Wouldn't you rather~
Wouldn't you rather~ be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead body, I would never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
Sorry that the sight of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
So go ahead and do us a all favor,
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor.
I think i'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
Your always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother can see pass your gore's
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible
Love making with a zombie is impossible.
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.
Cut off your tongue, don't want to hear you squeal.
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence
Is what keeps us all in distance
Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head
Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ your better off unloved
I say go do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.
happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas..
There you go again little Sly fox P.D.
Another game of tag and jeopardy.
Clever, clever, little fox so bloodthirsty.
Chaos roams through your veins of liberty.
You walk the ground, prancing around your hostility.
Marching down with the dignity of mis-guided anarchy.
I'm gonna hunt you smell end it well.
Hang you up from your trophy tail.
Kiss your night one last farewell.
By morning dawn your foxy tail,
Won't live another tale to tell.
I'm gonna find ya' ~ pull your hideout from where you hide.
Smack you around in your everyday rebellious ways.
Thinking you can defeat my crowd with your lawlessness..
I don't need no hounds to track your unlivable Holy-mess.
You created a selfish character of kindness for the blindness.
You prey on the sheep's and linger on their wall of hopelessness.
Your sinfulness grew from the boldness, and bitterness,
Of growing up parent-less.
My dear Sly Fox are you on alert with your ears of nobleness.
Did you not hear me creeping while you were sleeping.
Sly fox the destroyer!
You are right, you are a mischievous game of hunt!
My trap is set and waiting for you by the river front.
Go ahead, take a drink, pull one last obnoxious stunt.
Run and run, as fast as you can!
You can't out run this one game of Skitty Skat fox hunt.....
3 polished oak fans,
Swirling in robotic unison
High maintenance socialites,
Sipping on Merlot fallacies
Lemon yellow coated walls,
Like their smiles
Comparisons of dangling Porsche & Bentley keys
A glorified day care center,
The muted virtuosos speak softly in hymn dialects.
Courtesy laughter in snob’s octave
Their heads twitching side to side,
Left to right to left
An equilibrium facing assault charges against self
They slow dance to cello dreams
And E minor dividends
Two-step monotone, sway
Against platinum lacquer foundations
But, it was then.
These same socialites,
Made of recycled candle wax
And rubberized, hedge-fund confidence,
Began to stare longingly at the party host’s 70 inch plasma TV
Proudly imported from China
“Attention uptight snobs of Mecca!
The city zoo has imploded!
The monkeys revolted!
The zebras were tired of being racially profiled!
Run for your LIV…!”
And before the reporter’s frightened inner child could finish’s his clause,
An elephant crashes into the decadent room
Filled with Crisp linen scents of Febreze & judgmental fear
It stares at the socialites,
Laughing heartedly as it playfully stomps away into constellation’s onyx night
As tears waterfall from the snobs’ sobbing eye sockets
As if they just listened to another Celine Dion song
The real newsflash
Metaphors played hooky today
©Drake J. Eszes
"Baby, this view is fantastic,
Who knew what you could buy with plastic!
With these credit cards, unlimited funds,
Any regrets, heck no, baby I got none.
Riding on an interest rate of twenty percent,
Who cares, this is money well spent!"
Says the thief who stole my purse from the rest stop location,
One of the many tales of my no good, horrible road trip vacation.
Riding down I-seventy five, heading to Mackinaw Island for a getaway,
Me and my best boy beside me, taking an adventure, oh what a day.
Construction just north of Detroit, that scary van is stopped to our right.
Keeping my legs crossed, I might wet myself, will that be alright.
He gives me a smile with a crooked left tooth and a wave with two fingers
Push the gas pedal quick, the filthy dirty looks he is giving on me lingers.
Put the pedal to the metal and off we go, not slowing down for no one
Riding high in my seventy-three coupe de vile, the fun has just begun
Didn't see that State Trooper hiding behind that sign, just past Auburn Hills
Tried to out gun him with my 405, but he caught us just past the old mills
"Son you are in a heap of a mess, speeding like Ricky Bobby in Talladega
Two choices, let me have a spin with your gal or I'll haveta read you your
After twenty minutes, we sped off not even looking in the rear view mirror
Our vacation destination of Mackinaw Island was getting closer and clearer.
It was smooth sailing, so we thought, as the night was getting dark.
Find a hotel bed soon baby, we all are angst we missed our mark.
The sign said two miles to Holiday Inn, But it’s already been nine.
Comin’ up on us now is a big yellow Dead End road sign.
Down this dirt road we skimming across freshly grated dirt.
Could stop fast enough, deer crossing, don’t worry none got hurt.
Baby this ride is exciting
That’s what I’m supposed to be sayin’
But with my crosses on my neck,
All these issues, dang I’m just prayin’
Ridin’ seventy five, with the wind in our hair.
I don’t care how we do it, baby just get us there.
Finally arrived in Mackinaw City, getting ready to board Shepler's Ferry
The line was long, the lake waves were high, we were saying Hail Mary's
The winds picked up, the skies drew dark. a storm had come without warning
The ferry turned around, couldn't go there now, not until the next morning.
We stayed in a run down, worn out cabin on the edge of the great lakes
Wondering why these vacations always turn out to bring mistakes.
But then I look in your eyes and you look deeply into my mine.
And i know no matter where we go or what we do, everything turns out just
Vacation Humor Contest
Good morning World.
and your warm
prying open my eyes.
Robbing me of my
my semiconscious bliss.
Leaving the remnants
of my peace
laying scattered across
my face and through
Your rising light
shrinking the shadows
of my freedom.
