The Proverbial Angel And Devil

There is a battle between good and evil,

It’s raging in everyone’s soul,

It takes two halves,

To make any of us whole,

It goes a little like this:

“Do this,

Or I’ll get pissed”!

And,

“No! Please!

Don’t listen to that!

I smell a rat”!

 

These two whisper battles,

Day in,

And day out,

Trying to win my affections,

So I’ll follow their directions.

 

One so bad,

He should make me mad,

But when he speaks,

I hear happy squeaks,

The opposite so good,

I should maybe knock on wood,

For when he says walk,

I cheerily ask,

For guidance to his flock.

 

I’d be better off,

As a one-man show,

But in each situation,

Inside my skull,

My conscience hears two little voices,

That just won’t dull.

 

What the fuck?

Is there a way,

To shut them up?

They’ve been keeping everyone company,

Since the Dawn Of Time,

Shouldn’t they have expired by now?

I’d think they should be,

Way past their prime.

 

I picture the one having horns,

Bearing a black pitchfork,

The other wearing a white robe,

With twinkling stars,

Hanging from delicate earlobes.

 

They represent the two main things,

That drive this world,

Wicked and righteous,

And as thoughts of both,

Course through all our minds,

It would seem we are all one part sinister,

And another part divine.

 

Does either one,

Ever win?

Can one being be,

One hundred percent,

Just goodness or sin?

I’d say no one is perfect,

We’re really each a mix,

Of halos and that creepy,

Six-six-six.

 

 

 

We Frustrate Me

Nothing but distaste,

For the human race,

When further I think on it,

The more the hate,

Picks up the pace.

 

They strive to thrive,

Headfirst they dive,

Into normalcy,

Also known as crazy,

And what a waste,

It’s not as though,

They’re leaving alive.

 

Flitting about here and there,

And most don’t care,

About a thing,

Unless it’s theirs,

And even then,

It’s hard for some,

Not to act like scum.

 

The other day,

I was at the store,

Everyone was there,

Rich and poor,

Saints and whores,

As well as everything between,

After looking high,

And looking low,

They all had,

One thing in common though,

They all needed something,

Their money couldn’t buy.

 

I’m sick of dealing,

With them and their issues,

There’s the alcoholics,

And there’s the apostolics,

Some are even diabolical,

I wonder,

When the fuck,

Did this psycho mix,

Become typical?

 

Let me tell you,

The whole lot is fuct,

If they keep waiting around,

For a run of good luck,

We each make or break our own fortune,

No one is immune,

Now quit looking so god-damn forlorn,

And go grab a new life,

By the horns.

 

Are you wondering when,

I’ll make my point?

There isn’t one,

Yet this wasn’t written,

Just for the fun.

 

 

 

LOL @ “Love”

*************************

I wish you well,

My fellow ladies,

And may you forever steer clear,

Of the ones who are crazy.

*************************

 

It does not exist,

At least,

Not in the genre,

For which we all hope and pray.

 

It’s fictional,

And I am not being stereotypical,

But it’s simple fact,

It exists abundantly in other forms,

But that one,

Produces toxic storms in swarms.

 

I wonder why this is so?

Why we let bliss turn into,

Row after row?

I’d almost rather,

Never have had it at all,

Than go through,

The predestined fall.

 

*************************

 

First you think you’ve found it,

Seems to you,

You’ve found a perfect fit,

Then the storms start to brew,

And someone changes their view,

Before you know it,

You’re back to just you.

 

Now here you are,

Should you try again?

Yes,

You’ve decided,

But the sweet wears off,

And again one takes off,

Like a shot.

 

*************************

 

It’s a joke,

A waste of time,

And that’s the commodity most precious,

So why do we waste it,

On something fictitious?

 

I’ve made a list,

Weighed pros and cons,

Seems the emotional investment,

Is not even close to worth it,

The most you can hope for,

Is staying a tad bit detached,

So when the time comes,

You can walk out the door,

Without being dragged down,

Left to live depressed and sore.

