Smile, You Pussy

I’m sinking down into the floor
Melting away, as never before
The things I loved, gone away
Why I hurt, I can not say.

Something is wrong, and for no reason
To admit my crime results in treason.
My symbol of a manly life,
Will be cut off with a jagged knife.

Placed upon me, rules and regs
I try to run away, until they cut off my legs.
Accepting my fate, I remain quiet.
To violate a norm shall cause a riot.

The Beauty of Our Fate

Blessed with the ability to lose,
I ignore the inevitable and celebrate
the lights dancing in the sky.
Together, they intertwine
as a celebration
of a predestined ending.
The light in me will never end,
Though I will.

The Death of the Minuteman

As the creeping obesity of democracy suffocates,
The individual dies, replaced by a herd,
Fed by delusions of altruism,
Controlled by the power of the word.

Feed the herd love and drive them across the range.
O’ Sheppard, enjoy your way of life.
While you bathe in loosely legitimized power,
The masses trample the spirit of the fife.

The inevitable destruction,
ready for the grind,
The herd has already chosen,
to be served as a meal for the blind.

Found

A flower in a green meadow,
In the breeze it sways,
A girl walks by, alone
She kneels down, and prays.

The flower is with her,
Behind the ear, tucked.
A spectacular collection of chances,
Upon her the flower lucked.

Replanted with her heart,
No darkness looms.
With the brightness of her blessing,
The flower always blooms.