WORDS

NOT EVERY WORD WRITTEN BELOW IS AN ACTUAL SONG BUT SHIT, IT'S DAMN GOOD SO READ IT.

NOT WITH YOU

you search for love
and satisfaction
and inner peace
and perfection

i look at you and laugh
ha ha ha
but i’m laughing at you
not with you

so optimistic
shiny smile wide
you’re just a happyface
nothing inside

THE SUFFERING THING

there’s something kind of sad about the way I’ve come to be
dimming the light inside until I can no longer see
the weak and distant hands reaching out to me
there’s something kind of sad about the way I’ve come to be

the suffering thing

it takes a certain breed to have the courage to end it all
to take the gun the blade the pill to take that fatal fall
but what is the reward for going through with suicide?
i’ve heard that you’re brought to your mother and shoved right back inside

THE WOMAN IN THE ROOM

what can i do?
she’s already gone.
nothing in her eyes, man
nothing in her eyes

did she take her medication?
did she take too much?
sometimes i think that’d be the best thing for her

what should i do
turn around and run
that’s just like you
wash your hands, you’re done

FUCK UP

scars start to heal and then
i’m fucking up again
i need an explanation
i need a helping hand

young and holding on for dear life
i feel it all slipping away
word comes down that it only gets worse
nineteen going on useless and gray

THIRTY SECONDS

sitting on the brink again
waiting for the courage to try again
she has always been alone
she says “my true love has passed and is waiting for me”

LET ME THROUGH

on his aching knees
he swallows the disease
she’ll show him suffering

let me through
i’ve got a
love to prove
i wanna
marry you
you’ve gotta
let me through

he died yesterday
forever gone away
and they all forgot his name

GUIDANCE COUNCELOR

would you please excuse my shaking hands
if you will pardon mine
finally someone who understands
birds of the same feather
and what about the voices in your head?
i think of them as brothers
will anyone miss us when we’re dead?
the guidance counselors and our mothers

everyday a war inside my brain
just trying to kill away the pain
why try? you know you need it
it’s your edge you can’t defeat it

talking to myself and answering
you should get call waiting
finding something wrong in everything
oh, please. where’s the challenge?
thoughts of suicide come easily
every morning while i’m showering
still waiting for someone to rescue me
keep waiting. it’s not in style

high school memories now seem sweet
getting called a fag would be a treat
those ancient bullies might seem like friends
but pain is relative inspect the ends

THE FAG SONG

calm her spinning head
with candy for her brain
if she dies then leave her dead
she’d have wanted it that way

with her tongue in his ear
and her hands down his pants
the world takes on a finer shape
he’ll give it another chance

i’ve got money i’ll pay
just do whatever i say
make the grass look green
on both sides

the razor for his wrists
is lining her cocaine
however she insists
they’re both for the same pain

am i falling backwards?
does it feel the same
as going nowhere
this is great! I’m glad I came!

i’ve got money i’ll pay
just do whatever i say
life is a subtle between
womb to womb

all our failures all our faults are
seasonings like spice and salt and
we can keep the demons down if
we produce the loudest sounding
most fantastic orgasm
orgiastic total freedom
fuck away our guilt and boredom
fuck it all away

TRIX ARE FOR KIDS

glitter and makeup this is the greatest
fluorescent hair dye party i’ve been to
piercings and tattoos oh this is your house?
would you like to touch my i don’t think i’ve met you
fill in the blank i puked in your bathtub
hey am i daydreaming? is this room spinning?
is that girl cheering is this a game and
or is she screaming? hey am i winning?

i like trix
trix are for kids
everything’s fine
just like it always is
i can’t do this
i’m falling apart
like everything falls apart

SON OF A BITCH
LOOK WHAT YOU DID
WHAT KIND OF PARTY
DO YOU THINK THIS IS?
TOO MANY DRUGS
YOU’RE FALLING APART
AND BREAKING YOUR MOTHERS HEART

ACCEPTANCE SREECH

crawled out of the box today
i knew i could find a way
of course that’s not to say
i’ve left forever

the sky and the sun worked together
to try and make me feel a little better
but a ton of stones weighs the same
as a ton of feathers

whenever he starts to think
he pours a bigger drink
sure it makes his breath stink
but with the stench of soothing denial

and why not escape and hide?
make your own bright side!
sure, it’s slow suicide
but i’m sure it’s alot easier than facing your problems as a clean and sober
individual without the warm fuzzy comfort of inebriation you weak piece of shit...

will the nightmare show a better side?
they told me to try and i tried
to overcome the fear inside
but i’m still afraid and i
need someone to tell me it’s alright
because lies make the world go round.

