AlexanderSteele

I'm still learning how to fire a gun But I can't pull the barrel out of your mouth If I keep on letting myself break the bread Then I'll learn, and fire, and shoot you dead Oh the holes in your head are few Each one's a one-way street out of you Your ears will cry out for water, and shelter, and human skin But you mouth is so thin I can't wait for you to grow Take your steps, and maybe know How you killed the ones you love Without knowing how to talk at all I tried to teach you how to fire a gun Your hands were small, and you hadn't met your thumbs I'll shoot a baby through the mouth today With pink confetti and angel food cake

I am not brand new I am not brand new I am not a gun I am not a magnum, Though I strive to be A serpent in a punch bowl, full of frothy fishes. I am still not a magnum Though I strive to be Travel 'round the world, and back into my ear drums Set high the wax fire Shooting through my head holes The hole in the front of my head Shut up, I'm not a dead head I am not a magnum Saint atop my head I am not lacey, and I am not quite so good with thread as I wish I were. Dead Head Radio Head's dead radio I am not a magnum, shooting through a radio A lacey wirey radio, stacked atop a telescope Searching for an astronaut In the twil

So we Can lie the day away Close the door and breath ourselves to sleep Let me taste your hair as the stars say goodbye And fall from me, into a desert hole Colors will change colors, and sounds will not be sounds Fruit is all a little bigger here I'll bite you on your shoulder And tell you about my dreams About fish, who were thinking About politics and God and all We spend the day ignoring Fall away from me, and put a snare upon my face I'll tell you that the stars are dying out We'll set my house on fire from the safety of my bed And lie till darkness dances all about

Apparently, I'm not ready for that assignment. It was all technical mumbo-jumbo to me, all I understood was that it "technically" could be filed under "assisted suicide." That, and that if researching the evidence changed anything, it could possibly be filed under "murder." Of course, this is all far out of my league, whether I've covered it before or not. Christ, this place is boring. I hate when you go to give someone a ticket, and you can tell without a doubt that they did nothing wrong, and there was little to no chance they endangered a single soul. It's infuriating. It makes you think, even if for a second, that going about things by

I've seen the Hell House. I've been inside. I had to go. To be honest, it's not all that scary. It's easy once you've been inside for over 5 minutes. Ignore your arachnophobia. Keep a light nearby. Compare scary graffiti messages to stupid ones. DICK HOUSE METALLICA RULES CRACK IS BAD METALLICA SUCKS He was downstairs. I had read his letter. God damn societal conformists. By time I got to the house he was already stone cold, X's all over his body. The spray-paint can was empty. Obviously part of his chemical poisoning. Empty bottles were everywhere, but they blended in. They blended in with all the other poison, the beer and the Smirnof

What a fucking loser. A grown man, one who's going to college and who SHOULD be attempting to find a real career, ends up wasting his time in abandoned houses. It's like he's still a teenager, pouncing about the neighborhood in the dark with his asshole friends and a can of spray paint. All the time, he acted like he was making a statement with his life. Like his entire existence was a message to everyone else in the world, and everything he did had some deeper and finer meaning. A meaning, of course, that I was apparently far too dense to understand. That paint-toting punk judged everything I enjoyed, for one reason or another. If I didn'

So a boy walked into Hell House some evening, and never walked out. It's only referred to as "Hell House" by the adventurous kids of the neighborhood, those who decided to creep their noses up close, until they were trapped in front of the house, trapped by open space and fear on both sides, and read the bold red spray-paint scrawled across the boarded front window. WELCOME TO HELL HOUSE ENTER IF YOU DARE And underneath it, written as elegantly as a kid can write in black spray-paint: Veni, Vidi, Vici So someone had conquered the place before apparently. Outside, on the right side of the house, there's a giant face, made out of three X

If only To find a meaning in my boat And by this, I mean to fill my pails Wash myself away Fill my brain with wishy wash Fill my brain with gray If I land myself on sugar Then I'll eat myself away If only to find peace And say My mission as a candy Was to mother my own head To live with sugar on my face To end, smiling, dead

Otherwise Otherwise Otherwise I'LL BURN AND DIE? Christ it's like my brain can't sell an ice cream cone these days It seems I'm running out of Emanuel And all my fingers are rusted I just want to be a screwdriver Driven through your arteries Justified, "It's artsy" And jabbed into your heart I want to be a hammer, nailing nails into your bones Making sure you never ever ever ever come apart I want to be a parasol, I want to be a duct tape roll And to think, you said I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. Shut the fuck up. Let me polish your eyes for you Shut the fuck up. Let me wrap you up in plastic Throw you in a bu

So here I am again Pulling at my string Trying to hit a bird, or something worth it An eagle would be nice Something endangered, or rare If I hit something beautiful, I'll be satisfied Something with a contrast, a juicy blue, and deep black Or a rainbow, under layers, of blinding orange, yellow Something that reminds me of how pretty it is to live And how sad it must be to not I need to hit something, and shock you for all you're worth Then I'll feel I've done my part, in making art.

