Our bravest contributors have shared with us some of their more earnest efforts from the misty past. Scary Bush should not be reviewed while in the process of drinking liquids, and the reader assumes all risk.
Also, I thought I'd do some art work
Daniel M. Shapiro
With your machete cut hair
dyed like the rainbow
bleached like a pair of mom-style jeans.
You adorn yourself
with baby bows and furry hats
while guitar picks hang
around your neck.
Your immaturity glows
like x-mas tree lights
and your toothy smile
Flat as a trencher,
body like a 12 year old--
yet all of these are superficial
and I wouldn't even care,
if it weren't for the fact you have him.
What the hell do you want?
Peace and happiness.
Isn't that what everyone wants?
Well surely everyone wants to be happy.
I know some people—some very disturbed people that prefer pain.
But does not that pain give them happiness, however perverted it may seem?
No, it only gives them pain.
Certainly they wouldn't have a preference for pain if it did not give them any pleasure.
Who says pleasure is happiness?
Well I think when one has pleasure, one is happy.
Are you so sure?
It seems to me the two should go together.
What are you saying?
They why do you speak?
hath been long
at the teat of my sorrows.
Swearing, cars, and dirty magazines
Rachel Van Blankenship
Lynsey G. (Age 16 or 17ish, maybe? Don't judge me!)
I feel that I am drowning in filth,
But in truth it's pouring from me.
These fragile fingers are all stained black--
But maybe I'll scratch myself free.
Inside their smiling faces,
I delude myself to see
That they are all love-infested
And they're breathing down on me.
The smiles crack their sugar bones
And shatter their beaded heads,
But still they lie me gently down
On the pillows on their beds.
And the dirty words they speak to me,
The rainbow-lies that they have said,
Rip the sky from every eye--
Their lies fall on one half-dead.
I laugh to hear my troubles fly,
And smile to watch the sun,
But when I lie awake at night
I curse .every. .fucking. .one.
And when I close my eyes to them
The obscenity fills my bed,
And their faces burst inside my eyes--
They haven't killed me yet.
by Mike Shier
sometimes getting older
yellow beeswax people
waking black hole
prescription skylight eyes
by Nicole Oquendo
bound to kill
eventually distance counts
pale cinched measure