COLOR TINT BRIGHTNESS CONTRAST

the television speaks to the child with flashing light patterns and white noise. he
listens without listening, for his subconscious mind has already been well trained
in the ways of absorption through the walls of his mothers womb as she passed
the days of her pregnancy not with classical music or literature, but with episodes
of the price is right and reruns of mash, falling asleep in front of the idiot box on
more than one occasion, leaving her mind and the mind of her child open to
unchecked suggestion. constant exposure to the subliminal instructions these
shows offered left the developing fetus with a dependency not to crack-cocaine or
alcohol, but with something far more sinister, yet undetectable by the naked eye.
this addiction was encouraged on a daily basis by the childs unwitting mother and
father, who are addicts themselves. the drug becomes the last common thread
between the three of them, as they are drawn together each evening like cattle
after returning home from the real world that creates the anxious intolerable
moments between fixes. mother and father from their menial dead end jobs
which financially aid the family habit, and the boy from a long day at a school
where the teachers no longer care, and the backpacks are now more likely to be
carrying guns than books. their asses, fattened by food that is prepared as
quickly as the power button on their television reacts, plunge into familiar couch
cushions and recliners. motor skills are no longer necessary. eyes glaze.
heartbeats slow. the child steals a final glance out the window before joining his
parents, as he asks himself. “What has happened to me?” there is no worry of
overdose, and no regulations or other federal limitations will ever hinder the
american familys viewing experience. as more televisions are purchased, one for
every room in the house, new channels will become available, their redundancy
and superficial natures undetected by the decaying brains of their patrons. the
future is dark, and you dig your own hole. the future is dark, but there will always
be a brightness control.

put your hands down
this isn’t a stick-up
this is an execution.

UNTITLED

the spoiled child whimpers “woe is me”
and writes down hundreds of pages of “woe is me” bullshit.

stop wasting trees!
everyone sees
how “tortured” you are
you can stop trying so hard!

WHY WAS I BORN?
i can take it away
HOW CAN I GO ON?
you don’t have to stay
WHEN WILL IT END?
i can free you

“Allow me to assist
this blubbering social cyst
into oblivion,”
I say to myself
and myself
while we kick me in the ribs
in the woods behind my house
where no one can hear me screaming for help...

MY GIRLFRIEND HATES ME

WHEN SHE SITS NEXT TO ME
I FEEL AN ENEMY
I SWEAR THE ROOM GROWS COLD
WHEN SHE COMES AROUND
FLOWERS AND DIAMOND RINGS
CHOCOLATES AND POETRY
CAN’T SEEM TO PRY MY GIRLFRIENDS
SMILE FROM THE GROUND

MY GIRLFRIEND HATES ME

I HEAR THINGS FROM HER FRIENDS
BUT THEY’D TALK ANYWAY
THEY SEEM TO THINK I ONLY
DRAG THEIR SISTER DOWN
BUT THEY ARE SO CONFUSED
I’M THE ONE WHO GETS ABUSED
MY SOUL HAS MAD RUG BURN
FROM BEING DRAGGED AROUND

MY GIRLFRIEND HATES ME

I WISH SHE’D ADMIT TO ME
THAT I’M HER ENEMY
SHE’D SAY GET LOST BUT I’D HAVE
NOWHERE ELSE TO GO
IF I READ HER DIARY
ALL THE THINGS SHE SAYS ABOUT ME
WOULD I STILL LOVE HER SO?
MORE THAN SHE’LL EVER KNOW!

MY GIRLFRIEND HATES ME

LACE

My skin is bleeding
No one is inside me
I can’t feel the pain
I’ve got something to say
My eyes crack
No god told me
how low
how low can we go
I can’t be what you need
All is bitten again
Nice thing over lay
You can bring me
You can be sissy face
Fucking fake
Pain
Oh man I cry
I cry like a baby
I can live my life the way I need
Who am I gonna call?
Who do I need to see?
Gonna feel like a rag doll.
Piss and moan me
Breakin’ my knee
I be in your cigarette
Breathe in your life
I know nothing.

