^Walk around dark alleys in skid row with broken hearts left and right in a purple haze long enough ya start to become a pretty good writer.

A Dalmation Parade in Dog Town
 

Drink
in excess.
Snort
cocaine.
Shoot up
meth-amphetamenes.
Chain-smoke
cigarettes.
Masturbate
until cervix is bruised.
Pill-pop
Until nothing,
or cysts on ovaries.
When in nowhere
land.
Or a dalmation-parade
in Dog Town,
Bejing.

But there ain't no blatant parade,
and there ain't no AA,
or rehab.
Or some soul-saving
Roach motels.

Just mocking roaches
in a thief's
ashtray of a soul.

When it comes to this,
Why would she bother?
With her bare hands soaked in condensation from a cold one?
Just make it
quick
and painful.
You're always best at that.

<3

Thank you :)

Rock n Roll Games
 

This is for Mal.

Rock n Roll Games
Mrs. Lolita Ginsoski

I hate waking up
To Algebra 101
In the morning.
I’d rather sleep up with you.
1:01 in the night.

Vicious,
Who you dislike
Screamed he did it Sinatra’s way.
Are we doing it our way?
Or does anything go the night
That never seems to cum.
Like the 19 year old
Rocket Queen?
Or the Fortunate Son?

You always said
You wanna go crazy
On stage.
I wanna go Heart’s way
And go Crazy on You.
Touche?

No reader, liver, or lover,
Of beat
Is ignorant enough
To believe in a generous nature
De fois.

Just de gens
Like moi et toi.
Toujours, l’amour.
Like La Piaf parle.

Back when I was Harlow-gold,
I had Bette Davis Eyes.
Like the Singer
and the Song.
No worries,
I’ve got the Jack
Daniels de coeurs.
Comin’ from the bottom of the deck.
That’s how Angus deals
The rock n roll games.

That's a pretty wild song, I like the rock references pretty well, but I can't really find the main idea of the song, or a point to it. Is it kinda just about... rock n roll? I dunno, but it's got some good lyrics. It's a little odd reading it without music though, cuz then I can't find a rhythm, which makes it hard for me to get into it. I'd give it a 7.7/10 though, swell lyrics FTW.

Well thank you :). It's supposed to be about a couple that loves music who are having trouble having sex (this problem has long since passed :p). Probably a little odd reading it without music because it's a poem, haha. It could easily fit with some music, most of my stuff probably could. Maybe if anyone ever wanted to put it with lyrics it'll blow up like sliced bread :p.

Ain't That A Kick In The ****?
 

A poem.

Ain’t That A Kick in the Cunt?


Can’t sleep
Insomnia, acheyness, chronic anxiety,
Who cares?

Horrible handwriting,
Shakey hands,
doesn’t matter.

Back pain,
Bad circulation,
Cold nipples,
I hate bitches who complain.
Then theoretically, I should be a good writer.
That sounds like cheap bullshit,
Can’t be,
A drunk said it.
Drunks with pens aren’t cheap.

1994 - Buk dies
Not passes away,
but dies,
of... alcoholism, being disgusted with society, no faith, the love of a good woman...
Smart man.

1997 - Gins dies
of... thinking too much, tripping too much, writing too much... fuck that.
Kidney stones, being fucked up the ass too much for his ass to take, being a Jew,
tenement-living.
Great writer. Brilliant mind.

2006 - Godfather of Soul dies,
of being James Brown. Too much soul, too much spirit, for repressive society, drug-overdose, whatever. Old age.
Gotta have soul
To have rhythm
Or life’s just a dead fish.

2008 - Paul Newman dies
of... trying to be a good person, and playing cool guys on the silver screen?
Look where being a good, smart person gets you.
Al Capone died in jail, old, aged like wine.
The good die young, pricks are supposed to live forever.
Nothing makes sense under that philosophy.
It’s a good song, but maybe Billy Joel’s an idiot.
Maybe though, that’s why McCain is still alive and kicking
the country in the cunt - him and his party.
It’s like a Bear Stearns blowjob on 9/11.
Ever notice that’s the emergency number,
in America?

1994 - Kurt Cobain dies,
strangulation during whacking it
to a vision of skid row.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
It was really an OD
of Fame.
Like Joplin and Hendrix and all the other great ones.
Courtney Love is a bitch you just wanna punch in the face.
But it’s really not her fault.
She was just a hole. She knew it, named her band after it.
It’s our fault for allowing her in the media.
We make these idiots, like Courtney Love.
Idiots are made in America.
Mostly in the backseat of cars, but still.
Fuck Made in China.
Those products are shitty and broken too, tho.

1979 - Vicious dies.
Of living fast and dying young.
Crash died from the same thing.
These people died for art.
All of us who die, and don’t pass away,
die for art, poetry, music, etc.
Buk said, more men have died for poetry than all your crooked battlefields combined.
He’s right.
We should stay where we’re better acquainted.
One-man wards.
Up against ourselves
and Society.

I’m sad VanGogh didn’t die from blood loss from that ear...
He should have.
He had no business dying quietly.
Fucking rebel.

I don’t know what happen to Socrates
After he left the Kingdom.
A mysterious death or disappearance is just as good as a loud one.
Rome had balls tho!
Going up and down in flames like that.
Like a girl giving you a blowjob
While her hair is on fire.

1980something - my grandfather’s best friend dies.
Swallowed drain-o.
He was a great mason.


Everyone you see when you walk down the street,
Half of them will probably pass away before you,
or die before you, whatever.
We were talking today about people we’ll have to watch die.
Some of the greatest minds of our generation and some of the worse,
arguably.
Madness doesn’t destroy an artist - artists are insane.
That’s why they’re artists.
No one else would trade bread for paper and pen.
But we mean well, in our right.
Or the right we think we have - to mean something to this world after we die.
That, too, is insanity.
Or is wanting to expand people’s minds after your own death just generous?
No, fuck no, we’re not righteous.
We’re not even indignant,
We’re just pissed off at what society says a man needs to do to survive.
So we sit in bed and drink, like Buk said and did.
Or we pop pills or whatever, some vice, is doesn’t matter. Or it shouldn’t.
Or, very, very rarely, we can come from the top to begin with, and just take walks
on skid row with loved ones.
The greatest minds, and the worsts.

2008 - Heath Ledger dies -
of trying to sleep.
Ha.
Ain’t that a kick in the cunt?

i'm not going to lie i thought it was really bad

Van Gogh shot himself.