what's the deal with whack
jobs on line and in real life
who have nothing but

simple minded hate
for anything and all that...
wait a minute

that used to be one of
my hobbies...

well since people seem
to think implied murder on
a bboard devoted

to poems is ok
need to say my own path is strewn
with the bones of gimps

who needs a soul
when there's flesh to mutilate
god is tangible

Fingers poised to press
keys that smell like new plastic,
I count syllables.

view their common traits
dead-eyed, vacant and godless
their souls have left

sans superego
join the club.. Gacy, Bundy
Manson and Dahmer

a Buddhist tenet
water seeds of deep kindness
not vulgar nor crass

libido driven
no conscience behind the wheel
a swath of carnage

thanks superego
next time i need life advice
i shall come to you

your darkest thoughts lie
where light displaced, entwines
death's frigid fingers

how to win the war
eradicate all muslims
paradise on earth

nightfall chill
i could not get you
close enough

Tiger, silly man!
Don't mess with a trophy wife.
Duck! She's got your club!!!

papier-mache mask
evoking gasps from the crowd
the ghost speaks....nothing

pustular acne
a zit-popping paradise
lots of Kleenex on hand

bad haiku dot com
with nothing better to do
sitting on my ass

waiting for relief
time ceases to pass by me
she is on her way

a funeral for you
is coming along your way.
get out of the way.

down syndrome darling
most men would never have you
let me wipe your drool

watching a movie
lamest thing ive ever seen
pulling the trigger

Sitting at my desk;
typing on my computer
trying to pass time.

yup, i'm the devil
now punish me; make it hurt
fuck me till i bleed

erudite wordplay
peeled back veneer reveals his
writhing maggot core

Mommy, I wanna
Kill that fruit fly, can I? Pleeeeeease?
"Go on do it." BOOOOOOM

Little did little Charlie know
That that fruit fly was a bomb,
He could've used cider

notice the turmoil
eviscerated values
saturn makes its way

wanna be writer
don't wanna be anymore
so what's new in life?

one last call, one last
drink of the drug of youth then
poached eggs on rye toast

the chest heaves with stress
I grow old and regret the
days wasted in thought

we laugh, we cry and
kiss money goodbye to watch
vamps and chicks dig in

ever overwhelmed
by the games people play say
when comes "game over?"

a rash catch on a
winter day, raw from the wind
and not the dead flesh

henry miller loved
food more than sex, so after
tryst, roast beef on rye?

brothel or convent
they sit waiting for the cock
divine christ-like cock

Victorian prude
requests septic funeral
"Toss my salad.......please!"

Grandiosity
psycho-pathology make
one scary combo

the only thing bent
is your limp biscuit to stuff
your blow-up doll

in the chasm 'tween
prude and sick f***er, 'neer
tarry on evil's side

victorian prudes
their literal minds i bend
like macaroni

safe haven this place
for septic funeral's rants?
see you in lock-up!

pedophilia
golden showers and whores
nice life septic F****

There's nothing "boring"
When MEN speak out against hate
your penis grows limp S.F.

her thong reveals a
prepubescent eagerness
so young but so ripe

sorry to interrupt
your psychopathic fetish
GET OFF THE DANCE FLOOR!

degrading women
against one is against all
REAL MEN see that truth

women taught to self-loathe
doomed moths drawn to his sick aura
consumed in his flame

septic funeral's
mother weeps to read her son's vile
women-hating spews

Cocks know not evil
just your twisted septic mind
birthing hateful thoughts

this is my really
bad haiku...
no more ideas

killing the music
the sounds of the stereo
predicted chaos

moaning in my bed
thrashing between the covers
it was just your mom