#bobdylan?

Hey Mr. Tambourine Man,

Dya know your name,

Is being used by family wrecking whores?

To postulate that they they’re smart,

To showcase they have a grand plan,

Perhaps for the greater good,

Perhaps, to vet more phalluses,

But I don’t think it will take,

A weatherman to tell,

Which way their pussies are blown.

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Furniture

This morning, as I had my pretentious coffee,

I rifled through a pretentious magazine,

That came with the unpretentious papers.

Saw an advert for a store selling armchairs,

Their tagline was “Inspired by a dream”;

Amused, I wondered what furniture I’d churn,

If it were to be inspired by my latest dream,

A double homicide, a slasher on the lose,

With the knife dripping fresh blood,

Being chased by hungry hungry hippos.

Freud and Neitzsche, can you hear me?

Why do I always have red on my mind?

Yoga and Capoeira, Pilates and Jogging,

In Under Armour and no underpants,

Nothing brings more peace and joy,

Like dreaming of steel knife in windpipes.

Grown-up

I asked my daughter,

What dya want to be,

When you are a big girl?

Her answer made me

Want to dig my own grave,

On a stolen plot somewhere,

And jump in, without a tank

Of Oxygen or Oxycodone.

What an oxymoron!

I didn’t even want the grave marked,

For she said she wants to be a “socialite”.

Asswipe

“I am God”, said an asswipe.

Blew his horns, sounded from a pipe.

All you bloody did was see a shrink,

Who helped you get outside of hell’s brink.

Like a Jungle-man beating his chest,

You proclaim that you are the best.

You can walk on water,

Do things like in the gutter.

Make wine out of pee-pee,

Glamorous gold shit-shit.

Fucking whores on a schoolnight,

I’mma choke your windpipe.

Don’t mess with me, dickhead,

Might light fire to your fucking bed.

Poison Pen Letter

There’d be a myriad of wise men and women on this platform, and I’d really appreciate some communication.

I am filled with rage, anger and suicidal thoughts over something as trivial as being cheated on.

I do not want to cry anymore, I do not want to be sad anymore. I do not want to think about it anymore. I want to erase the whole thing from my head. I have gone to the lengths of exploring (laughable) things like black magic, voodoo, witchcraft, electroshock therapy, lobotomy, hypnotherapy, what have you. I even stepped into a church, a mosque, a temple, a synagogue. Divine intervention didn’t work either. Medication, meditation, yoga, death metal, nothing worked. I drown myself in a sea of pills and alcohol. It hurts like a bitch. I can’t tell day from night, today from tomorrow. I have panic attacks in malls. I break down in public places. I have gone to psychiatrists and therapists and other horde of doctors. The only thing that keeps me calm is a hug from my husband and son. I’ve cried a river. I just have one simple wish now. I don’t want to be sad anymore.

So if there’s anyone out there who can help, please help a sister out. I am on the last rung of the ladder.