Sweating Underneath the ice

Insomnia is a gift
best reserved for the damned
The tick tocking is mocking
beating hard deep inside my chest
Glowing with irony
as its long arms
touch me
And it may be an urban myth
but I often dream about
waking up in a tub full of ice
and the sharp ones are angry with me
as they spent hours cutting
only to find out the hard way
just how heartless I really am
Each time I have this dream
The men with the knives
have aged a bit
You come along and think you're on
the yellow brick road to Oz
You've never seen me
hide behind my own curtains
pulling out my teeth one by one
and throwing them at paper.
If you see a girl who looks like me
wearing ruby red slippers
it's only a coincidence
I can't even pledge allegiance to the flag
place your hand over your...
yet you want me to pledge my devotion to you?
You'd have a better chance
beating the flying monkeys
at a game of chess
I heard the glass crystal break years before I left Kansas †

Ain't no cure for suicide

Ain't No Cure For Suicide
What's inside a demon's pocket
Or if Satanís liver
Is bad,
The masses are waiting
For me to pen
The great spider web sonnet
But I blew my stamp money
On cyanide
And there
Ain't no cure for suicide.
Pricks with needles
Send me head over heels,
Tripping over sunflowers
The Father and Holy Ghost
Have gone fishin'...
The son, left behind,
To wrap up the trilogy,
A traveling salesman
Nailed from the very beginning
Hustling soul protection
And hot crucifixes,
Tossing halos out
To the pure and clean
Like some Mardi Gras
For the angelic scene
And every time I think of my calling
I cry
Because I sold out resurrection
And there ain't no cure for suicide.

Armed and Dangerous

There are small guns,
But personally, I prefer the big cleavers
For the dramatic effect, of course.
You're probably wondering
why I chose you this time
Why I picked your door
to knock on out of all of Suburbia.
And this is the best I can come up with...
Somewhere in your cold veins,
Flows the blood of the one
who raped the girl in the parking lot...
Somewhere on your family tree,
Probably deep under the roots,
is the one who sodomized
mentally retarded boys.
You should really thank me
If you knocked on my door,
ready to expire my ride
I would feel enlightened
I would feel like the chosen one.
The tears, and the struggling.
All so pointless
And spineless
You will probably have
an expensive funeral.
Where people will buy
beautiful flowers you will
never ever see.
And there will be an article in the local paper:
"Woman brutalized in her own home...
Police believe she was murdered by a
Middle aged white female..."
It will be right between the article.
about a man who raped his daughter.
And the article about the guy who blew up
a school, and got off on a technicality
"Police consider the suspect
Armed and Dangerous."

Debbie Kirk, 33, lives in California with her
boyfriend and cat. Between moments of dancing
on the rooftops and swearing off humanity, she
writes the word and plays with the paints.

You can check out a review of her work [here]
or her press page [here]

© 2007 Underground Voices