This is the last song I write about you This is the last time I write about you You will never touch my lips again They circle round you Flashing with their stars of blue and white And they surround you I will never ever ever ever Write another song about you, Mrs. A You tried to kill me in your car And shortly after we tried, to find our treasures inside You scared my eyes wet, darling dear I am the dirty dog on which you wipe your dirty toes along You left me, spitting in your arms, wiped my nose across your palms It is my silky insides that kept you stringing, on and on And on And on You took a razor to my leg You sucked i

Now your daddy's gone And if gravity serves, then your whole house will fall If tomorrow comes today then all your food is gone Olive vines might rot away But I'm sure you'll keep alive with all that wine that you've made And the Muslim men Will war with you until you come around again Stop touching her soft and break the ice again With chuck your only friend But a scarecrow's full of nothin, has he found a house yet? If the good only died younger, then you'd be in a better place There's plenty of ants inside the earth and lots of space to sleep And if I'd never met you, I'd be with you underground If the best all died as babies,

You drove halfway to hell again And found it just the same Except the air was staler somehow Since you knew what heaven was And when you went into the diner Did you wish you were at home? Because the food in a halfway hell's kitchen Can't compare to down home cooking Honey turn around I don't know what you're looking for But you sure as hell won't find it In no godforsaken Pennsylvania town -+-+-+-+-+-+- Honey don't turn around Don't look at me like I am I'm weather, I'm sore, and I'm lost I'm a sheep, I'm a lamb, I'm a lamb I swear I'll keep writing these songs And I swear I'll always be stuck there In my head, in my head,

You were a field of dead blue butterflies And then you were the one who tried to stand, and quickly failed You were the eyes that looked up and down upon him Judging with the callouses bleeding underneath your feet You were a set of toes, tied up tight in ballerina shoes Bound to fit the eyes of Dionysos, but never proper You were a yellow light, guiding through the storm to safety A square among the storm, out of place A set of over feminine children, singing in a plastic box While you were at the front, leading all of us to death Pressing at my back, with a calming set of fingers While you were at the front, leading all of us to

You always hope the ghosts Will do their damage and then go But no, no No no no. If I were you I'd hitchhike to California And find a new act to play You say no, no No no no. You say that one day My friends will be our friends I say no, no No no no! The only way to help you get to heaven Is to make amends? Oh god no No no no. ----- She says I'm sorry For the way that I lash out Darling no, no No no no. You think you know What it's like to frighten me? Oh no, no No no no. I've dealt with werewolves Vampires and sirens All screamin no, no No no no. You ask me If I Believe in monsters I say No, no No no no I woul

I can't say I've seen the light, you could say I'm blind But I've still got fight, I've still got fight, in me A crass old man with nothing left to lose, I've been inside his shoes And I don't like the feel, of it Take me, tie me up tight Torture me with light, blind me Show me, what I've got to lose Make me lose my cool, show me. I want to be scared I want to be scared I want to be scared I want to be scared of you I can say I've seen an Angel, gorgeous, clean and white It's a painful sight, an awful sight, to see I could see the fire in her eyes, and even though I'm blind That fire had it out, for me Take me, for granted an

I'm not a rapist, just a murderer back on the scene Swiping the victim to make sure my hands are clean Dusting my own prints, leaving a trace Along with a photo of my face, which makes me The detective, the good guy, out on the case Though I can't tell why I can recognize the place It looks like all I want is to solve this scheme But the blood in the victim's veins smells like me Which makes me the victim, trying hard to speak Got a mirror full of people all gawking at me And I don't know why I can't remember the time I was murdered, but I'm looking across at my own eyes That makes me the therapist, digging for a clue As to what

If only To find a meaning in my boat And by this, I mean to fill my pails Wash myself away Fill my brain with wishy wash Fill my brain with gray If I land myself on sugar Then I'll eat myself away If only to find peace And say My mission as a candy Was to mother my own head To live with sugar on my face To end, smiling, dead

