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scream kris scream?


| Sickris Live Journal |




Where are you going?

wherever you go you're still with you.

wheres settled and why aren't you there yet?

jumping from town to town and back to home

squatting in strange places, feeling the buzz of

alone in your ears ...

and in your heart a flicker of shame

stubborn pride keeps you moving ...

slight your pain.

---

  • alone
  • might as well
  • cape of good hope
  • dont read my poetry
  • frustration
  • the poet
  • pain
  • sex
  • wonderful poem

    Veronica said.. this is by Kris

    
    
    --------
    
    
    

    alone

    NUMBER 10-1000
    
    
    
    
    There's something wrong 
    With my mind,
    With time.
    With what I do with
    THis body of mine.
    Oh I'm so lonely.  Oh I'm so sad,
    But in some bitter way,
    I'm also glad.
    But I miss you.
    And so I walk in the 
    Valley of Death.
    And so I run without any rest.
    And so I collapse 
    In a panic of hate.
    And so I cry in the house of god.
    Oh I'm so lonely.  Oh I'm so sad,
    But in some bitter way
    I'm also glad.
    But I miss you.
    But I miss you.
    They say the rain won't 
    Fall forever.
    They say I'll meet someone new.
    But I don't want them-
    I want you.
    And I sit here feeling down.
    Scratching my head on 
    This thorny crown.
    And so I wait, 
    And so I cry.
    I tak the razor, 
    I want to die.
    And so you laugh, 
    And so I drown.
    And slowly I run
    Ragged,
    Down.
    In the Valley of Death.
    And I'm so lonely,
    And I'm so sad.
    But in some bitter way, 
    I'm also glad.
    And I'm so lonely,
    And I'm so mad.
    And in some other way-
    I know I've been had.
    And lost.
    But I miss you.
    Why do you make me
    Feel this way?
    Why must I sort it out?
    My life,
    Yours?
    Why can't I just put
    The candle out?
    I'm so lonely, and I'm so sad
    And I'm so happy, and I'm so mad
    ANd I'm so apathetic
    And I don't care-
    Why is it that
    We can't share?
    Life?
    And I miss you.
    I fucking miss you.
    God damn you for leaving me.
    GOd damn you for letting me be
    Alone.
    But I miss you.
    I fucking miss you.
    And there is still something 
    Wrong with my mind
    And I still have way too much time.
    And so I want 
    And so I cry
    And so I yearn
    Until I die.
    Each day.
    Alone.
    And so I live each day.
    Alone.
    But I miss you.
    But I love you.
    ---
    
    
  • BACK

    might as well

    MAKE IT A POEM- IT SEEMS THAT WAY ANYWAY
    
    
    She had tears falling down her face
    And tears warming her brain
    And she had tugged so gently on my arm
    Pulling me away from 
    Everything
    And she was so beautiful
    [they were always so beautiful when they cry]
    And she was so 
    Tough and
    Gentle at the same time
    I wanted to pull her into my arms and
    Kiss her right there
    But given the circumstances,
    And the fact that she generally never took my advances 
    Anyway
    I decided to just silently get an 
    Erection instead
    Out of nowhere
    She decided to hug me
    [I seem to be very hugable]
    And she felt me pressing up against her
    I saw the corners of her mouth rise
    And her tears stopped
    She looked me right into my undeserving eyes
    Kissed me on the cheek, and whispered
    "Thank you"
    I don't know who she left with that night
    
    "never pass out on your back"
    
    
    
    
    
    there are two pits from peaches
    rotten bananas in the fridge
    uncooked pasta collecting dust
    I've got rent to pay
    and a phone bill
    trash to throw away
    six hours to work
    first- a holiday
    but first the beer
    but first the beer
    but first the beer
    but first the fucking beer
    
    
    STATEMENTS FROM EYEWITNESSES
    
    
    
    
    He seemed...
    Such a nice-looking kid...
    I cannot fathom...
    He couldn't have done what he did...
    Said the crying neighbor
    Fretfully shredding a napkin like lust letters...
    
