininity,

Despite the fact the nasties in nightclubs,

Sicken me by blatantly grabbing my booty.

I’m happy that the weekend,

Is always guaranteed to come around,

Despite the fact that it always ends,

With another hellish week,

Waiting right around the bend.

I’m happy to have my doggie,

To keep away the dangers,

Despite the fact that she also scares away,

Some who are far from strangers.

I’m happy I live,

In a land with endless summer,

Despite the fact that all the sweating,

Is a real bummer.

I’m happy I have talent,

That is artful and creative,

Despite the fact that all the left-brainers,

Think of me as insane.

I’m happy my pony,

Awaits me in Heaven,

Despite the fact that thinking of her,

Makes the Earth seem slightly lonely.

I’m happy I have a job,

That pays enough to buy a good life,

Despite the fact the hellhole,

Is so full of strife.

I’m happy I’m not easily brainwashed,

By the leftist media,

Despite the fact that blindly believing,

When they pout and shout,

Would be an easy way out.

I’m happy I live in the age,

With plastic surgery,

Despite the fact that recovery,

Is temporary misery.

At the moment,

This is all I see,

Maybe there is more,

But at present,

This is all that is transparent.

Bandit Broom’s Emergency, Halloween Season, Year 2020

I tumbled down from the sky,

Laughing and twirling,

And causing her skirts to go twirling.

Get fucked up things must,

And so of course,

Then came a great gust,

I felt her slip,

And then completely lose her grip.

Into a ditch below,

Is where she did go,

Now,

She being my witch,

I would have followed her there,

But the night was black as pitch,

And with the wind,

Pushing to and fro,

I was soon in despair.

By and by,

It will be Halloween,

And the veil between,

Grows thinner by the hour,

We must find,

That for whence we came,

Or we shall be devoured.

Eaten alive,

By The Dark Horned One,

Who cast the spell,

Because he wants my witch,

To be his bride in Hell.

It took me precious hours,

Sweeping the ground,

Using my bristles,

Like the nose of a hound,

But at last she’s been found.

Unconscious!

Losing her would make me nauseous,

So I must be cautious,

But let’s be honest,

Waking her too soon would seem monstrous,

Though if I wait,

The results could be disastrous.

Just thinking of her,

As the She-Devil,

Who resides with Lucifer,

In his lair downstairs,

Enraged me so,

That I saw stars,

So I did a little half-somersault,

And then stepped side to side,

So as my handle was tapping,

Into her hide.

With a few taps she awoke,

And urgently we spoke,

Hasty decisions must be made,

So we prayed,

We’d be unafraid,

To do whatever needs must,

That would cause the Head Demon’s plans to turn bust.

Motivation was strong,

We must prove him wrong,

It could and would be found,

The Purple Poison Spider,

For which we had set out after.

We made it through the veil but just barely,

Finally onto the side,

Where the spirits reside,

Now the real challenge begins,

We’ve got to grab the Spider,

And cross back over,

Then deliver it to Lucifer,

Or my witch’s life is as good as over.

I landed us swiftly,

And my witch jumped off easily,

I’d search high,

And she’d search low,

So I took to the sky,

While she hunted below.

It appears we were expected,

As even still,

It almost escaped us,

It snuck up behind her,

To go in for the kill,

But luck was on our side,

And I was able to land vertical,

Before it could hide.

I gave it a sweep,

Hard enough,

To push it away a few feet,

And hearing the commotion,

My witch turned around,

And lightning fast cast a charm,

Freezing it to the ground.

We had a quick consultation,

Would we make it back in time,

To cross back over without struggle?

Or would we encounter trouble?

It was iffy,

But with no other options,

We were off in a jiffy.

We had not quite an hour,

Before the veil would start to thicken,

And as the minutes ticked on by,

She kept toes and fingers crossed,

As her heartbeat began to quicken.

With just four minutes left to spare,

We made it out of there,

Then stopped to catch our breath,

And be certain that the Purple Poison Spider,

Was yet stuck for safekeeping in her hair.

Oh great relief!

The mission’s end was near,

All that was left,

Was the handoff to the Devil,

He’d get his much sought after Spider,

And I could keep Her.

Indeed!

He had a look of angry surprise,

When he saw our prize,

I’ll laugh over it forever,

He really thought he’d acquire my witch,

But you see,

She’s MY bitch,

And I’d undertake,

Another such endeavor,

To put His evil ass in its place,

And keep a smile on her face.

What In The HELL?

One day,

Out of the blue,

Two tiny marks were noticed,

Upon a thumb,

“Where the fuck,

Did these come from”!?

Was the thought,

Until the mind,

Was practically numb.

Little brownish red dots,

That looked a lot like tiny birthmarks,

Why were they,

Never noticed before?

