I could not breathe in the Disk player in the basement of my forefathers in New Orleans underwater.
I could not breathe underwater with my face in a disk.
Not a CD, but one of those huge disks. The ones before CDs. Not records, but something else.
There were leeches in the water. It was fun as they singed and laughed and drove mini-coopers.
I should visit my gram's more often. She's getting old in New Orleans and I heard MJ has AIDS.
Not your regular cookie cutter nice nice AIDS, but top of the line african AIDS.
AIDS that are like cards at a store. The guy next to you says, "man, you can't get those anywhere else!"
The corpse next to me resembled a lollipop. on the Disk.
Oh yeah, it's a picture on the disk.
Never mind.
So anyway, I'm drowning in this underwater sting-raids pool of death in a basement when suddenly
oh so suddenly
A leech came up to me and asked: "Hay u wanna play uh gayme?" Just like the text entails.
It really sounded like that. (Haey- ooh- uana- play- uh- gaym?)
But we're underwater, so I couldn't hear him.
Mostly, I heard, LUKLGJYKBLIKCFHFTFGHHAIDS!!!!!
and I laughed at him.
Then he sucked my sugarsweet blood coated with cotton-candy lollipop beer soda.
He said it was yummy and read "Oliver Twist" in a rocking chaor at the bottom of the disk player.
This was a big disk player. Not your regular AIDS, but your disk player that is bigger than a car.
Yeah, that old.
So I'll add a rhyme to here
to entertain you if you are horny for mere
wordplay in a poem.
I'm done rhyming, because I'm drowning right now in a ****ing disk player.
Remember?
I pulled my head out of the disk player and sticked my arm into my HP Invent hardware place.
Yeah, some hard place.
The leeches were angry for abandonment and started attacking me with star-wars collector items.
There were mugs, light sabers. Not your regular AIDS, but a nice, sound effect light sabers.
One of those that cost 100 dollars and we got at this New Orleans store.
I said to my sister "I'm sure the city will be underwater one day and we can take it in the panic"
But no one listens to my candy cane dildo.

"Fog of War"

On a cold December night, battles rage, many another years ago.
The wind blows, adding chills to any hardened hearts as the luminous moon glows.
Sounds of armor clanking, steel clashing, helmets crashing onto the dampened ground.
A warrior soiled with blood and dirt, revolving around, surrounded, refusing to back down.
His honor is astronomical, his strength elephantine, and his skills forever unmatched.
The ones that surrounded him lacked superior skills, and he saw his chance to attack.
His enemies attempted to draw back, and his sword was thrust into one’s thorax.
He spun around, and three more were slayed as the sound of armor snapped.
A painful sensation sent shocks up his spine, he looked down, found a wound in his side.
Knew this meant his grave soon arrives, fell, and started recalling memories to his mind.
Memories of sin, and memories of hate. Memories of the first time he wielded the blade.
And the humans he’d slain, without remorse of their fate, or the hearts it would break.
This man realized every kill was a murder, even blinded my war, families would suffer..
Children with only mothers, then he thought of a young boy without an older brother.
Tears streamed down his hardened face, and the man looked backed on young life.
Death to his wife, Assassinated in coldness, and no chance to say “Good bye”.
He fell to his knees, and thought of his son, who’s location is unknown.
The only one he could call his own, the one who greeted him when he arrived home.
The warrior smashed to the ground, helmet rolled away, and his eyes grew weary.
Then he saw a vision that was leery, looked into the one who killed him, his eyes blurry.
He saw his own offspring, for his son kneeled beside him, his lips murmured “Forgive me”.
But the Father herd no words, it seems as suffering of families was revenged by irony.