UNTITLED

STILLBORN edSENTENCES STRUNG TOGETHER MAKE PASSED
AWAY PARAGRAPHS. MY LATE FRIENDS THE NEW, THE
FRESH, THE ORIGINAL. GRANTED, LIFE IS A BITCH AND THEN
YOU DIE, BUT WHY MUST MY BITCH OF A LIFE BE IN A TIME OF
SUCH POST-EVERYTHING. DULL, DROLL, HAS-BEEN. WE ARE
ALL FUCKING HAS-BEENS. WE ARE ALL OLD, EVEN IN OUR
YOUTH. KURT COBAIN KILLED HIMSELF, AND BEFORE HE
PULLED THE TRIGGER, HE PROBABLY REALIZED HE WASN’T
KILLING A LEGEND OR AN ICON WITH THIS SUICIDE. HE
WASN’T KILLING A PIECE OF ROCK AND ROLL OR MUSIC IN
GENERAL. IT ALL DIED A LONG TIME AGO. IT HAS ALL BEEN
DONE. WE ARE OVER. WE ARE FINISHED. WE ARE READY TO
DIE. EVERY INFANT THAT POPS OUT OF EVERY WOMAN
MIGHT AS WELL BE A STILLBORN. WE ARE ALL FACTORY
WORKERS. WE ARE ALL GRUNTS. THE RICH OVERDOSE
BEFORE THEY CAN LEARN TO ENJOY THEIR WEALTH. THE
POOR OVERDOSE BECAUSE THEY ARE DREAMLESS AND
HAVE NO DIRECTION. EVERYONE SHOULD OVERDOSE. WE
SHOULD ALL DIE. NOTHING MATTERS ANYMORE. I WANT TO
DIE. I AM NOTHING. THIS SOUNDS LIKE A SUICIDE NOTE, BUT
I CANNOT KILL MYSELF. I AM TOO WEAK. TOO AFRAID OF THE
UNKNOWN. JUST BECAUSE THIS WORLD IS DRIED UP
DOESN’T MEAN THERE AREN’T FIRES OF HELL WAITING IN
THE AFTER. BUT I AM SO COLD. I AM SO HOPELESS. MY
DREAM IS DYING.

JERRY

Jerry works at a gas station. He doesn’t like working there. He’s not a “people person.”
He drinks his own urine. He would like to be president someday, but he figures he’d just end up
assassinating himself during some crucial moment of his term. He’s that type of guy. Jerry eats
his own feces. Body Biscuits. He has a girlfriend. She won’t give him her address but he knows
her number by heart. He found it in the back of a magazine with the words “HOT HOT HOT”
printed above it. She won’t give him her address. Maybe she knows that if he found out where she
lived he would be in his car and headed for her place within seconds, only to knock on her door and
greet her with a knife to the throat. He’d drink her blood and fuck her corpse and then, of course,
he’d kill himself, but not with the same knife, because he worries about blood-borne pathogens.
Jerry works at a gas station. Whenever someone comes up to his register, he pushes his
imagination until he’s created some completely original method of murder that he would use on the
sheep if he figured he’d be good at hiding bodies. When no one is in the store, he mastrubates in
the direction of the hot dogs rotating in a machine on the counter until the warm milk boils over and
coats the not-meat like special sauce. Jerry is a party animal. Jerry could very well be your dad.

bored tim takes a walk in the real world
tim was bored so he took a walk down his street. he walked around his
block, and was almost to his house when three boys who’d crossed his path
and then decided to follow him began calling him “faggot” and saying he was
“so fat he was blocking out the sun.” One said that tim looked like such a
“faggot” that he almost had the notion to “fuck his fat ass.” tim wished he’d
been carrying a crowbar, so he could spell out to them that he was not of the
sexual persuasion they were implying, and that he was trying to lose the extra
weight they were indicating.

