XII Poems (VII-XII)

Shower Time is Power Time
By XII

I’m under a rock
well known

It’s like I’m taking a shower
People won’t stop stabbing me
No one wants to clean me
I can’t clean myself
The soap is all righteous
And holy
Like I’m not?
Whatever man
You’re the one watching me
taking a shower
I locked the door
Asshole

Living Like A Bedtime
By XII

Humbling the camel
A man of multiple humps
Jumps the subway
Screaming for a band-aid
No one listens
But he knows that
It’s all performance theatre
World’s a stage
Every motherfucker wants a piece
But it’s like spitting
To clean up an orgy
Everything’s already fucked
And no one knows your spit
From the actual shit

Don’t Ding My Doorbell
By XII

Harking the angels nightly
Her dog croons smooth
At my exposed midriff
Stepping on plush toys
To defend my territory
Man at Arms
Man at Arms
Flash the light as a signal
See no coat racks or lampshades
Only real danger partners
Who flash their teeth knives
Like itty bitty tornadoes
Calling Dorothy homeward
Horny Dorothy struts
Losing my exhibition
Red shoes and I’m done

Real Truckers Drink Kool-Aid
By XII

Holy grails are for panties
Not like sons of the flesh
Holding up bright power hours
Holding up wooden beams
Like a little bit of Elvis
And a little bit of natural selection
All the little red ones
Are the real nice turn ons
My words are like magicians
Powering wicked little deeds
Your body is an ocelot chalice
A fast little racing relic
On my bureau
Yeah dementia
Sing my heart to policy
Command me to lie still
New little darling struck stone

Whack-O Tobaccy
By XII

Crystalmethcrystalmethcrystalmeth
I never dreamed it up
I only threw up a fewsies
On the night of the new new years
Holding our little newborner
Returned to the waiting heat
Hold my refilled glass
Will you now receive under
Oaths of all my crystalmeth
The halls are going wacky
The disher is brand crystalmeth
Holy little fingers clamping
Screaming like a monster stamping
Wanting bags enough for camping
I put bows in his hair while you were out
Our son’s name is crystalmeth

Prom in Space
By XII

Hardcore little puritans
At a hardcore re-enactment
Screaming things like HxC
To see a man in stocks
And little bleeding shackles
The little HxC girl near me
Is foaming at her mouth
Neck veins like Wall Street
Eyes like murder or hardcore porn
Nothing her is like a movie
Don’t you even dare
The matinee is closed now
So simply stand in rain
Suddenly a cheering
All hats and bonnets tossed
The clanking of the pins attached
Like the rain I just described

It was so awful up in chains
Having long lists read to me
True scene rules
And heartbreak crimes
Thrown to the more metal fans
Like I ain’t worth a dime
My blood on the mic
Stepping up to plates
Bleeding on my toes too
Blood on cement stage
All your faggy costumes
I want to take ‘em off
I heard your mother calling
Like a howling little dog
Ain’t ya better answer
I won’t sit down no more
This is hardcore (now)