dinner on the grave of my old man: A christmas story

A time of glee a time of hope

Filled with stars and snowy slopes

The birth of Christ a godly heir

And joy and laughter everywhere…

But in my heart it feels so cold

My Christmas isn’t as foretold

Another wound in mother’s chest

And alcohol on fathers breathe

Again December with this prick

Yes Christmas it can suck my dick

And maybe I won’t feel alone

If celebrated on my own

No father I am not your slave

I’ll recreate it on your grave

And turn it back as it was in old

To a Christmas as once was foretold

Attempts at Real life Trashed by society.

Life so far has left me wanting, has left me wanting more.

So long have I had nothing to brag about, have I had nothing at all.

No job, no wife, no money nor fame.

Not even kids to blame.

Always down on luck, be it good or bad.

I am not even depressed or sad.

I'm neither happy nor mad.

I'm not religiously extreme or politically involved.

I am these things to no extend at all.

However, I am truly blessed by a massive talent alone,

to put it into words, that which I shall whisper unheard from under my tombstone.

And I want to be a wannabe:

I believe that:

If I don’t wear these chains

and if I don’t play these games.

Then you won’t see

and I wouldn’t be me.

If I don’t rhyme the rhyme

And pretend to have done the time

When I don’t do what they say

and don’t do what they may.

If I would fail to make it extra fake,

then you’d see, that all I am is a dried up lake.

That all that I pretend to be,

Is a wannabe version of MTV…

take the train to anywhere. I'll be there!

Waiting on the platform.
With nowhere to go.
Utterly bored.
Trains are so slow.
Destination anywhere,
anywhere but here.
I just want to leave this place.
I want to disappear.
Talking to these nobodies,
that seem to share my fate.
United in this travel urge,
our differences they fade.
The whistle blows.
We have to board.
We all try to escape
this hollow place, this prison fort.
Our bags are packed .
Our shoes are tied.
To the horizon,
is where we dream to ride.

So your breaking up with me?

Facebook status single,
what has happened to us?
Was it that I could not mingle
with your friends, on the school bus?

Burning a bucket full of photo albums,
in your mothers back yard.
Stamping out the coals and embers,
that are breaking my heart.

You've finally told all your friends,
how small my dick must be.
As my social life ends,
to sustain your newfound glee.

But I have one last trick upon my sleeve.
One so truly evil and heartless.
An HIV test I believe,
of that new boy, that you've tried to impress.

To this world I chose to hate.

I am a piece of property of this world.
I will be a prisoner till I'm old.
All my deeds will be recorded.
All my secrets will be undone.
Every sin will be reported,
but one day I will have won.
On the hour of the eternal,
past the day of my demise.
Smoking Ganja in the inferno,
this world no longer will I despise.

the legend

silently a shadow creeps,
through the hills where nobody sleeps.
traveling through the sighing marshes.
bearing with him a crown to keep.
taking it to the farthest,
a land beyond the crimson desserts,
over de holy seas.
his road will be the hardest,
though his price is of the least.
all the honor he'll receive,
will not reach him beyond time or space.
in the land of the farthest where he will spent his never ending day's.