(untitled) -- a collection of experimental poetry [COMPLETE]

i have a friend named Bob

i have a friend named Bob
he's from Brooklyn
he speaks with an
accent that turns
the word 'coffee' into
a guttural warcry

bob wears a
white wife-beater
which has
two mustard stains
that look like
greasy binary stars

his diet consists
of hot dogs
and cola
which he devours
with the terrifying
force of a sinkhole

bob's offensive,
he's vulgar
he's right up in your face,
and, frankly,
he doesn't give a
rat's ass about
your opinion

bob,
he's pure impulse and instinct
he's adrenaline mixed
into a martini
and he's holding a gun
right against my head,
his hairy sausage
fingers resting on
the trigger

you see,
bob's a philosopher

'listen up, kiddo,'
bob tells me,
pressing the gun
against my temple
'you could die right
this second,
you could die today
or tomorrow
or right now

'just when ya
least expect it -- that's when it happens
and it'll be game over,
no restarts, no replays
everything you've done
up until now
will be permahnently erased

'and in tha final
moments of your
pathetic life
you'll wonder why
the fuck you
spent so much
time being nehrvous
about nothing

'picture this:
you've got twenty four hours
left to live,

'does what you're doing,
mattah?

'if it does,
why are you half-assin' it?

'this is the last meatball sub of ya life
forget about your taxes and your mortgage and your haemorrhoid
eat the fuckin' sub
nothing else should exist

'picture this:
you've got 3 hours left to live

'are you holding yahself back?
waiting for anothah day?

'well guess what, kiddo
there ain't no 'extra day'

'right now
right this second
that's all you've ever got.'

bob's hairy fingers
brush against the trigger
he tilts the gun to the left

bang

there goes my left ear

'i saw you hesitate, Sky,
you were about to stahp
writing,

'now i've Van Gogh'd you.
consider it a gift.'

before i get a chance
to pass out
from the blood loss
Bob loads me into
his truck,

'we're going for a ride,' he says
flooring the gas

i notice he's pulled out
the break pedal

'you gotta write honestly, kiddo
you gotta write about the things
that matter to you.

'there ain't
enough time
to waste on topics
that are safe.

'if someone really
hates your guts
if someone thinks
ya work is awful
and disgusting,
then, hey, you must
be doing something
right,'

'think of sandpaper,

'if sandpaper was smooth
and polite
and always considered
otha people's feelings,
and sandpaper stopped
being coarse and abrasive
and if sandpaper stopped
hurtin' people and
making them bleed,
then sandpaper would
be fuckin' useless.'