  • BACK

    cape of good hope

    
    I knew this girl
    a woman
    class and fire
    
    she was very beautiful
    just because she was this woman
    this fire of energy and eyes
    and style
    shimmered...
    Twirled and radiated
    burned, no
    ETCHED
    into my mind
    nectarizing my soul
    This woman 
    this fine young girl
    never asked me to be anything
    more than I was:
    Wounded.
    I'm very aware that she's also hurt
    but hurt more often and deep
    hurt so bad that nothing hurts so bad
    so, 
    Therefore everything's good
    She wants to show me that, I think
    The air bends toward her, As I eventually will
    she is games
    the atmosphere of it 
    the art
    is better than the artist
    I don't think she understands that I understand that
    she understands that I'm dead
    She's beckoning me to an afterlife
    of excitement.
    Pulling me along until death
    so that it'll be more important
    this truely amazing woman that truely wants to be 
    ignored.
    I don't think I can describe what I feel for her
    but the beach is in her arms
    the mountains are in her eyes
    the moon is in her kiss
    and she wears the sky in a ponytail.
    This little,
    soft hardass
    who only needs to nod in my direction to cause me to 
    swoon
    who intimidates me so much by her beauty that this is
    the only way I know how to tell her how wonderful I 
    think she is, And how glad I am that I know her.
    
    
    AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT
    
    
    
    
    I'm afraid
    Standing here in front of you saying "So" is easier than 
    Sitting beside you-looking at eyes
    Tears
    hotly staring in my face from steam
    of past
    afraid to be afraid
    I'm afraid- terrified
    And I think if we could tell each other
    Our neighbor is scared, we wouldn't have to 
    Tell each other that we're scared our hearts are
    Beating too quickly
    The bus runs too close to the train
    The driver knows better, but HE's got a schedule to keep
    Its okay- you can see the bodies as they're
    Mowed through the glass floor
    I'm afraid for my life
    I'm afraid for my time
    I worry about subtle glitches of wine
    My hands tingle
    My body fades away
    I'm afraid I'm an empty man wasting today
    I'm afraid I'm an empty man wasting today
    
    
    
    
  • back

    dont read my poetry

    
    do not read my poetry
    it will consume you, as it has consumed me
    it will trivialize your deepest tragedies, as it has mine
    one will build you up, one will tear you down
    you worthless piece of shit
    i know
    i know because i wrote
    i lived, and had the ego to think my life was worth living
    was worth reading
    so's yours
    i'd like to read you sometime
    it wouldn't cure my lonliness
    you can't compare to me
    i am small 
    tiny
    a piece of a water droplet in the ocean
    i write because i'm enlightened
    you read because you crave enlightenment
    you crave a connection of some sort
    this is profound:
    you are enlightened
    you wish to be human
    most people don't ( i sure as hell don't)
    take comfort in it
    life is
    you already know that
    but,
    you search for some truth
    some yoda of understanding in whatever it is that you see
    that's why you're so depressed
    maybe that's not why
    maybe you can remember every vein on his dick
    how his pubic hair brushed up against you
    where his hands were- what they were doing
    it might keep you up at night
    masturbating
    you can feel her hands slamming your nose
    see the blood splosh down your face
    feel the words ripping you apart because you know deep in your heart that you are a horrible 	person and the only reason you exist is for others to know what wretchedness really is
    you would kill yourself- but you're afraid of rejection...
    is that why you're depressed?
    look at yourself
    you're closer to perfect than you think
    there isn't any fun out there only work
    toil toil toil toil toil toil
    bills bills bills bills bills bills
    shit shit shit shit shit shit
    oh well
    i can't help you
    i'm no connection
    why don't you just forget what i write
    i do
    its amazing
    the only   thing i get inspiration from is myself
    and yet,  i don't care to remember myself
    is that enlightenment?
    the eight ball says so
    well actually, it says "ALL THINGS CONSIDERED- I THINK MTV IS AQUARIAN"
    makes sense to me
    
    
    DON'T EVEN DREAM ANYMORE- MY SOUL JUST WANDERS AWAY		
    
    
    i remember talking to her
    it wasn't anything bu the most inmportant topics that uselessly slip through concrete cracks of 		civilization
    we were talking about her, you see
    
    she cried
    it was always so dramatic when she cried
    he ha it down
    seemed like a routine
    maybe it was
    
    she said i'd never understand
    she didn't mean it
    she was just mean
    
    and i knew enough to change her life
    but what was the point
    she was changing mine
    
    i saw the angel thropugh the demon
    her bites, in hindsight, were only barks
    her light encircled my darkness
    and my scars turned out to be jut marks
    