They couldn’t be recent

But they weren’t remembered,

As being there,

Just a year or two before.

Into the head came a notion,

Was this proof of past lives?

Once someone had said,

The fear of certain fanged brutes,

Was likely due to being bitten,

While alive,

In another lifetime,

And this is why,

The feeling of panic,

While in their presence,

Never subsided,

No matter how much,

Time had elapsed.

In theory,

Fang marks,

Are only made,

By things infected by dark,

But are they really polluted?

Because after all,

They had ancestors once,

On Noah’s Ark.

There was strong suspicion that they might,

Be from a snake bite,

There was,

After all,

The infliction of a phobia,

But was that all paranoia?

Or was that fear founded by an incident,

And therefore legitimate?

Though there are tons of creatures,

Sporting fangs,

Not all result,

In the night terrors,

For instance,

It’s known a house cat,

Would not do that,

But who’s to say,

They weren’t wandering in the jungle,

And met head on,

By a lion?

But oh yes,

That jungle beast’s mouth,

Would be too big to leave these marks,

That little kitty though,

Righto! – that one’s a maybe……………

At one point in the past,

Could there have been a Mer,

Who played in ponds,

And swam in seas?

So many creepy critters,

Occupy these places,

And many are with,

Tiny fanged faces,

Yes this one is actually,

A real possibility……………

Very well,

I’ll admit there is no way here,

To be totally and absolutely sure,

Just the same,

These marks are pointing favorably,

Toward this being right,

It’s so strange they seemed to surface,

Pretty much overnight,

Even so I think it’s clear,

These marks were put,

On a former version of a self,

By the object of their deepest fear.

Before

What is done,

And what should be done,

Too many times,

Are two different things.

Life at this time,

Has lost its shine,

Do people’s dirty little tricks,

Too make your stomach sick?

Let us rewind,

Hundreds of years,

So as to get away,

From so many vile liberal minds.

I’ve been known to wonder,

Why wasn’t I born,

Way back when?

Eventually though,

It’s concluded,

That I was,

But then,

Like everyone does,

I was reincarnated,

Time and again,

Until now here I am,

Part of this modern world,

That’s congested with hatred.

How many previous,

Lives did I lead?

What did I get up to?

And did I succeed?

Does that even matter?

To these I’ve no answer.

I’m sure there were many,

Some in the times when being rich,

Required barely more than a penny,

And other souls were so far off,

That a walk to visit neighbors,

Would wear a hole in one’s socks.

I hereby suggest someone,

Invent a spell,

That can take a body back,

To when things were simple,

To when for the most part,

Society was civil,

Rather than sinful.

I beg of you,

Let me go back,

To whenever it was,

That my first life was lived,

Modern conveniences be damned,

The peace would more than make up,

For what I would lack.

Catastrophic Controversy

Hell is here,

But don’t let that get in the way,

Of living your life today,

Put your angst aside,

And get the fuck outside.

Hell is here,

That much closer to Doomsday,

And the Man Downstairs,

Is trying to take,

An early payday.

*************************

You won’t find no sugar-coatings here,

I say,

Fucking relax,

Because facts are facts,

Your time is your time,

It is predetermined,

By not your brain nor mine,

If it’s meant to nab you,

You can not halt it,

And if you’re meant to survive,

At the end you will still,

Be fucking ALIVE!

*************************

You must realize,

It’s coughing all around us,

Now we’re coated with its germs,

So expecting the worst,

From this curse,

Everyone’s common sense,

Has become paralyzed.

Hell is here,

Stupid souls,

Let it take control,

Rather than live and let live,

Blame is thrown at others,

Who just innocently go about their business,

And long after this is done,

They won’t think it’s fun,

When their targets,

Find it fucking impossible,

To forgive.

Hell is here,

What was alright,

Has become taboo,

At least to you,

But speak to another,

And you’re told it’s no thing,

Really,

The world is about to recover.

Hell is here,

Times are dark,

Days have vibes,

Like the witching hour,

Daunting and full,

Of the Devil’s power.

Hell is here,

It’s been a long time comin’

And would you look at that now?

Many who talk a big talk,

Are frantic and running.

Hell is here,

It takes just a sneeze,

To knock a once-badass,

To their fucking knees.

Hell is here,

And that black-clad bastard,

Is trying to shine,

So let’s not let him get away with tainting,

People and places divine.

Reality

Here in the real world,

It’s too busy for Christmas,

Too busy for the Claus’s,

Mister and Missus.

Out here in the real world,

There’s money to make,

The world for us revolves around work,

And there’s no time to take,

Holiday breaks.

Here it is,

February now,

And I know it’s way past time,

But here in the real world,

I’m just now finding a minute,

To put pen to paper,

For a Christmassy rhyme.