 

*************************

 

I see your smirk,

But you will see,

It will not work,

He will turn face,

And be a mighty jerk,

Once again,

You’ll need to begin anew,

Because of what,

He’ll put you through.

 

 

The Mighty One-Man Cartel

They’re all untrustworthy and slimy,

If you fuck with them,

Your life is destined to become grimy,

It’s said don’t ever trust a dealer,

Not any one,

Not any kind,

Although one exception,

Does come to mind.

 

These guys like to hide,

And send others out to risk their hides,

But while his abode is hidden too,

You can deal with him directly,

This one’s not inaccessible to you.

 

This dealer deals in miracles,

Not at all like those who peddle,

The addictions we’re used to buying,

And he advertises honestly,

They’re never laced or watered down,

And then sold by lying,

Plus there is the perk,

That the price is free.

 

He’d rather deal out free love,

Than make a fortune selling drugs,

And if you cannot pay,

He will not order you slain,

Instead you will be smothered,

In a never-ending hug.

 

When he goes out gambling,

It’s not cards he’s dealing,

And he won’t be risking dollars,

He’s unquestionably there to place a bet though,

He’s betting he will,

Save your soul.

 

There is no need to speak in riddles,

As what he’s got,

Is not contraband,

To him you can plainly speak,

Ask him straight-out,

For whatever it is you seek,

For though it’s a sort of black-market,

Nothing he deals can be banned.

 

Any time,

Anywhere,

Any kind,

He does not care,

Most assuredly,

If you’re experiencing a withdrawal,

Know that it will take no time at all,

For him to meet you there.

 

You won’t have to chase him down,

While he’s selling coke or toke,

All around the town,

He’s got a better product,

And he knows right when and where you need it,

And instead will hunt you down.

 

Indeed,

It sounds so good,

How can it be true?

But give him a try anyway,

You’ll be happy when,

He answers you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What’s On Your Mind?

I wonder,

What do others see,

When they look at me?

 

All sorts of peoples,

Look and look and look,

I guess to them I’m like,

The cover of an unread book,

I either appear as interesting and appealing,

Or as bland and boring,

But I wish I could see who thinks what,

Instead of having to trust my gut.

 

Am I associated with laughter,

And happy ever after?

Or do they see a blackened heart,

And assume I have no feeling,

And so am not worth knowing?

 

Am I only a pretty face,

Taking up precious space?

Or am I too a human,

With a valuable opinion?

 

Sometimes I look at someone,

And they’re looking at me too,

It’s sort of disturbing,

To wonder what’s happening in their mind,

When at me they’re always staring,

I think – “How rude”!

Maybe they should just speak their mind,

Then I’d know whether I should hate,

Or appreciate.

 

I am not a mind reader,

So if you don’t want my mind to wander,

Tell me why you’re gawking at me,

When you’re way over yonder,

Or don’t blame me for making assumptions,

For you’ve left me without any other options.

 

No doubt some think I’m fat,

While others think,

“Hey, I’d sure like to tap that”!

Now if only they’d give some sort of clue,

So I could decipher who is who.

 

I know more than a few,

Are sweet to my face,

Then go behind my back,

Saying how they’d like,

To put me in my place,

No doubt a couple speak true,

But once again,

How do I figure who is who?

 

I see a stranger look at me,

Eyes go wide,

They spin around and gape,

Is someone passing undue judgement,

Thinking I’m some shady hoe,

Or am I,

Someone they’d like to know?

 

Regardless,

No ones opinion,

Determines if I sink or swim,

Fuck it,

I am not anyone’s minion,

And no one I’ve met,

Is the artist who formed me.

 

 

The Damned Union

A match made in Hell,

Right from the start,

Like a failed piece of art,

Thrown away,

On a clearance cart.

 

A match made in Hell,

But it was on sale,

And both were buying,

So blinded by a bargain,

Neither could tell,

That the other was lying.

 

A match made in Hell,

It started out well,

But it’ll never work,

Not when both parties,

Are so berserk.