    i just wish i couldd see her again
    
    	
    Its that feeling,
    You know.  That's what I'm tryin to
    Keep.
    That feling.
    Its finding that weed after a party
    And curing your headache that you wouldn't have survived
    With it.
    Its the first time you held your sibling
    The first time you orgasmed
    Holding your lover in your arms instead of fucking
    That feeling
    That feeling
    Throwing a grenade in a Chuck E. Cheese 
    And mowing down the fleeing with an uzi.
    Not using a condom and not pulling out
    That feeling
    Beating the shit out of your biggest enemy
    Plunging a knife between the shoulderblades
    Of your closest friend
    That feeling, THE feeling
    Making love with the girl you've openly 
    Loved for two years
    Fucking the love you kept inside
    Reaching into your pants and pulling out a twenty
    That feeling
    That glorious feeling
    
    
  • BACK

    frustration

    
    FRUSTRATION
    
    What to do 
    when your vision gets all blurry
    when pounding starts
    and your throat closes up
    you're so alone
    and you've lost. Your fury
    blankets the parts
    but its not quite enough
    
    I used to be
    so warm and gentle
    sheltering floweres from harsh- pounding rain
    now I look
    through other people's lives
    and I realize- everyone's insane
    
    Dark is the sweet
    soothing my insides
    corroding complete
    my heart through this brain
    I laugh in the places 
    people go to and hide
    remarkable faces 
    smiling in pain
    
    I'm lost in a mirror in
    another mirror
    kaleidoscope of me staring right back
    I look at my feelings
    fading, now clearer
    into a picture of undefined tracks
    
    I have nothing 
    to soothe
    and
    no- one to blame
    nothing to lose
    nothing to gain
    I have become my own perfect nothing
    
    I'm not sad
    I'm awake
    I might give
    I'll never take
    I've got no wants
    no needs 
    no nothing
    
    I don't hate
    [I might complain]
    I only wish I 
    could say the same
    about the four hundred souls inside me
    
    We might laugh
    we might die
    
    we might have 
    a little 
    white lie
    but the only thing we'll never do is 
    cru
    [we can't be hurt tha tmuch any more]
    
    Depressed
    we don't think so
    in pain
    we don't think so
    do we do drugs-
    no not at all
    are we addicted-
    just to alcohol
    
    We do what needs to be done
    a party of thousands
    at a table for one...
    
    
  • BACK

    the poet

    
    
    I am a poet.
    Except that you have to suffer 
    [it seems]
    In order to appreciate life.  Though I wake into a world filled with paranoia, misery and rot-
    I always seem to find another that puts me in my place.
    
    I suppose I should be grateful.
    But it just shows me that everything I've ever felt means
    Nothing.
    
    I should kill myself.
    But I'm afraid of rejection.
    
    I like smiles.
    And touch.
    Warmth, like that of petting dog, and of dog's lick.
    Or cat snuggled up in a place that's way too friendly.
    
    Warmth of the soul is caressing.
    
    Romance!  Honest Romance!
    
    This writer is afraid.  I'm afraid to be sane,
    Afraid to be crazy.  I ask myself all the time:
    
    What is crazy?
    [uncomfortable non-answers]
    
    It still irks me, 
    even though I should let myself go.
    
    Energy takes care of itself, and we're all but small parts of the Great Cosmic
    Fractal.
    
    Why am I a poet?
    
    I think its because I'm not afraid to be wrong, and I think its because I have a revolving sense of priorities, 		and I think its because
    I think.
    
    So fucking hard I can't understand myself.
    
    I'm broken, and I'm holding superglue in one 
    Hand
    And my wind-up winder in my other 
    Fist
    And the superglue is frozen to my fingers and the winder is in the hand that's one inch too small for the 		hole in my back.
    
    It would be awful if I had to share a tongue with another person in my mouth,
    So you'd better just read!
    
    I don't know.
    Why does everyone else?
    
    They scare me.
    Okay- I'm intimidated.
    A lot.
    
    I knew a little boy who wanted to be a cardiologist, but one day Little Red Riding Wolf came down to grandmother's insanity and squrriled his brain away like the nut he really was.
    
    Life is.
    I know that.
    
    Crazy is nature's way of saying:
    
    "Hey buddy!  You can't do what you think you can!"
    
    I hope I can never do what I think I can.
    
    I'll miss a lot of good people 
    As a poet.
    As a poet-
    I miss a lot of good people.
    