tim was bored so he took a walk down his street. he walked around his
block, and was almost to his house when a car rolled by with three boys in it
who’d seen him walking when they passed him the first time on another
street. They drove a few feet ahead of him, parked the car, got out of the car,
and proceeded to beat tim to death while calling him a “filthy fucking
faggot.” the boys became men when tim died, but still, they ran like scared
little boys.

tim was bored so he took a walk down his street, which was uncharacteristic
behavior for a person that shares a street with violent, territorial gangstas.
thirty yards from his house, tim was stabbed forty times by an angry
confused violent youth.

tim was bored so he took a walk down his street. the birds were singing, the
sky was blue, and the grass was green. he passed a few boys who were also
out walking. he didn’t know the boys, but tim was a friendly person so he
waved and said hello. the boys waved back, and invited tim to go fishing
with them. tim accepted, and caught the biggest fish out of the lot of them.
they ate around a campfire later that evening. “wow,” tim said, staring at the
roaring, beautiful blaze. “life is really great here in this pretend world.”

tims imagination suddenly failed, and the other boys raped and murdered him
by the campfire.

written by levi jacob bailey on 2/24/99 4:49:43 AM

MARBLES

I collect marbles.
I have thousands of them.
Any color you can think of
(and some you can’t).
Big marbles.
Little marbles.
Some immaculate, shining.
Some filthy, cracked.
But I love them all.
I love my marbles.
I have a dead body in my bathtub.
My blue marbles are my favorites
because blue is my favorite color.
I keep my marbles in shoeboxes.
I must have about 500 shoeboxes
filled with something like 500,000 marbles.
I’d give you exact numbers, but I forget things.
I’d like to own a million marbles, maybe more!
But it’s hard.
I lose five or six everyday.
I don’t know where they go!
Would you like to help me find my marbles?

UNTITLED

pull off my face, the one that shows
exposing the one only the mirror knows
to let people in so i can shut the door behind them
and kill them while they scramble around in the darkness

BEATING

put yourself in my place
what would you do?
cover your face with your hands
i’m on to you

beating

black paint shuts out the sunlight
i’m a mess are you?
cover your face with your hands
i’m on to you

beating
bleeding

UNTITLED

open sores bleeding all over new carpet
mother will scream
these things happen but not to her apparently
she tears you open with a leather belt
left behind by daddy
open sores bleeding

these things happen

Watch Their Television
WATCH THEIR TELEVISION. LISTEN TO THEIR RADIO. BELIEVE THEIR
POLITICIANS. PRAISE THEIR GOD. EAT THEIR FOOD. BUY THEIR
PRODUCTS. FEEL THEIR PAIN. LICK THEIR WOUNDS. DO THEIR DIRTY
WORK. PICK UP THEIR MESSES. FIGHT THEIR WARS. DIE FOR THEIR
CAUSES. MAKE THEIR ENEMIES YOUR OWN. CATCH THEIR DISEASES.
TRY THEIR CURES. SIT. SPEAK. ROLL OVER. FETCH. GOOD CITIZEN!
NOW PLAY DEAD PLAY DEAD PLAY DEAD PLAY DEAD PLAY D

optimism doesn’t work
optimism doesn’t work. when one goes into a situation with high expectations,
those expectations are rarely met. even when these expectations are met, the
end result is often bitterly anticlimactic. after a lifetime of being disappointed
either by failure or discontent, one is often driven to therapy, masturbation, or
suicide.

when one goes into a situation expecting failure or “the same old thing”, these
outcomes are not met with the disappointed feelings that the optimist
experiences. when the pessimist actually succeeds, the surprise involved is a
reward in itself.

optimism doesn’t work

untitled
WHERE IS MY GIRLFRIEND?
WHERE IS MY DREAM JOB?
WHERE ARE MY FRIENDS?
WHERE IS THE DOOR?

BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE.

WHERE IS MY COMFORT?
WHERE IS MY CALM?
WHERE IS MY CONTENTMENT?
WHERE IS THE FUCKING DOOR?

