Chris Butler

by Horror Sleaze Trash on March 29, 2013

vincent was a hippie

Chris Butler is a twentysomething nobody shouting from the Quiet Corner of Connecticut.

Toilet Bowl

 

I am the goldfish in a bowl.

My three second attention span

forces me to be a lonely soul,

flushing me counterclockwise

down the wormhole of time.

 

 

But what am I

once I am dumped

three weeks later

in the southern hemisphere?

 

 

And who are you?

 

 

The Best Years of My Life

I lost

the best years

of my life,

a time

of my

supposed

prime to

 

fear,

tears,

depression,

regression,

anxiety,

calamity,

loathing,

hoping,

sadness,

madness,

 

 

but I now

want those

years back,

yet of whom

am I to ask?

 

 

Forget it,

I’d probably

just waste them

all over again.

 

 

OK

Everyday,

I wish that somebody,

anybody,

would say,

 

“Everything is going to be ok.”

 

Instead, they just tell me to relax.

I guess that’s why man created Xanax.

 

 

Medusa

 

The snake

licks her lips

with a forked tongue,

whispering with lisps

against my sensitive skin,

slithers spineless into

constrictive positions

around my internal organ,

until I’m frozen in stone.

 

 

But every time I think

I’ve cut off her head,

another deadly dread

grows back.

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