    I wish.
    I wish I could stay in bed all day long.
    Naked.
    I'd just be naked and stuff.
    I'm assuming it would be good.
    
    Its amazing how happy we are to break things into smaller things.
    If you think about it- that seems to be life's primary function.
    Meaning:  Take large amounts of matter, and make smaller amounts of matter.
    
    I wish I could go up to every beautiful person
    [50/50]
    and tell them that they're pretty.
    They're fine, er're fine, everything's fine, the world's really a perfect place.
    Don't be so nervous.
    Don't be so refined.
    So serious.
    So stifled.
    
    Yeah... It might help them.
    But then- I could be myself.
    Lying naked in my bed
    [maybe with roses]
    Just a little triangle
    Making up a bigger triangle
    Spinning in the mad, madm dancing kaleidoscopic warmth.
    
    
    
    
    LIQUID SON
    
    
    
    
    You ask me to sing a melody
    This journey man is me
    AndI sing a song of sadness
    Of my life as a dog
    There is no use looking at me
    Through my soupy fog
    So my time is short for me, my friends
    My time is in my hands
    I've got to stop this madness
    I've got to find strange lands
    So sing me a song of happiness
    Of love that never lied
    And I'll show you a liar
    And a love that's destined to die
    Let the journey be over for me
    Let the journeyman lie
    For my time is but a moment
    
    Of the hour called son
    I'm singing a song of hatred
    Hatred never dies
    And every day, every day it grows stronger
    It pull power from my cries
    I'm dying 
    I'm already dead
    You want to know about me
    You want to heal my pain
    But you don't know what suffering
    There lies in my domain
    And let the song continue
    Let the fever burn
    The ocean is calling for a foe
    Let me answer
    And the rain, it pours above me
    The clouds, they follow my move
    And something about love long lost
    Something about the moon
    I will never know the meaning
    'Cause death's graciously soon
    
    
    Its okay
    Climb my
    Pedestal
    Come right up and take my words
    Take  my pages
    Go home and shove them up your cunt
    You don't want to fuck me anyway
    
    Take my brain; take my heart
    Jam them in a jar and place them on your 
    Bookshelf
    I'm sure that's all you want anyway
    
    All the rest of you are like the rest
    You want pretty words
    My pretty words
    
    But you don't want me
    
    You want the pleasure without the pain
    The empathy without the psychosis
    
    Tough shit
    
    You can't have one...
    
    
    I'm sick and tired of being abandoned by my work.
    
  • BACK

    pain

    
    
    As I sit here staring at my
    Reflection
    In the face of a cold, steel
    Razor
    Cutting notches in my skin
    For all the times I have
    Killed
    To save my soul,
    I am taken aback by all the
    Rage in my chest
    The blood flows freely
    Now
    The wound is deeper 
    Than I have ever 
    Imagined
    The razor takes on more feeling as
    
    My tendons snap in excrutiating
    Pain
    I look down on the unstoppable
    Torrent of memories pouring down my 
    Mind
    And I wonder if I was ever
    Sane
    And then, there is the 
    Pain
    The pain of remembering 
    The last time I saw
    Death
    The last time I had a commanding lead in
    Destruction
    Of innocents 
    And the tainting of my soul
    My mind burns with
    Holy 
    Fires purifying me of any goodness
    For my soul is too soiled to become
    Clean
    So I wear a cross in divine disguise
    And it burns me every night
    The pain of compassion
    And I stay away from the pain of 
    Light
    For it is filled with
    Lies
    And it hurts me to stand in its glare
    So I worship in its shadow
    And every time I look into a 
    Mirror 
    I take the razor and cut
    Deeper
    Into my mind
    And I wonder if I mind
    
    
    
    POUR HOUSE
    
    
    
    
    Kris felt more at home with alcohol on the way to his stomach...
    Having just moved, he felt so alone; and for the first time- unsure.
    It wasn't the fact that he felt as if his magnetic
    Brain seemed to need to re-adjust to Kris' new location
    Of NESW, it was that now he was back 
    In diapers, crying for a warm breast to
    Get some comfort.
    Nothing seemed to soothe Kris anymore.
    Not music.
    Not walking.
    Not writing.
    Only alcohol ate away at his crusty unassuredness
    That lined his stomach, and Kris would often laugh
    Uncontrollably when he puked said lining up.
    Drunkenness is a far cry from contentment.
    He wished he had someone to talk to.
    Someone with long, dark hair.
    Bright, bottomless
    Oceans full of life for eyes, a cocky
    Attitude, and a strong left hook.
    But she was now so far away- she might as well be
    Dead to him...
    And that worried Kris.
    A lot.
    Leaving behind someone he loves so much was absolutely
    Not an uncommon thing- it had happened before.
    Kris expected it.
    Anticipated it.
    That's why he never tried to go out with her in the first place.
    Loved her, but never loved her.
    Never kissed her.
    Just hugged, and held, and talked, and carved her 
    Face into his brain with a ball-point pen.
    
