Monkeys who live in a house
Get visited by a duck salesman
Who only has duck items
They buy it to be nice but don’t have any use for the stuff
But then they find uses by being clever
Eyeball Guy
Eyeball Guy
Eyeball guy can see you
Eyeball guy cant hear you
So he has to always watch
To keep track of your movements
With his big bulbous bleeding eye
Eyeball guy easily gets into your home
So dont cry dont laugh dont sing dont yell
Because how will he understand?
Do everything visually so Eyeball guy can see
As he easily gets into your home
Stuff Left Behind by the Angels
The snowglobe holding a crystal inside was the first gift received from the angels
But that was long ago, and the angels don't make the right kind of money
So a stranger has come to take their place, wearing fake smiles and
A business suit
It's just another job, another day of tearing down the angels' ancient crystalline structures, nothing personal
Why are you crying?
It's just another job, another day of meticulously erasing the angels' illuminated manuscripts
If you can't stop crying, maybe you should leave the office.
It's just another job, she announces as she pushes the snowglobe to the floor, not even taking pleasure in the destruction
Shattered glass puncturing bare feet of the children walking to class, who
Should have worn shoes
Emo poem I wrote at the airport last week
The lumbering behemoth approaches as the world is coming to a close
As it stomps closer and closer to you, as you're tied to a railroad track, screaming and crying for your life, knowing it's here to kill you,
Amidst all the destruction and unending gore,
the behemoth is lost in a thought and a fantasy
Stopping the stomping for a moment to take a deep breath and sigh
As the flowers wither and the mountains crumble and California falls into the Ocean
The behemoth closes it's eyes, and imagines kisses on the cheek
The tsunami just out of its field of vision
The sun frying alive millions of dogs trapped in locked cars
All of the beautiful cattle brides and all of the handsome oxen husbands are herded into a flesh grinder
Screaming their pain loud and clear
But the behemoth forgets all that, and instead imagines holding hands with a true lover
The visions are cute, but as the tail of the behemoth swats the air in anticipation of hologrammed imaginary love
The dominos are knocked over crushing nuns and orphans
As it grinds its teeth while having a wet dream
The stain in it's pajama jeans drowns the worked to death slaves in the horrible smell
There is no world left to walk on, and nobody to dream about
But at least the behemoth can imagine a fake nice manakin, tender and attentive,
As it's body oozes slime, forming puddles of porous soupy stinking filth in the craters
All of the sudden, it snaps out of the daze
Finally remembering to kill you
