just masterbate society into a cup: we’ll procreate yr dung babies for xmas

 

COPYRIGHT: DETOX

 

 

they crack your skull
and pour it in
an allusion,
illusional,
elusive
she cracks some sad whip
the poor muck rucks come
raking out
the leaves are brown
the wind near the river
is exceptional
whipping about
grassy potted plants play piano
from underneath, with the upper-concrete
i havent even smoked weed
i just describe what i see
from a train in the rain
boys enter, its three o’clock
they reek of pungent vinegar
it best describes their sour acne
i am sickened and can’t breathe

and my mother’s fear of my being hurt
stops my search before it begins
she prevents those hecklers by
keeping me jarred
but i am AJAR and cute boys keep
asking me out on dates
but MALE BOAR ODOR is NOT
what i want in a mate.

the loose train has fifteen tracks
i am on all of them
like an octopus
doing fantastic disco renditions
of gin blossoms songs

people in general have no idea
what anything means
this is a dream
if i had the money id buy a new notebook
id parade around a shocked look
an evil grin
a kind expression, to manifest some
type of impression

i am not here
but in another place
i only let certain people visit
no one knocks down my door
anyhow
the brown cow
moo’s off my face
i eat him anyway
and watch some shit off netflix
just because: fuck it
rev gave me her password.

(AND JUST AS A SIDE NOTE
the next day i fucked the whole
netflix thingy up from watching too much
30 rock or something).

CLOSE EXIT

Copyright: DETOX

some laugh track
in the background
imbues

the starving ghosts
are an emblem
within which
the masculine witch
resides

a high tide surfaces
as seemingly happy families
knock each other over
to make way

well, I SAY

this crude nightmare hardly begins
and its filled with
neverending, full-faced grins
technicolor spins
my laces are untied
when im stoned im uncomfortable
you cant look me in the eye
i cant look you in the face

where are we?
what is this place?

well, I SAY
i wont be much longer

with each deep inhalation
im figuring out
how to figure things out
my brain is in some deep recession
i eat meals like harrison ford in blade runner
every night for dinner

i type into a box to communicate thought

my alchemy eyes have given up the potion
mixed in a chemical seal
i have revealed an emotional layer
boys on the other hand are natural players
i wear my heart on my sleeve

i get up and leave
fastidiously out the door
comfortable with exits.

CONCRETE ZIPPY ZOOMS

COPYRIGHT: DETOX

this area pours onto me
the street is my example
shrouds circle emphatic figures
mimicking dance routines
lamped by an urban glow
i flow like this
windowed
turbines are cemented fixtures
with surrounding trees scant
between old, forgotton railways
where the homeless lay
the people make a fast dash past
shuttling harmlessly
they have jobs, you see
i am in a sea
and in the dark my waves
are memory laden of some place
a fully charged graffiti wasteland
i see a city past a river
its buildings are quite tall
seemingly this city has it all
but underneath its bluff and gruff
lies the foam of sham
its not who i am
or what you are
i stare off into the zips
my fleets are soundtracked
by blips
no holster to hurriedly capture
my flipping you off
no camera encapsulates my scoffs
because i don’t make light
i am here in my plight
studying people
gawking at concrete
feeling incomplete
having the taste for something sweet
suckling on the dirt and sheet rock
that compiles a life
within construction and discarded
ever so inter-connectedly

trees leaves grass and images of such things.

Copyright: DETOX

the rolling skies are rocky hills

demolishing my retina stare

through a screen

everything is green with pink embers

i was so high i can’t remember

how it looked for real

i cannot feel past the lower extremities

parts of me are peices passing through

a new envisionment

most of me is old wet and tampered with

too fat for you

too fat for school and life

but not pink trees or pink cigarettes

my mind frets

i am transported, suddenly, to another setting

like mars or the jetsons or something

cuddly and cartoonish

all that acid from highschool i never took

CATCHING UP WITH ME1!

and then i vanish back into this picture, back to two years ago when i still felt somewhat fresh, before my puppydog heart was crushed into kibbles n bits by a cruel girl. back when things were ok and tree’s were pink, back then i think that i had it all but i was seriously just as miserable. it’s a constant and perpetual. the past, if we could all just live in the past where we see ourselves as “happy”. too much of living in the past will kill you, i say. too much fantasizing about the future will get you in trouble. the present is OH SO VERY BORING. so what’s to be done?

i love to fantasize, i love fantasy. I AM FANTASTICAL. im fantastic.