BECAUSE I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE.

hole
she digs a hole in her skin
and now she’s crawling in
a perfect place for her to hide
the gentle liquid darkness of inside

no one will ever find her here
no parent teacher priest or peer
back in the womb, ma, tuck her in
into the hole she’s made in her skin

by nature others lust for contentment so complete
neighbors plotting just across the street
many have tried to penetrate the wound
but she’s holding for the special one she’s coming soon

no one will ever find her here
no parent teacher priest or peer
no rejection no shame or sin
in the hole she’s made in her skin

SMILE! YOU’LL DIE SOMEDAY!
A TIRED MAN NO DREAM OR DIRECTION
IN A WORLD USED UP AND TORN
TIRED OF TRYING TO FILL THE HOLE INSIDE
THAT HE’S FELT SINCE HE WAS BORN

“BUT THEN WHEN I ATTEMPT TO TRY
TO SLASH MY WRISTS I FIND
THERE IS AN INFLUENTIAL FEAR
LURKING IN MY MIND
WHAT OF GOD AND WHAT OF HELL
AND WHAT IF IT’S WORSE THAN LIFE?
I GUESS I’M STUCK TOTALLY FUCKED
WITH THIS USELESS KNIFE

I WANT TO DIE. I’M SUCH A COWARD.

“SUCCESS” HE CRIED WHEN HE REALIZED
THAT HE WOULD SOMEDAY DIE
“WHY WORRY ABOUT SUICIDE?
TIME WILL TAKE CARE OF ME IN TIME.

I’LL PROBABLY LIVE UNTIL I’M OLD
AND WITHERED UP OUTSIDE
WITH BRITTLE BONES AND CANCER CELLS
ENDING MY LIFE INSIDE
IF I CAN JUST REMEMBER
THAT LIFE ENDS NATURALLY
I CAN CARRY ON IN PEACE
UNTIL DEATH HAS ITS WAY WITH ME

I’M DYING! THAT’S BETTER.

DON’T LOOK FOR CARS.
START FIGHTS IN BARS.
GIVE HEROIN A TRY.
I SEE YOUR EYES.
I SYMPATHIZE. I WISH YOU LUCK.
I HOPE YOU DIE.

RUNNING AWAY

light fuse and get away
it haunts us everyday
i’d rather die than stay
now i will go

i’m leaving this place today
and leaving the memories
and terrible histories
and now i will go

running away to save my

one who chooses to stay
crazy, yes, i should say
a dreamless waste of space
with nowhere to go

should have left yesterday
but fuck it, i’ll leave today
and drive twice as fast
here i go

running away to save my soul
to save myself

NINETEEN WOUNDED, TWENTY-THREE DEAD

he’s not ddealing very well with high school enemies
his parents try to help their son before he buys a gun
but they’re a bit too late

“a quiet boy” “very shy”
“he’d never look you in the eye”
nineteen are wounded
and twenty three die

mom and dad hugged him all the time when he was just a babe
but hugs can’t conquer all the bugs that fuck your brain
to procreate

“we called him names but all in fun”
“i cried and prayed till he was done”
how’s your daughter?
how’s your son?

terrifying
you are alive
and one day you will die
are you gonna spend your whole life wondering why
or are you gonna try?
are you gonna learn to fly?

you are alive
you might bruise and bleed and cry
you might laugh and dance and testify
and one day you will die
are you gonna learn to fly?

if i could i would explain to you the reason why
time must always mercilessly pass us by
while we sleep away our lives
but there are never any answers to the questions that truly terrify

BAGGAGE

he feels the ancient crick
bringing him to his knees
at any given time
the burden of history
resting on his back
the burden of history
shattering his spine

“I wish I could be the same as you
protected from the knowledge
protected from the painful truth.
Why must I carry this, Lord?
Why are you torturing me?”

the filmstrip running in his mind
constant and endless
and one of a kind
he cannot cope
and he can’t forget
their voices echoing
forever in his mind

babycakes
how many came inside her?
she has so many kids
how often does she wish
that they had all been SIDS?

did any stay beside her?
she appears to be alone
with just the screaming babies
and an empty home

the babies so demanding
such complicated machines
people come by to help her
but only in her dreams

the bills accumulating
developing late fees
and she’s been starving herself
to feed the babies

she can no longer deal
she blows her god a kiss
puts the screaming babies in the oven
and slashes her wrists

when the baby cakes are done
the city starts to smell
but the righteous feel safe assured
that the mother burns in hell

unspeakable unbelievable
inconceivable
impossible unconscionable
yet undeniable

when the baby cakes are done
the media takes a bite
and smug mothers gasp in horror
and kiss their kids goodnight

