I came here for
A vacation:
Best sex den
In the Milky!
But when I leave,
I will rip the hostel manager
a new hole,
And rim him until he screams!
The people are real,
And orgasms in
all the right places,
but do so with
guilt and stigma.
With little spirit
or soul.
Goddess!
I hate this place….
1
….because I pressed
the emergency release doors….
(I mean,
I could give better
blowjobs than
these guys….)
and
I’m pathetic!
….that was
five million years ago….
Sex….
….should be like
the breath,
It exists but a
moment, then
only to breath
again.
I should see
orgasm as
lightning
shared between
lovers.
People in
arousal should
glow in the dark,
energies radiating
from the roots
And Sacral.
But what I see
Are warning labels….
WARNING: THAT THE SEX WILL BE LAME, NON-EXISTENT AND BORING!
So I’m a whore unfulfilled.
Shit, I could get better sex
from a Greek statue….
A blackened vine,
its vines thick,
unseened and ignored,
covering
concrete and
crumbling brick.
Nutured and
fed,
fruits
of desperation
feed a
workforce.
But good plants
change when
its environment
changes,
and
Now
it
feeds
upon everything
and
everyone.
It wasn’t always like
this,
but poverty can
be a bitch.
First there were
the anointed and
chosen,
then
slaves,
then came
accountants
and laws
to make
everything legal
in the eyes of God.
And all is well.
HOW does a person changes his or her life?
Is it just lifestyle or cosmetic?
For all of that, why change?
If you are not fulfilled, bored or unhappy, those three are a good start.
Let’s assume that you have made all made all the inner personal changes you desire,and you are happier with those changes.
But now are alone.
Sorry getting ahead of myself.
You have changed, but the environment and the associations you haven’t.
Your environment feels like an old suit, too baggy and so yesterday.
To further or maintain your new self,
you may have to aquire a new suit….
Why do I continue
to dig bigger deeper
holes to fall into?
Where you’re all muddy
And a filthy disgrace,
and no one likes you.
And there is
no light at the bottom.
Why, that’s where the treasures
burried,
where prying eyes can not see,
So no one truly knows me….
So I dig to find
more pieces and
get away from
people.
I am not George Floyd,
or anyone who
Died violently
because of their
Color.
Yet I died
when they died.
I’m not the
Caucasians
or Asians
who lived and
died
in
Poverty,
lacking books
or means.
Dying
unfulfilled,
buried in
mass graves.
Pathetic humans!
Why would another
star talk to
you?
We live in
A beautiful world.
So beautiful,
There may not be a world
Like it among the stars.
But pollute we do,
over pieces of
Paper from
a printing press,
(**MONEY**).
Never mind that we
Don’t have a spare planet
Somewhere.
As we drown in
Squalidness….
Poverty is everywhere.
It is in small and large towns,
It dwells side by side with
prosperity.
It bathes in hard drugs and
Insanity.
Seemingly it is indeed homeless,
But oftentimes has a home.
It exists as caste of untouchables
Under an American flag, in the
Land of the free….
Hate is fear
repackaged,
so people can
darken their
passion and
shut their
compassion
away.
Instead,
strip them
of their uniforms,
and
give
them the
shirt
off your back.
I haven’t dricked water
in three days,
but there were
cans
of
soda.
My last water
tasted bitter,
the soda
covered up it.
I been walkin
this road since
forever,
but I see the glass
spires,
Ships rising
into the sky….
Life Raft In The Abyss 