Otherwise Otherwise Otherwise I'LL BURN AND DIE? Christ it's like my brain can't sell an ice cream cone these days It seems I'm running out of Emanuel And all my fingers are rusted I just want to be a screwdriver Driven through your arteries Justified, "It's artsy" And jabbed into your heart I want to be a hammer, nailing nails into your bones Making sure you never ever ever ever come apart I want to be a parasol, I want to be a duct tape roll And to think, you said I could be anything I wanted when I grew up. Shut the fuck up. Let me polish your eyes for you Shut the fuck up. Let me wrap you up in plastic Throw you in a bu

So here I am again Pulling at my string Trying to hit a bird, or something worth it An eagle would be nice Something endangered, or rare If I hit something beautiful, I'll be satisfied Something with a contrast, a juicy blue, and deep black Or a rainbow, under layers, of blinding orange, yellow Something that reminds me of how pretty it is to live And how sad it must be to not I need to hit something, and shock you for all you're worth Then I'll feel I've done my part, in making art.

By centralizing all the seven moons 'round Saturn Or however many moons there are around the halo'd planet A flying mass of whatever, hugged by a rainbow And you are even more beauteous. By centralizing these so now however many moons there may be Floating through the cosmos, like the ocean and our navy Shooting down a thousand sounds from desperate sinking ships No, they shoot straight at our hearts, and we part our lips, "beauteous." Centralize these moons, and press together all their earth If icy, desolate mass were an accepting form of worth If mother nature narrowed near the worth of heads and paper Then we would all be rich

Obsessions in the scheme of things When weather takes the reign of wings Can you ever really tell whether you led yourself from point A, to point B, Or if you arrived accidentally? I am a sail, stabbed sharp in the back Of a wail, surfing the sands of time A cry of salt in a sea of sand Plus sugar makes cookies. Understand? Can you see the sea in my eyes? Feel the grit in my glass, a look to the past A compound, rewound, fast-found, unbound A white, a black, a gray A A Uh Uh…

I am not brand new I am not a gun Pacifist masochist I am not a magnum, Though I strive to be A serpent in a punch bowl, full of frothy fishes. Milky Creamy Semen? I am still not a magnum Though I strive to be Travel 'round the world, and back into my ear drums Set high the wax fire Shooting through my head holes The hole in the front of my head Shut up, I'm not a dead head I am not a magnum Saint atop my head I am not lacey, and I am not quite so good with thread as I wish I were. Dead Head Radio "Stick it to the beat, yo"? I am not a magnum, shooting through a radio A lacey wirey radio, stacked atop a telescope Search

And you cut me With that gleam in your eye The one that said "I love you like never before" And never again would I see that face I would have let you rip me open If it meant I could see that look again That said "I will never abandon you I will never leave you behind" And in that fleeting moment You would suck my health away You'd cherish every drop of life What a fool was I.

The bottomless seas of experience; one day all of us will drown. And deep in the sorrows of brine you will find my rhyme.

Today, I drove half way to your door step from mine A fairly familiar trip I know this because each antique store made me feel more dizzy Feel more nauseous More absolutely sick to my stomach Dead deer seemed to line the road as I sped up I passed them by, swiftly Not giving a second thought to how they ended up that way The power lines could have crumbled at any given moment Like driftwood, edges rough and withered A sign told me to watch for fallen rocks But said nothing of those which were still falling The clouds started spitting, pushing me back I told you, I'd likely develop a phobia Of driving in the rain It began that d

   My greatest dream –   to be paid   one million dollars   for a poem.   "That poem is   so wonderful,   here is   one million dollars"   I imagine   the mused   to say.   It hasn't happened yet –   this poetic largesse.   I still have   work to do   on my punctuation. Greatest Dream © 2010 Mark Pearce

JUST STOP IT. You want to know how to get rid of your poisonous thoughts, how to love yourself, stop hating everything you've ever done? Then do it, goddamnit You're more stubborn than a mule and twice as angry-- all I'm trying to do is help you get better. You've seen the light but you'd rather stay alone in the dark. You know if you stepped out into the sunlight, you would be happy-- but you instead retreat further into the cave in hopes that someone buried treasure there. Stop hoping! The only way you'll ever leave is if you take responsibility for getting out yourself and yes I love you but the rope doesn't quite

...and all my thoughts begin with you and all my thoughts will end with you, too and every other sentence is punctuated by your name and maybe all my friends are sick of hearing it but I would climb up every mountain using only my fingernails and teeth for grappling hooks and I would eat only squishy tentacles and slimy tomatoes every night for the rest of my life and I would submerge half my body in a vat of boiling cabbage juice and pickled pigs' feet if it meant I could convince you I will never love another.