God 6 is Everybody’s Sin – (Happy Halloween)

October 31, 2015October 31, 2015 ~ charliezero1.wordpress.com ~ 69 Comments

Meal tongue sweep liturgical –
devils be avoid by rat 6,
the very amnesia bearings,
I’ll pick at your shed further guising glance.
Rockefeller the great
split Sodom into a taboo

Cartoons & Viagra,
Sing to serpents as they shy away.

Deuterocanonical haunted,
6 rhythmic chapters, hermit the cry spare hammer.
The second disease flushes
out billions of saber-tooth gurneys.
The host replied; entrance to cocaine lord,
Abraham defects the 27th mumble.

Clumsy lightening laughs,
funeral generations will awake to the sound of dark children.

Jack                                                                         delirium
God                                                6
Is
Everybody’s                                                         sin

Post 9000-Year-old repetitive chapped coded lip crumbling.
Hexagram phallus & magick weirdos,
calamities noon-tide visiting told.
Solitary ages & its last words: Happy Halloween.

No part of God 6 is Everybody’s Sin – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

War on Hugs (or, How I Got to be a Conspiracy Muffin)

October 27, 2015October 27, 2015 ~ charliezero1.wordpress.com ~ 30 Comments

Politics, I swear to earth’s nipple…
If I ever hear the P word again –
I’m going to sue the Atlantic Ocean
for unlawful curiosity & reason of ravioli disease.

President Mojo has announced today –
a war on hugs…that’s right
all squirt gun cartels must
dress up their weapons in bikini tops
and arouse the KFC bucket.

The muffin conspiracists
are investigating the death of low calories.
Veganism, GMO, gluten free,
I shave my arm-pits to avoid
time-travel from ever happening.

The war on period
gives my hormonal balance
a bad hang over.

This is how republicans & Democrats
use oil money
to penetrate the systems massive black hole.
We want Juice not justice –
We want cinnamon buns not peace.

Gary Busy
unbuttons Mother Nature’s soil,
a discolored shriveled heart;
he seeks an opportunity
and harasses my empty employee.

Benghazi sounds like bengay.
Terrorist bums bath in Christmas ornaments.

Hooray for the obese testicles,
Hooray for the conservative potato.

Relax you weenie slaves –
it’s only restitution in the state of Manhood.
My prom date is Zoloft.
I’m so eager to hit the G-spot depression –
if it gets wet you must acquit.

A good propaganda omelet
surely you don’t know mean World War 3.

If that’s the case
I’ll tuck the bomb to bed, kiss it,
and smile away for a good night bliss.

No part of War on Hugs (or, How I Got to be a Conspiracy Muffin) – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The End of Poetry Mocks Me of Humiliation

October 9, 2015March 22, 2016 ~ charliezero1.wordpress.com ~ 51 Comments

Poetry, the medicine that keeps me sane
anyone takes it away from me I’ll go insane.
At this point in my life, nothing makes sense
stress pierces the air, bad energy super tense.
No one can see how much I’m living in fear
dark mist numbs the heart, death smiles near.
Tired & restless sinking below confusion
a suicide note confines me of conclusions.
I think with a loaded gun pointed at my brain,
fate stares right at me, look its Kurt Cobain.
If I we’re to die today, no one would care,
why should they, I’m just dead as rare.
I know my work will never get publish
I end here with a slow burning vanish.

Notes: The poem that you are reading was based on recent events.
I was feeling stressed out, depressed, & frustrated, due to the rejection in the publishing cyber-world and the actual world. But hey, that’s part of the publishing industry right? Sometimes I ask myself – if anyone is truly even ready for this type of poetry that I am writing. No, I don’t think so, but, my heart tells me otherwise. I know I should go independent, but that’s also a risky chance. My thoughts we’re thinking negative at the time. My girlfriend though, helped me calm down – I told her what I was feeling. She said to me; “I believe in you”, ‘Don’t give up’; I know someone out there will discover your work, be patient and the time will come. She’s very supportive and encouraging for me to continue on and writing what I love to do. I get this feeling sometimes, hypothetically speaking, what if (knock on wood) I’m not here on this earth anymore, I guarantee you – those publishers from the industry will snatch up my work and finally publish them. That’s life I guess. However, I tell myself to be positive, strong willed, and patient. I like to get out of the house and take a drive to let my mind be free and happy. Any who, just thought I vent and share what I was feeling, but I’m very happy right now, posting what I love to write and share with all of you beautiful, talented & brilliant poets.

No part of The End of Poetry Mocks Me of Humiliation – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Friends Share the Same Suicide

October 6, 2015July 14, 2019 ~ charliezero1.wordpress.com ~ 47 Comments

We are the outcast –
the ones you’ve tortured, laughed at,
abused, humiliated.
You’ve pushed us into a corner –
fingers pointing
making a total mockery of our misery.

I once believed in hope
just like everyone else.
Mr. Society took my childhood
drowned it in a pool of feces.

My soul is a ticking clock
waiting to slip away.
Do you know what it feels like
to walk with your own casket?
Do you know what it feels like
to be in someone else is shoes?
Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.

The pain consumes me
Isolation comforts me.
You and I can share the same suicide,
share the same scars, share the same vulnerability,
and share the same cruelty.

Hug your best friends
Hug your family
the best times of your life
will come to a collision.

I cry in deaths shoulders
because no one ever listens.
I cry myself to sleep
because god was just a fucking illusion.

————————————————————————————————–

Anti-Bullying Awareness Month

This poem was written a couple of years back, when I was at my most vulnerable state. In other words – my PTSD kicked in. Flash backs of my past get triggered by verbal abuse, bullying, ignoring me, etc…etc.
I was a victim of bullying as far as I can remember. I use to feel suicidal, felt like the world didn’t listen to me, or didn’t want to be my friend. Those days are long gone now. I’m a new changed person, with my beautiful girlfriend who I love very much…and she’s been very supportive of me throughout the 5 years that we’ve been together. She’s also, supportive of my poetry works. I’d also like to give a super special thanks to Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, if it wasn’t for you music of hope, I would not be here today.

If you know something who is feeling alone, sad, and with no friends. Please give them a hug, tell them that they are not alone. This poem is for the outsiders, genders, metal-heads, goth kids, everyone else who feels what I felt.

And a super-sonic thanks to all my poet friends here on WordPress for being such great souls and passionate brilliant writers.

Every single one of you has brought a big smile, influence on me and my writing.

Thank you. 

No part of Friends Share the Same Suicide – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Dj Dead Cow

October 3, 2015October 3, 2015 ~ charliezero1.wordpress.com ~ 24 Comments

I’ll prostitute my mint cornea.
Stigmata head viceroy.
Cows on acid –
worms desire the corrupted belly.
A monstrous live rib crawls toward delusional Babylon.
Reshape the stolen hypnopompic,
taste the sultry thalamus fickle.
Anticipation is clogging up
superstitious apogee coax.

Dj Dead Cow – dwells beside position cock toga.
Dj Dead Cow – counter clock wise the windows.

What does he see?
A cynic dynamite kiss,
genesis to grace fellatio pariah,
mouth envy to your autodidact recipes,
now that peace has been deflated –
we can forge our own image to be repulsed,
God’s muscle grew ulcers in the universe.

No part of Dj Dead Cow – may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means: electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Charlie Zero and his poetry works with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.