The machine lit up
like a small cathedral—
chrome saints hopping
under glass,
the silver gospel
of the pinball
spinning wild
between my hands.
It was my birthday—
twenty-one—
and free beers
rang up like prayers.
Each flipper slap
a hallelujah,
each tilt shrugged off
in neon glare.
The hours blew away
like cheap confetti.
The undulating sidewalk
tilted just before I did,
and the keyhole
danced just out of reach
while my cat waited,
unimpressed.
I woke up hours later
to my worried cat
meowing and
looking up at me.
I leaned in close
to reassure him—
and showered his head
with vomit, dismayed.
He left his verdict
in my shoes—
a damp reminder,
sharp and clear.
Tail high,
he walked away avenged,
his conscience
undisturbed by guilt.
He eventually
forgave me—
as creatures wiser
than us often do.
I cleaned my shoes,
drank far less beer,
and never puked on
my cat again.
eating again, glutton of cost
he crawled to embrace
the concept of everything, all
hugged to a chest spilling,
kissing vacuous stomach
slid up the slender flesh,
saliva made slugs
a viscous downpour of greed
it could only emanate from he
the glutton of cost
he gnawed at the presence of
all that is near
nothing was sacred in
the space placed between his ears
it is capsized by fear
it is desperate, with agony clear
a glint in his eye
the last star falls from his sky
vomit coated fingertips
cut between despondent lips
pity not the glutton of cost
whomst does not know to
cut his loss
he is the pitiful orphan
of his hopeless cause
oh glutton of cost
you are to blame
for all you have lost
When the oceans
Swallowing some orphans
And
Vomit them
At the boundaries.
Yoh!
Don't laugh
Loud.
Because they can
Still be alive
By the miracles
Of Yahweh God.
Their parents were innoncently killed ,
went to rest in peace with God.
Yoh!
This world ?
Number of orphans encrease rapidly
As many parents continue to be killed
In some parts of this planet earth.
There’s something screaming in my head
I don’t know who is who anymore!
Choosing what to see, hear
Big decisions for such a little me
Knocking on walls, messaging through the phone, sharing a meal
Tell me you love me, one more time
That lonely feeling hasn’t gone away, never will it go away
Please, someone take it away!
It’s an endless darkness I feel growing deep inside,
someone make this all go away
Another day, just one more day, now always careless and empty
Pity won’t work on me
Was there Balance?
What even am I?
Just a series of taps,
Deeper into that hole,
No that hole,
Just a series of taps,
All their holes,
Any hole you can imagine is here,
Just a series of taps,
Illegally legal & immorally moral,
Just a series of taps,
Finger tip mantras,
Normalise our naked youth,
Just a series of simple taps,
The Algorithm stealthily sells innocence,
To the slave market of the MAPs
When a person swallows
poisoned drink or food
and fails to take out that poison.
He" she" will start to protect his
" her" wrong deeds.
It will be easy for him
" her" to blame :
1. Victims
than ill-treators,
2. Good people
than bad people
3.Just folks
than unjust guys
4. Peaceful people
than ( murders) killers.
Remember that :
Poison is not passion
Possession is not permission
Reason is not season
Compareason is not reason,
Confession is not falsification
Action is not revelation.
Thinks he’s all that plus a pound of sugar.
I would not trade him for a nose bugger.
See the weird reindeer Comet?
He makes me want to vomit.
He’s dating another seasoned cougar.
The ancients honored you in their cultures
Mythology crowned Jataya, King Of Vultures
Obligate scavengers, you conduct your foray
Toward putrid carcass of what will be your prey
Dead bodies, prairie dogs, rodents, wild boars
Insatiable eclectic pallet opens many doors
Vomit, your defense, your uric acid searing
Hunched backbone, broadened wingspan so fearing
Here they soar, the vultures who seldom kill
Just scouting about for their carrion meal
Oh emotional
projectile vomit!
Regurgitation
spewing all over,
sick to my stomach;
It makes no sense
feeling angry;
Nothing I did,
it’s not on me;
May the weight
you carry
reveal all;
Giving
nothing
shows.
Word vomit
I want to scream into a microphone
Let it run through the chord and out the speakers
For the world to hear
I want to pour my word vomit into people's heads
For once it wouldn't go through one ear and out the other
So i can breathe
If they somehow keep that word vomit in their heads
I will know they are smart enough to listen
And realize someone like me has an opinion of them
My word vomit contains last nights opinions
Chunks of feelings
And truth
I've cleaned up a lot of my own word vomit
Other's too
Now its their turn
I’m a modern poet.
Pyromaniac.
Psychotic.
And schizophrenic.
Living in emptiness,
I walk in the convolutions of absurdity.
Idiocy spreads over me like the sky.
My poetry storms between cozy shelters and rocky waves,
while the world rushes toward suicide.
Suffocated, I lift my head
but I’m dragged down by viscous triviality.
My tongue is burned
with the acid of loathing
I gawk at the world.
Crawling through the madness,
I welcome the garb of another day.
My life measured by pale, gray days.
A stray dog at a butcher’s shop
that stays all the day without chains,
and yowls others for leftovers.
I learned to worship agony.
I’m a commodity made in a cheap factory,
an item in a grocery list.
My heart a broken shell.
I don’t write; I vomit poems.
He fed some chicken down his throat
and plugged his airpipe tight
Then vomited for 6 damn days
to fill his mouth with fright
And came along to think he'd die
till doctors poked his chicken
When all the chicken fell right down
an anus for the licken
forget.
I looked there from the other side and there is nothing.
(as if the world's green carpet wasn't enough,
the golden grain of the beaches,
the mathematical accuracy of every stone that hurts our feet).
I'm tired of sweetening what has no taste:
the porch of the house that faces a dark dead-end street,
the confused dreams that crumble in the sunlight,
the poisonous illusion that something will change.
forget.
I looked there from the other side and there is nothing,
only the air tainted in pain,
just infinite cold space,
just the feeling of nausea caused by emptiness
wherever you go
but don't be sad, please.
save your tears for the worst.
that will still come
I want to scream into a microphone
Let it run through the chord and out the speakers
For the world to hear
I want to pour my word vomit into people's heads
For once it wouldn't go through one ear and out the other
So i can breathe
If they somehow keep that word vomit in their heads
I will know they are smart enough to listen
And realize someone like me has an opinion of them
My word vomit contains last nights opinions
Chunks of feelings
And truth
I've cleaned up a lot of my own word vomit
Other's too
Now its their turn
The Stain of Death
Going into that terrible place
A living dust-bin, black bags
With clothes and books inside
No sign of individuality
Packs and stacks of anonymity
Nothing there to define her personality
But a big stain of vomit on the inside of the toilet
There she made her mark in her last hours
Nothing else in her house of horrors that lets you know
She ever lived there
And even that vile stain is only a sign that
She died there
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