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The New York Zipper
I kill for my mother
I kill for my brother
I kill to stop the bother
And I kill to start the slaughter
Street light shadow
Smiles in Glasgow
To love you but how though?
To me your life force will outflow
We met on the edge of a dead end street
Lips duly parted
Doe eyes fawning
Screaming a song of some memory sweet
Last life in quarter tones
Death on tiptoes
A waste of unknown heirs
Lost in tandem waves
Just one of many pairs
In the city of graves
I taste blood
In the mud
Of a nipped bud
Never Take Sweets from a Stranger
Oh, Jean
Jean
You made me alive
And born again
Lean and green
So whatever do you mean
As you shudder
te-
tee-
Teen?
So innocent
In your merriment
Born without a care
Except a twist of the hair
Some little scare
My little pet
A darkly phet
Speaking in tete
A tete
In between all the threats
From the outside world
Which understands so little
Except which is cast
In its own mold
Sounds like a siren
When I’m already left so liven
By my little scion
As I’m filled with naught but iron
The Aestheticization of Violence
For a time I’ve gone a little mad
Crying at things o longer sad
Laughing at the things not so glad
I ask for more
Let it pour
In a velvetine shore
When life’s a bore
And all’s to die for
Little does more for the soul
Then a splash of gore
Lonely woman on an endless night
Fit for fright
Succumb to blight
And a bit of might
Show me the glint of moon tide
On the bloodstained blade
As I rummage through the yellow pages
Of your Italian mystery misery
Father of Lies
Today, the message is free
While you still have blood to bleed
While I still have a thought to turn deed
A sing word
In a downward swirl
The world doesn’t twirl
But it does spin
Like boils
Scabs
On wounded skin
It revolves you and is about you
But I’ll never let it absolve you
I laugh when you win
I cheer when you sin
You end where I begin
So know then that I’ll always hate
And never once may it abate
I’ll relinquish you of your fear
So you may relinquish all you hold dear
Relinquish you of your love
So you may relinquish all that is above
And then I’ll relinquish all of that hate
So that you may give it all up to my fate
Michael Young, Jr. is a simple man going through half of a midlife crisis. He appreciates having as small of a presence in the world as possible, but this has sadly also left the world unanswered. Now he writes because he is unable to do anything else.