    
    
    I am the Reaction...
    
    
    
    
    I no longer care to find the meaning to
    Myself no longer cares about 
    Timeless tirades of tainted fables.
    
    I am the reaction to 
    Stimuli has no purpose,
    Only actions make up the pattern
    Life is a reaction to
    Death is a reaction to
    I am the reaction to
    Stimuli has no purpose,
    Only actions make up the pattern
    Life is a reaction to
    Death is a reaction to
    I no longer care to find the meaning to
    Myself no longer cares about
    Timeless tirades of tainted fables.
    
    I am the reaction to 
    Stimuli has no purpose,
    Only actions make up the pattern
    Life is a reaction to
    Death is a reaction to
    I no longer care to find the meaning to
    Myself no longer cares about
    Timeless tirades of tainted fables...
    
    
    
    
    SEASONS OF YOU
    
    
    
    
    You change so much, and you dont even know
    It.  
    I crave your face in everyone I see.
    Who are you?
    Even I don't know.
    Are you a childhood friend that I once had?
    A shadow I saw on some
    Lavender sheet of ice caressing a tree?
    Who are you?  Who are you?  Who are you?
    Your smile can put a child's innocence to 
    Shame, make an angel's wings look that of a 
    Crow.
    To call your name in anger is to kick the
    Lord in his groin...
    And if that thought wasn't so pleasant
    I wouldn't do it so often.
    I can see hips swaying seductively in
    Your shadow.
    Your eyes are ocean
    Bottomless
    Full of life
    But who are you?
    What memory?
    You change forms more times than wannabes
    Change identities, chameleons change color, or
    Parents find a new way to torture you better...
    The abuse is always there...
    The solitude...
    Are you me?
    I love the way you sob.
    You've got crying down pat!
    The clothes you wear, the songs you live...
    But what does your face look like?
    I want to know
    If you really exist.
    I want to know
    Whom do I kiss?
    Who am I in love with?
    These are your names, but they're always you.
    They're all I've ever known...
    
    
    
  • BACK

    sex

    
    Sex drips like the sound of falling water in a 
    Shower.
    Love drops to the floor like a bar of 
    Soap.
    Lust starts in the middle of your back, then
    Creeps electronically up and down your spine-
    Flowinf uo your chest and head
    Dripping out of you nipples and onto your
    Crotch, meeting up with the raging inferno
    Warming crazily, causing your thighs to feel
    Wetter than they alreeady are- smushing in a 
    Pool of desire...
    Love is a built up extrusion- and is thusly
    Tossed aside like a child in an abusive household.
    When it comes doen to it- sex is an awful 
    Addiction.  An insanity in a sane world.
    A trip.
    A subtle seduction.
    A pick-me-up.
    A ruse.
    A fun ruse, nonetheless.
    
    Fucking is what flies do, what maggots eat...
    
    
    
    SOMETHING MORE THAN NOTHING
    
    
    
    
    I've reached the edge of the 
    Curb of life
    And I stare down into
    Abysmal pits
    Of nothing exciting
    Nothing sparkels
    Pitch black
    Life is repeated phonetics
    
    Deja vu of memories
    Present
    Of memories forgotten
    And those not had
    We can see 
    Past and future
    The orange hair
    The trigger pulls...
    
