I have no Art
only madness
but sometimes
that sells as well
I’m scared
of intimacy
love,
softness,
loneliness,
myself,
you
Especially, you
and all the rest of
you
I’ve been misunderstood
my entire life
I want to set things right
before I die
(alone, by myself, without you)
Look around sometime
at the 7-11’s on every block
The McDonalds with their billion and billions sold
Is this the world we wanted?
Who are these sadistic monsters
that claim they are speaking for us?
Who are these people that could possibly
be happy and proud with what we’ve created?
The Western world has become
a cruel and stupid joke
What happen to integrity, ethics
honor?
We are seen as murdering whores
in the eyes of the world
I see nothing...
with any social redeeming value here
Maybe, it’s all become pornography
But...
I have only my madness
My thoughts are as archaic and insipid
as an 8-bit Nintendo machine
If it all wasn’t so sad
It would almost be funny
Why is anyone even reading this poem?
Probably, because I titled it, PORNOGRAPHY