 

A match made in Hell,

They say you never can tell,

But others knew,

How it would end,

Long before it was through.

 

A match made in Hell,

And they can’t change that,

No matter how much,

They bitch and yell.

 

A match made in Hell,

Doomed before,

It ever fell,

No way to win,

Despite the fun it’s sometimes been.

 

A match made in Hell,

What was supposed to be bliss,

Feels more like,

Being locked in a cell.

 

A match made in Hell,

No one wanted to sell,

But when it’s over it’s over,

It’ll never turn back,

Into a sunny field of clover.

 

A match made in Hell,

Regardless of being the ball’s belle,

Evidently,

That one wasn’t worth having,

And had to be sent packing.

 

A match made in Hell,

Left ugly and split,

Chewed up and spit out,

Like old and broken sea shells,

Washed ashore,

In the ocean’s swells.

 

A match made in Hell,

Where nothing happy dwells,

They thought it would taste sweet,

Like caramel,

Turns out it’s rotten,

And it’d be best forgotten.

 

 

 

He’s Nothing To Worry About

Hello out there,

To those who care,

Let me please introduce,

Master Bruce,

The celebrated ghost,

With a unique flair,

For inflicting Scare.

 

He is just typical,

For one of his kind,

What is above average though,

Is his mind,

But yea,

As far as looks go,

He is kind of wispy,

And white as new fallen snow.

 

Not old at all,

As he was young when he took,

That fatal fall,

Yet he feels older than dirt,

For it’s been a hundred years and more,

Since he went out,

With one last painful roar.

 

Now death is not usually lonely,

But when you are left to hover,

And cannot cross over,

To those shores called Glory,

You will discover,

It is a different story.

 

*************************

 

Some years past now,

There lived a marvelous up-and-coming gentleman,

Whose life seemed to come together,

With nary a hitch,

It made his fellows envious,

How he didn’t need to earn his chow,

By the sweat of his brow,

This privileged person,

Was of course,

Our Master Bruce.

 

There came an evening,

When he was but twenty-four,

That he felt a need,

To be out-of-doors,

And he decided to go for it,

Despite the nasty down-pour,

Happening out there.

 

He took precautions,

Wearing slicker and galoshes,

But nothing can compensate,

If it is your fate,

And the hour being late,

When he went to dodge that horseless carriage,

He could not see,

That the roadside there,

Had been washed away,

So here he tripped,

Landing on his knees,

Then another automobile came by,

And his body was clipped,

Just as he was rising.

 

He whooped in pain,

But the driver never heard it,

On account of the rain,

So he continued on,

And within minutes,

Bruce’s life here was gone.

 

*************************

 

Key word there being ‘here’,

Because his body was done for,

But lo,

His spirit was stuck,

And never went anywhere.

 

*************************

 

It took some time,

For him to see it was true,

He was now a part of the world,

In which he had never believed,

He’s now one of,

The paranormal crew.

 

He didn’t like it a bit,

And developed into something malevolent,

The things he did,

Were downright awful,

For instance,

When he made an engine fail,

And sent a car,

Over the rail.

 

*************************

 

There came a time,

About 1949,

That the Nightmare King,

Caught wind of him,

And decided he would be an asset,

A perfect vessel,

To carry his Dreams Of Threats.

 

It was great,

For a time,

Delivering these Scares,

Being the cause,

Of raising hairs,

By giving people nightmares.

 

But he’s starting to see now,

Just how long eternity is,

And dishing out nightmares,

Has become to him,

So unimaginative.

 

He’s becoming restless,

And of late when it storms,

He’s been returning to the site,

That still fills him with spite.

 

Now without fail,

You can hear him wail,

While he paces,

Back and forth,

Slow and steady,

Like a snail.

 

*************************

 

Now what’ll he do,

To fill the endless hours,

Of his afterlife?

Will he turn even more sour,

And try to possess,

Evil powers?

Dare we hope,

He will turn from strife,

And pick up something civil,

Such as playing the fife?