Sugar cookies never did,

Go into the oven,

No stockings were hung,

Or carols sung,

Here in the real world,

It’s not important to build traditions,

For we are all on a mission,

That holidays don’t seem to fit in.

Seasonal frippery,

And packages full of mystery,

Under a flashy tree,

Aren’t part of the real world,

Here we barely notice,

That these things have come to be regarded,

As a great importance.

Here in the real world,

We’re generally busy,

With no spare time to prepare,

A monstrous feast,

So we gladly give a miss,

To the customary gathering,

Where anyway there is always,

Too much blabbering.

Out there in your world,

Christmas is a big priority,

And you view those over here,

As some kind of freak minority,

With kiddies to raise,

And memories to be made,

Presents must be present,

From wall to wall,

So you buy out the whole mall,

But here in the real world,

We have other things that please us,

And it’s not feasible,

To deal with such fuss.

Unseen Storms

I am marked,

By something dark,

It follows me,

Wherever I go,

Making sure high points,

Are followed by lows.

It’s not as bad,

As the Mark Of The Beast,

Or the Wicked Witch,

Of The East,

But still it’s shades of dark,

And they leave a mark.

I see it daily at work,

When the old jerks,

Who are running their yappers,

Think that I don’t know,

They’re talking about beaus,

And making it out,

Like I’m some cheap hoe.

It’s like there’s some slight horror,

Around even the brightest corner,

Right there in front of my face,

Like an ugly tear,

In a pretty piece of lace.

I see it each weekend out,

At some local haunt,

It’s not too bad,

Until I overhear the taunts,

Apparently I’m ugly,

And just not normal,

Though I know it’s fact I’m more pretty,

Than most in my city.

It surrounds me for always,

A dark, dark haze,

Is prevalent through,

Otherwise bright rays,

And so being paranoid,

Darkens my days.

I see it most everywhere,

And I really try,

Not to care,

But I’m so sick,

Of all the stares,

I know tons of folks,

Who need a shove,

Down a long steep flight of stairs.

A speck of thundercloud,

In a seemingly spotless sky,

It seems dead set,

On making me cry,

And so presently,

Here I am,

Just trying not to die,

While I’m alive.

The Proverbial Angel And Devil

There is a battle between good and evil,

It’s raging in everyone’s soul,

It takes two halves,

To make any of us whole,

It goes a little like this:

“Do this,

Or I’ll get pissed”!

And,

“No! Please!

Don’t listen to that!

I smell a rat”!

These two whisper battles,

Day in,

And day out,

Trying to win my affections,

So I’ll follow their directions.

One so bad,

He should make me mad,

But when he speaks,

I hear happy squeaks,

The opposite so good,

I should maybe knock on wood,

For when he says walk,

I cheerily ask,

For guidance to his flock.

I’d be better off,

As a one-man show,

But in each situation,

Inside my skull,

My conscience hears two little voices,

That just won’t dull.

What the fuck?

Is there a way,

To shut them up?

They’ve been keeping everyone company,

Since the Dawn Of Time,

Shouldn’t they have expired by now?

I’d think they should be,

Way past their prime.

I picture the one having horns,

Bearing a black pitchfork,

The other wearing a white robe,

With twinkling stars,

Hanging from delicate earlobes.

They represent the two main things,

That drive this world,

Wicked and righteous,

And as thoughts of both,

Course through all our minds,

It would seem we are all one part sinister,

And another part divine.

Does either one,

Ever win?

Can one being be,

One hundred percent,

Just goodness or sin?

I’d say no one is perfect,

We’re really each a mix,

Of halos and that creepy,

Six-six-six.

We Frustrate Me

Nothing but distaste,

For the human race,

When further I think on it,

The more the hate,

Picks up the pace.

They strive to thrive,

Headfirst they dive,

Into normalcy,

Also known as crazy,

And what a waste,

It’s not as though,

They’re leaving alive.

Flitting about here and there,

And most don’t care,

About a thing,

Unless it’s theirs,

And even then,

It’s hard for some,

Not to act like scum.

The other day,

I was at the store,

Everyone was there,

Rich and poor,

Saints and whores,

As well as everything between,

After looking high,

And looking low,

They all had,

One thing in common though,

They all needed something,

Their money couldn’t buy.

I’m sick of dealing,

With them and their issues,

There’s the alcoholics,

And there’s the apostolics,

Some are even diabolical,

I wonder,

When the fuck,

Did this psycho mix,

Become typical?

Let me tell you,

The whole lot is fuct,

If they keep waiting around,

For a run of good luck,

We each make or break our own fortune,

No one is immune,

Now quit looking so god-damn forlorn,

And go grab a new life,

By the horns.

Are you wondering when,

I’ll make my point?

There isn’t one,

Yet this wasn’t written,

Just for the fun.