a very lame poem

Normal is for suckers,
addicted to the everyday,
like an infinite opium cloud,
That’s not for me.

I was born under Mars rising!
My soul was forged in battle.
I lived most on foreign ground,
hearing the snap of the bullet,
and the whoosh of the rocket.
always striking just a bit away.
A bit away.

I want to drive fast,
racing my headlights,
through the darkest of midnights,
arriving early just to prove.

I want to marry a stripper,
who steals all my clothes:
when she leaves me alone,
with another box of stories.

I want to drink deep of life,
letting the excess drops,
roll off my chin to nourish,
the average man.
.
Foremost, I want to be good:
to set my hand and heart
never turn from my goal
Until I own it with my every breath.



Though I really mean every word of this poem in spirit, I don't think it is very good mostly. I just wanted to start playing with that line about the stripper to see where it would carry me. So far nowhere, still I think it has a lot of potential for laughs if I can just tetrus it into the right space. I even think it's funnier then the image of masturbating angrily then crying myself to sleep. I know not every one thinks that's funny, but then again why are you reading this crap, it says right there in big letters not to read this. What the hell is wrong with you people?