January 12th, 2005

  • bardia

Roach Motel Blues

Ten thousand sinister roaches summoned,
to better acquaint myself with life’s bitter realities,
the filth, the horror, the midnight melancholy,
misplaced affection misdirected at the abyss.
To what may I ask is my venting outlet?
To where do the ancient imperfections hide?
Penetrating every dimension of my ocean of insanity,
turbulence echoes itself in blue eternity,
I cried when my lizard died, so young, so pure.
Tears of azure tender cleanliness crystallized beneath my eyes.
What witch has cursed me?
Who has cast me unfortunate?
What red eyed and slime blooded ghoul stalks me?
Reveal yourself!
Cast your stones!
Whether roach, cricket, ant, or man,
all are worth a bug- to be stepped on.
  • bardia

Actors Aren’t Activists

Me I’m no actor I’m an activist,
Self-destructive mental malfunctioning machine.
But yet I still subsist, but why?
Am I coward or fool- or both?
Sometimes I wonder what a revolvers bullet bursting propelled through my arm would feel like,
sometimes I see colors, shapes, things that aren’t there,
my precious memory has been had,
my inner demon speaks to me in my dreams,
but I always forget.
I try to dust off my anxiety’s but they’re rooted deep,
someone once shouted “You Must Change Yourself,”
lethargic conditioning disrupts this frequency,
every word that comes out my mouth sounds like poetry to me,
exhilarated by my mouths energetic motor,
loving words and sounds,
I guess then loving life,
but always in vain.