I peel away the freckled skin

The orange blood begins to flow

I tear away a wedge of brain.

A child unborn, I spit it out,

That bitter seed within the sweet

And juicy flesh. A tasty treat.



A silver blade upon the sky,

The airplane cuts the morning clouds.

Upon the blanket of the sea

The city shines. Its buildings, tall,

With fingers made of steel and stone

Come grasping at the steel-clad shell

Where I reside but for a while

As it descends upon the land.

In time, the doors will open wide

And I’ll emerge with head held high

My arms outstretched, a butterfly

That once was sleeping, now awakes

To greet the golden morning sun

– theresurreccionofkevin


I’m searching for some condiments

Elusive taste that complements

A craving like for compliments

For someone lacking confidence

I’d like to send my condolence

To stomachs lacking common sense

This flavor breaks the old defense

Offends the mind, it helps dispense

The shroud once built of false pretense

And life returns, to once again commence

– theresurreccionofkevin


There are no bars here

I’m surrounded by a cranium

Chained to all of my fears

Packed together like a stadium

I spend my days swimming

In dirty thoughts and brain pollution

Mind’s so heavy that the world’s spinning

And the body breaks as it aches for a solution

I stretch my limbs and the tired gray matter

An aching body helps silence brain chatter

I slaved, after all, for years to make myself fatter

I’m older now so it’s time to save what matters

I’m warming up to the idea and to the grind

A part of me fears whatever I will break

But I want to build a house that can house my mind

A healthy place of refuge for when I need a break

– theresurreccionofkevin


Some people ask my occupation

I say it’s fevered contemplation

Of my place in life, my station

Feeling great without the self-deprecation

Because my fears make me a patient,

A prisoner of obsession

So it’s time for some appreciation

A bit of caring for the state of the nation

Population: Me

– theresurreccionofkevin


They always call “it” a bad trip

It’s like a movie. There’s a bad clip

Of a person making sad slips

On bananas. It’s a back flip

Onto pavement. Sounds of cracked hip

Bruised lip, makes it tricky for a glad sip

Of medicine. The pain radiates like mad grips

On last bits of snack bits. I say this

‘Cause the bad trips come like a lamp lit

So bright that I can’t hit

The marks that with past wit

Were scored. But now it’s bad, kid.

That’s the fad, kid. ‘Cause God forbid we ad lib

Down the slinking spiral trash trip.

‘Cause life’s a bad trip, that’s “it”.

But I’m glad that I can live with it.

– theresurreccionofkevin