Status Updates From Horror Sleaze Trash

"This world
is a poet,
and birds in cages should never
be called lucky."

"We share slugs
from a bottle
of cough syrup,
wrapped
in a brown
paper bag.

And laugh
about the
silliness of
what we are doing.

It was always
like that.

Always and
never."

"This is my life
when you leave me."

"Men really do
suffer for their art.

Boys, of course,
suffer slightly more."

"Pouted lips and
doe-eyed despondence."

"She asks me what I just wrote,
but I tell her it's not important.

And really,
it's not."

"Tonight we made love silently,
as to not disturb a soul.
Our heavy drunk bodies slip together
in slow lazy thrusts.

After,
we lay beside each other
not saying anything
just trying to catch our breath."

"Now the works of the
flesh are evident: sexual
immorality, impurity,
sensuality, idolatry,
sorcery, enmity, strife,
jealousy, fits of anger,
rivalries, dissensions,
divisions, envy,
drunkeness, orgies, and
things like these. I warn you, as I warned
you before, that those who do such things
will not inherit the kingdom of God."

Galatians 5:16-16

"There is no more paper
to write on.

And all the other pages
are full with
sleaze and lies
and half-truths."

"Intelligence has
nothing
over the power
of
delusion."

"I wish war was
more plentiful.

It gave us
genuine life,
in all of its
death."

"Pretending like
I'm anything more
than a bloke with a
shit head
and dreams of
being
remembered.

It's the beer talking
and I'm being
a little too honest."

"I love watching the girls
run around the cemetery
in the just-warming
mornings."

"One day soon

I will leave you all
with the little things
about me
you thought would never change.

And remembering me
how I wasn't

will be easier

than pretending
to forget

who I was."

"Forgive me, God
you motherfucker."

"Then she leaves me alone

with the swing
and the radio
and the world of guilt
and the wish
that I only had
half a heart
too."

"We are all trying to
prove to each other
that this world
is a
beautiful
place."

"Find what you love and let it kill you."
– Charles Bukowski

"The words don’t matter anymore, but back when they did, this is the book that came out of me."

"Buk was right about one thing at least: Don’t try. Trying is desperate and ugly. It’s unbecoming of a man. Simply just be – be if you want to be free."

I used to watch him
and think
only the strong can
live like that.

Non-stop,
continuously shaking his
fist in the face
of God.

Thinking he could live
forever,
like a hero.

Drunk and alone,
in cowboy boots,
forever.

You should never tell a man
he's had too much to drink.

Because if you're telling him,
he probably has.

But
he'll still drink another
quarter bottle
of Scotch,
and shit in the cat's
water bowl,
to prove he hasn't.

I'm so embarrassed.
This is a three poem epic
about shaven testes.

I don’t know
what’s more embarrassing.

I’m a larger fool
than most give credit to.

In fact,
to tell you a secret,
these poems
were pretty much written
before I shaved my balls.

I push the end,
the tip,
of my foreskin
into the opening
of my beer bottle.

Of course it’s a strange thing to do.

Especially when I take
my next sip.

The Champs Elysees
has never been
fucked quite as hard
as your
button
cute
little
cunt.

Forgive me God,
you motherfucker.

You motherfucker,
forgive me.

She asks me
why I can't write
a nice poem
about pretty things
that don't include
sweaty dicks
and eyelid type
opening vaginas.

And as I entertain
such a foolish and
romantic notion,

I quietly start
to cry.