    I'm the kid with the golden eyes
    The brain of brains
    And the tongue of lies
    I've looked at my subconcious and saw
    I have no reason 
    I have no reason
    Who among you loved me without words
    Loved me without looks
    Loved me without ambitions
    I made up stories 
    Just to keep you talking
    Just to keep you excited
    Just to keep you around
    The digger you deep- the less you've found
    
    I'm the lion chained to his tail
    Chained to his passions
    Life is nothing
    Just a 
    String of phonetics
    Just a 
    Repeating pattern of visuals
    I'm lost because I'm saved
    
    No-one wants a useless person
    We suck the fun 
    out of
    One another
    We squeeze the pulp dry
    
    I'm so sad
    Because
    I don't know
    And it
    Really pisses me off
    Which makes me sad
    
    This is it
    We're
    Little maggots
    Dripping 
    Out from someone's eyes
    
    When i was just a lad knee high to a grasshopper i stood in a sterile white room sobbing the doctors were confused nothing was wrong it took them ages just to realize i was putting on a show for them nothing matters i sobbed as the latex glove poked out my eyes my sockets bled and i fell down screaming THEY laughed and picked my groins sightless seeing i ran away i ran away i ran away drunken back i have replaced my eyes i have sewn them 
    Shut and opened my heart
    
    [And the realtor says: this plot can be yours]
    
    
    
    
    I DON'T KNOW WHAT "IT" IS, BUT I KNOW ITS EASY
    
    
    
    
    Take it
    Its easy
    Take it
    Its easy
    Take it 
    Its easy
    Take take take take
    Easy easy easy easy
    Take take take take
    Easy easy easy easy
    Take! Easy! Take! Easy!  Take!  Easy!  
    What are we supposed to take?
    And why is it so easy?
    If its so easy- wont it break?
    Maybe its kinda sleazy.
    I don't know what "it" is, but I know its easy.
    Untied
    United
    We saunter down the shambles of society
    Looking for easy things to take, taking things easily
    The other day, I took it so easy, I kept on keeping on- having a good one.
    Man, I took it so easy that day, I had TWO good ones.
    Its okay...I could care less
    I 
    Could
    Care 
    Less
    But once you take it
    Keep it real
    
    
    
  • BACK

    wonderful poem

    
    Don't sleep anymore; just sort of pass out
    One second I'm awake, the next I'm awake.
    Don't dream now- too hungry 'cause I spent it all on my mind.
    This world is tough, if you let it.
    If you don't, this world is fine.
    I'd like to tell you why... but
    I forgot.
    A'int nothin' worth memberin'
    Nothin' ain't worth your time.
    
    If you're wrong, its the devil.
    When things go right- thanks be to god.
    If its one, then it must be same.
    Blame god for everything, since its all his fault.
    
    I walk, four hours for two.
    Walking takes the place of sleep.
    
    I don't want to do anything; I don't want to be here
    But every time I stop, you prod my feet.
    Lord, 
    You're a sadist and I'm trying to be passive, but its so hard with all the crime on the street.
    Why must you send fate to taunt me-
    When I find a gun?
    
    I looked up, into sky sky above.
    Paladial clouds opened.
    "Prince," 
    Cried a dove.
    I saw his face, it was smiling but indifferent and the thought occured to me that he needed a shave.
    Looked down upon me, stuck his tongue out and boomed:
    "I'll shake the farm when I want my ants to behave!"
    Shake the farm?
    What the fuck does that mean?
    That ain't an answer.
    But the clouds locked shut- no more Lord.
    
    Someone to my right drew a crossbow
    And it launched an arrow from the paper.
    It ripped a dying leaf off a branch from an ancient, imposing tree.
    The leaf contorted itself with its fatal breath, and coughed upward- catching a breeze.
    See-sawing back and forth towards the meandering ground, I watched.
    Translucent, my life showing through.
    It filled me with rage to see this leaf fall (though I know not why).
    The leaf struck the ground.
    Repeatedly I stomped it
    While masturbating.
    
    Kris walked down the street, hair ruffled
    Eyes with silver hammer pupils.
    And he caressed that Holy .44.
    Divine drool sauntered down his chin, as he aimed at the small children playing oh, so innocently 		in the fountain
    He spoke.
    I am purpose.
    I am vibration.
    I am justice.
    I am dammnation.
    I'm the grain of salt that collapses the tunnel.
    The unsure, hesitant drop of water  that clings to the funnel.
    
    
    Shots ran out, church bells rang.
    Little enemies died without pain.
    Farther down the street, a midget looked into the sun
    "Lord, why do you send fate to taunt me- when I find a gun?"
    
    God laughed and slapped Satan on Jesus' back.
    
    THE MORAL OF THIS STORY:  NEVER GO TO COLLEGE, AND SHOOT ALL LITTLE KIDS 				      IN THE HEAD.
    
    
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