"I've got this killer up inside of me... I can't talk to my mother, (friends, women, coworkers, associates, affiliates, city council, the internets, the homeless or even your mother) so I talk to my diary."

-that Scarface song from Office Space

Periodic Table of God

Falling to sleep inside of you
As my chest cavity
Imbibes your own
Definition of being,
I could not rest more lazily
With comfort
In the physicality of my
Last resort for living.

Together we partake of the
Abortion-Santa-Claus
Killers in the guise of benefactor…
As we denigrate to enact
Our appetites with a renascent maw,
Unified, impressing, enforcing
Us undressing…
God’s begotten
Bodily contortion.

Yes, you and I
We are as wolves combined
In tribe
And our feast
As individuals aligned
Presents credentials
Contending Amon Goeth’s
Genocidal scribe.

This god-damned fireball
A scorched earth policy
To most in their frailty,
Passionately crests
And it’s call, fulfilled
Rests
With no admittance
But to me, decidedly
For thee…
In thermonuclear potential
Right where Hydrogen would be.

-Monday, February 02, 2009

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