I will not be seduced
by your clear blue promises.
For your pressing realities
already taste foul
in my mouth.
Leave me Morning
to my diminishing serenity.
I have performed this piece and it shows on you tube (I hope this works, if not try copying to your address bar):
Here’s a short story of a cowboy I knew
Whose name was Beg Your Pardon.
He wasn’t a gun slinger in the usual way,
Though his hands were fast
And his foots were faster.
But when Beg started shootin’
There was nuthin’ but disaster.
No worries for Beg, he had none you see,
Since he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
But his pappy got ugly
And yelled in his son’s face,
“Until you can shoot
As the son of mine should,
I want you the h*** out of my place.”
Beg had some tricks up his very long sleeves,
Coz he wasn’t a slinger in the usual way.
He’d show his pappy his skill
There’s no doubt about that.
Yet time was a-wasten
So Beg he did hasten,
But first he took off his hat.
He then wound up his body like a Kansas twister
And slung a cow pie in his usual way.
And broke every record
Did our cow pie ringer.
Since there was no one better,
Pappy exclaimed to his son,
“Beg Your Pardon, I beg your pardon
Heck, you’re some kinda’ slinger!”
For Wild Wild West Contest
A true story....
Well I lived in Sioux City for a little while
Another job site, hubby and I have covered some miles
While there, my mother in law came to visit
She drove Elvira, the biggest Buick ever made
No doubt about it!
I drove mom around to see the highlights
If you've been there, you know there's nothing but corn in sight
Suddenly the cars in front of us started to slow
Wondering which way around this pillow they needed to go
Well some went left and some went right
Some straddled over it and seemed alright
Mom said baby, it will be OK
Just drive right over it
Elvira won't notice anything in her way
I lined up perfectly and over we went
Thought I'd made it until visions were sent
Into the rear view mirror of down floating everywhere
And it wasn't pleasant!
I could see people on the sidewalks laughing, I pretended not to care
As millions of feathers floated through the air
Really embarrassed I drove on about one hundred feet
Then Elvira stopped dead right there in the street
Somehow the drive train had caught the cotton cover
Ripping it to shreds, wrapping it round and round so tight
Until it killed the engine dead
Now I know God works in mysterious ways
But He proved it for sure this very day
In a parking lot next to where Elvira had died
Was a complete race car driver's pit crew - no lie!
An 18 wheeler with trailer in tow
Guys dressed in uniforms, patches aglow
With traffic backing up behind us
They came over to see what was all the fuss
I said spitting feathers out of my mouth
I really don't know, I'm from down south
They opened their trailer and out came the jacks
Air hoses and tools, they got down on their backs
From under the car I heard laughter and jokes
They'd seen cars stopped by everything but a pillow!
Well I thanked them and shook each and every hand
They wouldn't accept money, said the entertainment was grand
I often wonder who they were and if they remember Elvira and the pillow in Iowa land....
Your presence within my sphere
Is utterly enlightening and true
It is nice to realize the blessings of life
Are the very words you engrave on my heart
I trust your heart is filled with gladness
Supported with positivity and gain
Terrestrial rains sh*t glitter at me
As bursts of chuckles saturate my brain
I am moved by a humorous plight
Of words flying like heroine-addicted chickens
Clucking and pecking at Charles Dickens
I have become this nonsensical buffoon
As my pride rises like an off-brown balloon
Only to deflate in a fit of guffaws and mirth
Ever since you appeared on this earth
There was an unexpected birth
Inside it is nice and warm,
cuddled up alone in my warm bed,
sheets and covers smother me,
as soft pillows rest my heavy head.
Outside the white, soft snow comes falling down hard,
blowing in from the north, south, east and west
and the wind picks up, as it makes a high pitch howl,
as a ghost would do when trying to strike fear into someone.
Inside so warm,
outside it is so cold,
Inside filled with sweet dreams,
and outside filled with cold, soft, white nightmares.
Soon, the alarm goes off and wakes me from a cozy slumber,
as I hit the "SNOOZE" button and straighten myself from bed;
I walk over to my window and rub my eyes and can't believe my eyes.
Snow, snow, snow, snow, snow, snow- and more snow!
White pillows of snow everywhere,
on the leafless trees, the branches covered with snow and ice.
I open my window for some fresh air,
and the air is too thin to breath, and the wind hits me in the face
and cold burns my face with a chilling sting!
I shut my window- as I look at my bed,
temptations of jumping back in and warming back up
all cross my mind,
but sadly it was only Wednesday and no call-off for school,
so I guess I'll go shovel the snow out of the driveway,
warm the car up and get ready to go learn.
TALKING TO ME
Do you ever get the feeling that inanimate objects are talking to you?
Sometimes I do, not often, but sometimes.
Like trees that seem to be murmuring in an unknown language
somehow suggesting a meaning to me.
And clouds when billowed tell me of some distant place I haven't visited.
They display portly faces that look strangely familiar and seem to mouth
Once I heard running water in a stream ripple in nomadic sounds, it told me
the secrets of how to go with the flow.
Flowers often, when in full bloom gossip and say "look at me, aren't I beautiful?"
But when dying cry out say "I was younger then, but now I'm old and frail!"
It seems when picking out socks to wear, I imagine them vying for my attention.
Pick me.. no pick me. And when I do, feel a little guilty that I didn't pick the other.
Once I took out and put back pliers from my tool holder on the wall. One cried out to me saying that I shouldn't put it so close to the other one (considered far inferior). And of course, the screwdrivers made it known that Phillips do not belong with Flatheads.
Should it be, do I have to endure these insults to my sensibilities?
As I said, sometimes.