Upon my shelf
Are many jars
You best not ask their use
Silly questions
Permit silly answers
And my answer is a noose
But let's save that
For another day
I have some business here
Collecting all my
Favorite things
Organs, eyes, and ears
I simply pick them
Off the ground
From where they have been lain
By hurting souls
And aching heads
Who could not take the pain
They shower me
With blood and gore
My people give their bones
They drop their bodies
And they fall
On sidewalks and on roads
I do prefer
An envelope
But off the curb will do
Wherever you can
Chop it off
Whenever you are through
Perhaps the donor
Had their lunch
At the House of Rusted Fate
Where every single
Meal features
Madness on the plate
Or perhaps
They just got tired
Of their long and boring trip
It matters
not to me given
The body's mine to strip
Don't ask me why
I do this please
Remember what I said
And keep you pesky
Questions nicely
Tucked inside your head
I look around
And see the lonely
Walking with heads down
I laugh because
Their smiles all seem
Sadder than their frowns
They trudge along
Through puddled tears
And puddled hopes and dreams
They look at you
And calmly say
It's better than it seems
I know I am
No better bloody
Knuckles torn up hem
But if I will
Be going down
I'm going down with them
They say the world
Is cruel enough
But I don't think that's true
I think that you should
Hurt the world
Just like it's hurting you
And take back all
The salty drops
Of which you have been robbed
If you come to
My funeral
You better fucking sob
I like to see
Your suffering
I like to see your tears
I like to see
My puppets dance
As I play with your fears
You asked me what
My jars are for
At this poems very start:
For my
Encyclopedia
I collect broken hearts
