Karma Comedian

I use to laugh at ironic things
No punishment for the bad deeds
The Bible says that good 10 fold 
The universe returns to us in gold 
That fairytales and nursery rhymes 
Exist to scare and keep us in line
But on this day fate stepped in 
And karma it seems is a comedian 
A lesson weaved throughout every line
Carefully crafted as a warning sign
It was a day like any other 
As usual jumped in the shower 
Quickly washed and rinsed my hair
Noticed too late that it was NAIR!
Every luscious lock and strand
Fell out completely in my hand
What seems like a sick joke being played
Or demented parts a malicious prank
A plot unfolded my part the lead
The lines straight from a horror scene 
Like laws of nature or earths gravity 
The rules we bend to suit our need
Like a boomerang’s invisible path 
It seems to follow when it comes back 
Even the ocean and it’s changing tides
Needs the moon’s persuasive side
We are the keepers of what we seek
And what we sow we indeed will reap
The nightmare that we fear the most
Comes back to haunt us like a ghost
Like Peter Pan and Captain Hook
Just a good story in a children’s book
what if the earth gets bored of us
And decides that we are entertainment 
those characters we read as kids
Like Pinocchio or the 3 little pigs 
Sleeping beauty or the ogre Shrek 
You thought was funny as a sketch 
Brought to life would pose a threat 
Although to you this seems far fetched
The truth Ive written has not been stretched 
I hope you read this and know as fact
What you put out there will soon come back

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The world over I see,

Inane irony cackles at me!

Society is awash with it,

For the people hypocrite!


I cannot change alone,

Yet someone has to start,

Why not me?

I feel from the heart.


Myriads may follow later,


Let’s commence for a change greater!

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Of Dawn and Dusk

It’s getting late, she whispered,

as the still and quiet cold crept on toward morning,

growing ever later, yet earlier all at once.

A spark of wonder and confusion comes

at Irony’s secret wonders in paradox, 

working seamless and harmoniously entwined.


The ticking hands of time press on like locomotives,

never looking back, but knowing well from whence they came.

Simple, yellow lines guiding wheels away from home,

to wooded, winding paths and barren, burning plains, 

such that the hands of clocks work wonders in themselves.


A boy yearns to speed the present, yet a man to yield it,

a driver searches for the city, yet wants the road once idle.

Embrace the night, for there lies the miracle that all might have their hope.


The night, it grows later, yet the day begins anew again.

English Class


Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

I hate this class.

I want to kill you.


Shut the fuck up!

Just let me be.

I don't give a shit

about what you're teaching me!


This class is bull-shit!

I hate every minute!

You bore me to death,

why don't you get it?


Every passing minute,

my anger flares!

Why can't you see

that nobody cares?!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

So... yeah, this piece was written when I was in english class and I was very fed up with the material and teacher. Thus brought about this rage enduced gem, so enjoy! I do apologize if you are offended by foul language, but I feel that I shouldn't censore how I'm feeling. Anyways, criticism of any kind is welcome and appreciated!

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Is it funny when things on this planet sometimes don’t make sense? 
One individual makes false statements and promises; the truth shines in evidence
Trust resembles a mirror once it’s broken - - it’s hard to believe in between the given dialogue lines
It’s amusing how they would say, "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words may never hurt me." 
When in all reality, the words left behind pierces the heart more than the naked eye can see
Their sharpened ends from the fractured glass pieces could puncture one’s mentality if they are not strong enough
One will stay a child if only they allow rough situations to consume and not stay tough
And if they never get over what is holding them back than who are they to judge a real man or woman’s moves?
Our time on Earth is always a battle judged by the superior one upstairs whether we win or lose
Hypocrisy and Irony is two of the troublesome things in life we face each day
The more uneducated people grow and change the more common sense fails in their ways
Even in any type of relation – Friendship or Relationships sometimes the outcome isn’t what we expect
The words we spit isn’t what it seems generating an illusion of trust which breaks making us fall apart in regret

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Give positive feedback and good criticism!

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The Irony Of Possession




keeping someone locked 

inside a chamber or a cell

is not a punishment to them,

as much it is your own self made hell.


accept the delusion,

within your mind,

you will then be free,

and life will be more kind.


you're nobody different,

from anyone else in this game,

half of you is different,

and half is the same.


so we are all different,

and we are all the same,

but you seem not to want to accept that,

you still want to think your 100% special,


that, to me,

is a pitiful shame.



5:37 PM 7/18/2013 ©



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A Demon Seed.

The human condition? A state of attrition!
No wonder they all get depressed.
What with organs that fail, and bodies that ail?
It can’t leave them all that impressed
With whatever has caused, them to be so disposed
In a flimsy, pain sensitive sack.
An abomination. A joke of creation?
Where dreams surpass gifts that they lack.
The frustration of hope. The slippery slope
They slide down, as their world comes apart.
Hardly a wonder they stumble and blunder
In efforts they dare to call art.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Please don't anyone take this personally, it's just a regular oldie moan.

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Wall of I

There were old walls left standing
in wake of mass collapse.
They held fixtures and railways,
old and aging megaphones,
robbed of speech, impotent,
but symbols that echoed prior voice.

Of few survivors, one aspect crossed
borders to true neutrality
and became lost there for days.
He returned changed and so haggard,
like a cripple lost among desert dunes.
When he would kneel and vomit,
he could expel only muddy water.

And everyone was robbed of words
that were not bathed in metaphor.
All windows fogged, all mirrors obscured;
all means of conveyance and climb
fell into stupid, frantic disuse.

After the air became thicker and dense,
we'd only see ambiguous blurs
to accompany any sort of presence;
any sort of approaching touch.
We'd swipe at them like feral beasts,
lest they rob us, lest they bore us;
lest they attempt to ignore us.

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7 minutes to sunrise,6 minutes to live


The wind howls the old barn

the moon creeps over the gates

clear black skies

a haunted forest

footprints in the creeks

he rapes her all night

he takes the essence of her purity

she struggles to overcome her fear

grieves over what happened

he's finished stealing from her

she cries a river of tears

he walks across the meadows

the wind blows

the trees howl

they rush pass creeks

gnashing teeth

running in order and in accord

their hungry for blood

they run passed her whinning and growling

she whispers to them

make it slow and painful

they rush to the meadows howling and growling

he runs

faster and faster

he see's her in glimpses around every tree

his heart pumping blood faster and faster

the howls are getting closer and closer

she giggles as he stumbles and runs

they run with anticipation and excitment

for tonight they run with purpose

he see's the barn

running as fast as his legs will carry him

he reaches the gates

thinking i made it

he locks it

and hides in a stall

hoping that'll be all

he sits their cowering




when they growled behind him

the last anyone ever saw of him

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