Awake, With the new Flesh

Awake with new flesh
Eyes turn to the closest corner
Pain in the lower back
So much time spent wasting away,
when will I rise to greatness as destined?

Days pass along
Birds sing their hymnal songs
In the morning when I wake hungry,
I refuse the morning brew

Forcing new rhymes
The television static blares
I keep it on for the noise
Only keeps me so sane

I fall asleep and it still blares
The images seem to crawl my hair
And chills as they haunt inspiration
Clean, premature ejaculation

Awake with new flesh
I haven’t taken my medicine
And so thrilled with this freedom
I wake to seize the day
To embrace the summer’s blaze

More from Herbert the Rat

The view of Drench City I’m privileged to have rests drearily from a distance. It’s an average sized city filled with diversity and absurdity (meaning everyone and anyone can have a good time). I’ve seen beautiful women pass the street corners, each one I spot equals one more minute on the wheel for me.
As we all know, these women are merely distractions.
So beautiful. So dangerous.
Like everything else worth it in life, so many feelings can derive from their gaze.
I dream of my perfect woman like I dream of a softer pillow. Both long with perfectly filled curves that give an almost abstract outline. I can rest my nose on such a beauty.
She can even fall asleep in my arms...even wake up next to me the morning after.
These are the things rats tend to think about. Only in these cages can we create our own paradise. While running the good wheel every few hours we can maintain strength and perfect our bodies.
Seems easy enough.

Sam the roach has been blowing me off. I know this because he always scurries off every time I make an advance to talk to him. He’s wise. Been through a lot in this life but still unafraid to speak his mind. He’s got what it takes to be a legend. I don’t think it matters much to him, though.
Most of my friends make plans in their other cages. They go out and party at wild and sporadically planned events I’m never invited to unless I’m with the pack.
Ah, the old pack.
The pack’s been broken up for some time now. I like to believe we’re all still friends but they hate me. It’s not all about me but I always end up ruining everything. Goddamn I never know when to quit.
I try not to venture out of my cage these days. I really would like to, but something always somewhat prevents me from seeking the outside world. Maybe it’s all the pain. Pain that agonizes the crotch and converts the spine into a substance similar to something like petroleum jelly. A lot of my former mates say I have a habit of complaining and spacing out into my own little world. I don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.
NO WORLD is suited for Herbert.
NO WORLD is truly safe.
NO WORLD will be without pain.
At least, not like the one I have right here.
Buddhism taught me so much about living in the present moment. It was good for the spine.

I’m rambling on...I do apologize for my intensity. I say this now because the sound of Warner Brothers blaring an introduction to the lights emitting cinema...the movie has begun.
Tonight it’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I always get choked up the scene they launch out of the elevator and into the sky. Those endless skies are the things that give me up. For a rat with bat posture I’m constantly looking up. Even barking like a dog at the two fish I see moving together in harmony deep in its image.
Ah, liberation.
The film ends with an awkward silence and I realize I’m the only one in the room with tears in his eyes. The doctors take notes as each tear runs down my scruffy neck. I hate to cry. Each time I cry I have a feeling I’ll only be in this dump longer as a test subject. Now my heart is racing about a mile a minute. I know this means I’m strong, but also very scared. It angers me.
Time for the wheel.

Rude Awakening

Fires forming in drops of snow
Signals tell the blind to go 
And take this guitar,
It will staple you a star  
If he'd only make it to one show

Played a puppet in his dreams
Sacked in favor for machines 
Their sounds now soothe his evil mind
Aching with a swallowing pride
Even the paperboy isn't who he seems

Shadows reaching from the dark
Children prancing in the park
Parasites aid his swarming mood 
Praised like a hero, svelte but lewd 
Shame is the mark forsaken 

Avian Lovesong

The owl calls,

Begins the day

In his realm he sleeps sideways  

Awaking the damaged poet,

Full of yesterday and wine in his veins

The owl howls,

One last warning to awake

He moves without control and falls

He claims much could be at stake

Pale blue sky,

Now the morning birds have arrived

Frightening the artist’s past

They’ve brought disease at last

In my footsteps I fear the road I once loved

They told me to stay away from those fucking birds.