Hare Today, Gone Tomorrow

Runny runny little bunny,
Your cotton-tail does bounce,
And welcomes friends and predators,
With every fluffy ounce.

How quickly does your hind-end rise,
How neatly turns your head,
And invites mates and monsters to
Go lonely, sad, unfed.

Runny runny little bunny,
Your lengthy ears desired,
So silky smoothe and graceful, like
Elaborate webs, expired.

How shifty dart your eyes about,
How neatly spread your claws,
How quickly you can make it out
Of reach of hugs and jaws.

Runny runny little bunny,
I wonder how times pass,
When never are you sitting still,
But saunter through the grass.

How sweetly rings your chirpy sound,
How cheerful is your song,
Should one, who for you, longs, come ’round,
How quickly you are gone.

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Life is a Beautiful Tragedy

Life is a beautiful tragedy,

Lies are reality,

That’s the duality of the

Human animality.

Craven principalities,

Hypocrites are all I see–

With their bling-blings and

Doing the same things,

Yet they feel like judging ME!

And FUCK CMT!

Patriotism, conservativism,

And surface Christianity!

All these things are filled

With ill-willed

Sycophantic sheep!

Obsequious, pedantic creeps!

People to be despised,

Spreading lies and

Obscuring truth.

Corrupting our planet and

Confusing our youth!

With hands to the skies

They damn their own family,

Can’t live their own lives,

Too cowardly for chancing things.

I don’t blame God or those who follow,

I blame people so hollow,

Mind fields that fell fallow,

Faith much too shallow to

Contemplate discerningly.

And fuck your mom too,

If she’s not on board with me.

I live life passionately,

I crash like tsunamis,

I burn up like TNT!

I’m not corrosive–

Just a little explosive,

But I live in the moment: FREE!

Mind the skulls, Deary

I find it odd and yet fascinating that pain compels me the most, to write. Especially heartbreak.

Why can’t I write as well, or at least feel inspired to write when I feel good?

I don’t know, but there’s a name given to people like me: dirge-singer.

Or “emo”. I guess it depends on which millennium you grew up in.

I mean, I don’t personally remember the previous millennium, but sometimes I feel like I can almost scry it. My mind’s eye picks up a variety of times and cultures and influences me to try to live through each of them.

Of course, since I’m basically making up what I think it was like at any given time/place, I realise I’m probably well off the mark– but it still entertains me, to do so.

A break-up feels like a death. That feeling when someone really important to you, dies. I hate them both. I want to say death is worse, because you absolutely can’t avoid it– but on the other hand, one of two things about love must be true, which sometimes feels worse. Either:

Love is avoidable, and I keep falling for it despite my best efforts to guard against it–

or else it’s unavoidable, and I was doomed to experience many deaths without a funeral or closure rituals.

Either way, seems like a bitch.

Oh– this is probably the part where I should mention, my lover and I didn’t break up– or maybe we did, but decided to undo it.

Either way, it feels like hot nails in my heart, and the coldest, emptiest abyss in my stomache.

Just … loss… such loss… it really is the worst feeling I know.

I gave you all my keys, Babe. Even to my skeleton closet.

Cheers to Bluebeard.