Once titled Alabama, but changed to fit America

It is the failings of an incestuous breed of consequences and backseat debauchery
The worthlessness of children born with plenty and the manners of whores
It is but the sad compression of bile and torment that make up such humans
Their repugnance slivering on the edges of a shell in which they take shape
Walking among us with their smell of teen angst
The loathing is never too far from which these people stand
The obesity and filth in which they strive
In keeping the wonders of antipathy alive
Oh, how can I remain here?
This world with its misgivings and disease
Its urban-backwoods and obesity
Its vitriol and agony
Divest this place of its breed
Of its lost souls with worn out shoes

Christopher Chapman © 2012

Existence

My brain is wrought with morbid beings,
As her voice is that of the same as nails upon a chalkboard.
She talks with slow humdrum words,
Without punctuation or reprise,
Pauses are not of length to survive.
The torture within my mind,
Contemplating the departure of my body through the glass frame,
Is not out of this world,
Nonetheless, merely a fantasy that is reality.
It no longer signifies that matter is no more.
Science, as real and accurate as it may be,
Is nothing more than boredom filled with insanity.
Nails upon chalkboards,
Screaming minds upon the time of sanity disappearing in rhyme
Minds, bodies of tortured matter in time
Do we?
Yes, it is death that comes; it is the end that is near.
Time has come, cast the bodies into the fire, showing no more the pain in which we survive
The hate, the sin of our lives
Let it all go.
Toss us into the world of bile and fire.
You!
Me!
Nothing!


Christopher Chapman © 2012