YOU SEE THESE MOM’S ON TV EVERY DAY

they arrange you in tiny cupboards

so the visitors can see

just how charming you appear

in such pretty dresses

so polite to sit so quiet

in a small box

you have small pox?

i can’t hardly notice!

how charming! yet how awful

for the mother…

how does she do it?

she stuffs you so coarsely

into that cabinet

its become some force of habit

for you both

the mother grins

to your chagrin you are stuck

as she plucks

your feathers clean

shes not mean

but over blown

you cannot win or

try to compete

a winner’s attitude

admit’s defeat.

but it’s not as if she’s a monster

just a mother.

HARRY POTTER ANALOGIES LIKE CRAZY

nobody understands harry potter

oh especially snide little nasty boys

who pooh pooh everything

without even knowing

anything

simply assuming

snippy little malfoys

small frightful things

boy toys and cartoons

geetars and hillbilly notions

envelope into repungnant potions

that push people away

not that it matters

NOT THAT DRACO CARES

that his actions might be hurtful

he has his guitars and girls

he has other languages to escape into

he has rock music to fantasize about

but he dosent have harry potter

harry potter wants nothing to do with draco

and DETOX is totally HARRY POTTER

in this analogy.

i am in griffindor

sippin on seeker snitches

eating my sneakers

i laced them with two different colours.

i spelled colors ‘colours’ and only used one ” ‘ ” because of the british reference, btw.

THE ONE I WROTE IN THE PSYCH WARD ABOUT GRETA GARBO

back when nicotine was good for you

Greta Garbo

Swilling that thick

Swedish face

all over our collective

Hollywood past

She is a Bently formed from

from working man’s

ford bones

her engines creak

ever so suspiciously

I am thinking of her

like family or close

personal consiglere

since we are from

the same country

but in other ways I

think of us as just

the same

hiding from some sense

of self we portray

on a screen or

in a dreem

in front of thousands of fans

who do not understand

why should they?

and, garbo, i am

just as bad because

i am so dubious to be curious

i want to know more

about how boring you were

because i want to be

boring too

like you!!

im almost there but this

psych ward thing got in the way.

so they say you were gay

or bisexual or a-sexual

or something ——- BUT

none of this matters to me

as long as you ate pussy!!!!!

and so i havent read about you

in quite some while

but here i am again

and im thinking “damn greta,

you were so dope!!”

because flowing amber locks

swept across lithe eyes

and softened features

accentuated such soft lips

that swedish face filled with grace

and if we were related

we could have still been kissin’ cousin’s

had the advent of time travel

made it so we could meet

age appropriately.

i would have wrote you

a lovely poem mentioning

something adorable i may have

noticed you doing

you would look at me, sillily…

OH GRETA, JUST STOP

BEING DEAD ALREADY!!!!!

NAH, you’re just astute.

the bee’s have knee’s

and the cats have pajamas

well im tripping the light fantastic

all over your 1920’s catch phrases

existance happens in phases

and this generational gap

makes itself a pulley for

entraping the allknowingness

of hip and happening youngsters

they look to the past

to make up for the lost

and our collective sense of self

is admonished

oh, and obliterated

obliged by this hard hearted tide

it;s as if some happenstance

that hardly ever was

comes back around

for another turn and we

sizzle and burn

fan those flames

its all so lame

i watch this from my tower

as i scribble into notebooks

i’m such an asshole.

shatter me timbers

the earth is a shattering

grimace of time

suspended above

blood thirsty sharks.

i am a ghost

surveying all of this

because my report is due

tomarrow, first thing

i know not how to walk

or speak or move

but float around your

headspace, checking off a list

piercing sounds impose

the swollen idea

that we are all here

for some purpose

i laugh at this

and at you

the sound of space

circles my brain

giant ships

exploding and such.

HOT MESS

this hot mess

slithers unexpectedly

around the heart’s

ventricles

like a vehicle

this splurting spout

bubbling over

this hot mess

i carry with me

inside of my pocket

feeling so easily

how it is to

boom around

i wear a crown

my mess is hot

im sloppy and you

can see

how it appears

all of these years

this mess so hot

my heart neat and not

interested

but as a mess is how

i impress

im bubbling over

with fear

a mousy mess

a furtive ear

a slushy dress

a stupid fuss

a hot mess

and nothing much else

they raise the bar

ive gone too far

but not enough

i push and shove

get what i need

a mountain of greed

i give it away

there’s no other way

and i am myself

hardly anyone else

still i confess

A HOT MESS.