"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

Holocaust Sunrise

At 2 minutes ’till midnight’s tock
On the Doomsday Clock
Letters begin to cascade the face
In molten waves
The contorted ones, the five and the eight
Flood you and free me…
To discern the
W.T.D.

The hot sauce is reacting with the alcohol
To counteract my lifespan
However neither is delusional
About their affect on man
No pretension of leading towards or aiding perfection
Honestly given
To the defection of objective correction
With no bloody need to deceive…
The art of the
W.T.D.

Blindingly embracing loss
Holocaust sunrise endures to rupture night
With Cobalt-60 in my eyes,
The way wildfires encroach on Agrestic
Is as a whole for me,
Majestic.

-Wednesday, January 28, 2009

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