Color Tint Brightness Contrast
The television speaks to the child with flashing light patterns and white noise. He
listens without having to use his ears, for his subconscious mind has already
been well trained in the ways of absorption through the walls of his mothers
womb as she passed the days of her pregnancy not with classical music or
literature, but with episodes of the price is right and reruns of mash, and falling
asleep in front of the glowing box on more than one occasion, leaving her mind
and the mind of her child open to unchecked suggestion. Constant exposure to
the subliminal instructions these shows offered left the developing fetus with a
dependency not to crack-cocaine or alcohol, but to something far more sinister,
yet undetectable by the naked eye. This addiction is encouraged on a daily basis
by the childs unwitting mother and father who are addicts themselves. The drug
becomes the last common thread between the three of them as they are drawn
together each evening like cattle after returning home from the real world that
creates the anxious intolerable moments between fixes. Mother and father from
their menial dead end jobs which financially aid the family habit, and the boy from
a long day at a school where the teachers no longer care, and the backpacks are
now more likely to be carrying guns than books. Their asses, fattened by instant
microwave cuisine, plunge into familiar couch cushions and recliners. Motor skills
are no longer necessary. Eyes glaze. Heartbeats slow. The child steals a final
glance out the window before joining his parents as he asks himself, “What has
happened to me?”. There is no worry of overdose, and no regulations or other
federal limitations will ever hinder the family viewing experience. As more
televisions are purchased (one for every room in the house), hundreds of new
channels will become available, their obvious redundancy undetected by the
decaying brains of their patrons. The future is dark and you dig your own hole.
The future is dark but there will always be a brightness control.

Put your hands down, this isn’t a stick-up.

This is an execution.

Dropsy Ó1999

I WON'T GO

i feel alone and right at home with thoughts of suicide and
i’m always looking for a place to curl up in to hide
but i have tried and i have failed i cannot kill myself
just left is struggle and hope for finding love in someone else

i play around with razor blades i paint some pretty pictures
they’re all in red but in my head i think of other colors
my skin is scarred you’d say bizzare but you’ve not been where i have
the life i’ve led parts of me dead it’s true i’m a whole lot different from you

but everything’s okay
stay the fuck away

i won’t go

blow for blow and word for word
making sure your voice is heard
above the others in the heard
blah-de-blah yakkity-yakkity

stepping on the smaller toes
that’s the way the story goes
fuck your friends as you fuck your foes
you’ve got great big flopping fish to fry

be on your merry ruthless way
i’m sure you’ll get yours someday

black and white and red and brown
beat them all yes beat them down
they’re competition for the crown
but no one’s worked harder than you

scrape the sky break through the walls
no one has bigger balls
important phone calls
victory is definitely yours

be on your cutthroat evil way
i’ll see you around

buy a bigger faster car
you’re a great big shining star
you’ve gone so high you’ve come so far
and nevermind the hearts you’ve broken

you beat all the other guys
hulking giants twice your size
but you bit their ankles and you clawed their eyes
abflghji ggahklj afoifbri!

KNOWITALL

know?
what do you know about my life?
what do you know about my pain?
what do you know about my home?
what do you know about my brain?
what do you know about my hate?
what do you know about my dreams?
what do you know about my fears?
trust me it’s worse than it seems.

paid by the state
to pick my brain

i hate
the way you think you can explain
a way to wash away my pain
through analyzing my life
with your pathetic college brain

paid by the state
to crawl inside

He kisses all the babies and shakes all the
hands
and vomits his lies from a million
grandstands
Each lie was for sale and each lie was
bought
and you cast all your votes without second
thought.
Your votes, your souls, your blood on his
lips,
he selects a young virgin with child-bearing
hips
He’d never expected to find our fates so
cheaply priced
Just there for the taking! Hello, Antichrist!

POP MUSIC IS THE SOUND THAT YOUR CHAINS MAKE WHILE YOU TRY TO
BREAK FREE. THERE IS NOTHING LIKE A CATCHY HOOK TO KEEP CATTLE
IN PLACE.