Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Suicide Lover

Personal fave...Written: Dec. 11, 2006
RIP Robert...

Suicide Lover

My suicide lover
We've come a long way over time
And cause of my baby I'm goin out with
and in the meanwhile
I just wanted to let you know that
I'm thankful for having you in my life
For the emotional roller coaster
of excitement
you've provided
and now I'm ready and willin for you to slide up in it
in my time of need
you gave my nonexistent life and
I remember in the beginning
First I'd start off with a long island
maybe followed by a line 'n
eventually in time
some crack rocks
and popped off bottle tops
so I could swallow my medley of pills
and we'd
as they flowed
down my throat
to the point where I almost
choked and overdosed
from this masochistic
and now
even better to get me wetter I'll make it extra sexy
and suck up just enough liquor til my liver shivers
like my clit in an epileptic fit until it just the gun that'll be goin'
click click
after being thoroughly lit
cause I want some passionate hits
into my life that's abandoned and rampant of uninspiring
and so I want it hard and fast
with my pulsating eager finger that quivers on the trigger like
as the gun busts its bullet nut
from its phallic barrel shaft,
ramming and fucking my brain
and it might seem
strange or even insane, but no one understands
i need you
because just the thought of you givin' it to me releases me from my carnally inflicted
Life is cruel and neglecting
and when we're together you're just so attentive and protecting
the only sense of comfort I feel
is fromt the thought
of the sensual warmth of
cold steel
as the thin sharp blade
and caresses
my vein
only anxious for deep
where my orgasmic cum
is of
hot blood
rushing and escaping from the spiritual raping
that's led to this love affair with the blade
these secretions aren't of semen
they're of tears 'n
I'm afraid that I've reached my peak
and now I feel incredibly weak
But once again
thank you for making life seem less bleak
and saving me in the current moment
my heavy breathin' and moanin'
was actually a blood curdling
cry from my
to be,
in desperate hope
spiritually free...

(©) 2006 by Jessica Freites 


For Mama...Written: Dec. 27, 2007

If they say you are what you eat,
that must explain why there's so many fake-ass-mothafuckas out there
Cause when I look down at the space that occupies my plate
and all I see is fallacy consisten' of
monosodium glutamate,
potassium sorbate,
blue lake,
sodium nitrate,
and an array of sulfates…
all delightfully put together for us compliments of the
F. D. A.
and for the main entree
they'll be servin' up some sauteed,
I guess you could call it meat
with a side of Red. 40
smothered, simmered, basted, and glistening in
radiated heat
from being grilled to perfection
in a little box called a microwave,
making sure everything we ingest
becomes a catalyst
for a cancerous tumor fortress
in women's breasts
only to leave us distressed
under paramouting amounts of stress
because we're too coo coo for co-co puffs cracked the fuck out on our
food that consistently leaves thee
always fatigued
explaining our physically and mentally
UNDERnourished levels of rest.
I know
my wallet is suffering from the catastrophic pressures of forced duress
since the only food types that seem to suffice
in NOT adding to the shortening of my already
scientifically coldly calculated span of life
are ridiculously
But, I'm FDA aristocratically, elitely, and royally fucked,
cause if an IV were to penetrate me this very moment,
I'll be bleeding a Pfizer concoction
that's led me to
OVERstand that our only option
is to prepare ourselves for yet another unforeseen plague of dis-ease
that'll just create another STATE OF EMERGENCY
leading to the need of an urgent vaccine.
See, the WAR is solely an illusion
to distract the masses to the selling of souls to the
TV Dinner God
who governs in the land of
prepackaged food AND minds
to promote RED ALERT LEVELS of
And if you really want to speak on terror then I suggest we focus on the modern day
drug war, where we're all becoming
med whores, because their troops are creepin' inside you insides.
and we must start becoming aware of their
covert actions and unleashing of guerilla tactics
upon our cellular composition
cause all we seem to do is sit and listen
to the bullshit
this chemical dictator spits.
Where it lands, rests, and manifests within the confines of my mind and cerebral spinal cortex.
Trickling it's way down-…
to Wall Street
to provide the funds to clone a society, or better yet said, herd
of patriotic sheep,
all in a reality where in actuality, there is
NO democrat or republican
when dealing with a Babylonian government.
Where there's no need for a warhead or a bomb
when all of our food is
palette friendly poison
fed to us to keep the physical ill, emotional depressed, and mind
n u m b
But it's ok…
that's why we got trusty ol' Zoloft.
And I know that those runnin' the medical industry already knew that
cause when you got politicians and doctors investin' in
and penicillin,
along with
immuron, and
and the answer to every child's behavioral problem is to create a
junkie hooked on ritalin;
and they wanna start bannin' vitamins cause God forbid there's the slightest chance of competition.
Let's re-evaluate
who's really the pushaman
and who is the

(©) 2007 by Jessica Freites 


Written August 9th, 2008


Poetical pistols pop off poisonous penetrative projectiles
that propel
profound proverbs and
pronounce pledges and prose
all perfectly off my palette
feeding pumping, injecting and numbing
yo' mind with nutritional paraphernalia
like a potent pick of some pristine and powerful puff of purple haze piff
that with every hit
makes you say

See, I'm a poet, a word connoisseur of sorts
a reporter and fragment contorter
And to write is my vice, plight, utter delight
and sure as hell
My words at times may or may not rhyme
they may or may not ring nor chime
And you ask yourself why?...
Because they're passionate
like fists that want to kiss and reminisce
with your brain
to BUST knowledge into your domepiece
like BOOOOOM!!
with the force of a premie grasping onto the me m o r y...
of their mother's womb
or for most
grasping onto the fear of burying
their mental tombs

Emotionally impaled by the vibrations of
prefix and suffix fix-ations
to fix
my ailments
from the attack of complacent non-stimulations
which bombard us on every
TV Station, Radio Station, Train Station
to keep us all, well
as opposed to spawning prose
written in the mental codes of visionaries

But before I unleash the spoken word shank
and vernacular attack
on your fiending and yearning for stimuli crack
and expansionary learning

and play back the track
rearrange the jazzy free flow over the hard
boooom boooom boooom BAP!
and take a peak behind the mask

Cause I have a secret, you see,
my continual affair with a word, fragment or phrase
to my narcissistic dismay
is primarily need based
Since my psyche tends to get the best of me
and I've been neglecting her for a while now
So I'm being stalked and harassed by nervous
which has led me to prowl in therapeutic sessioning
that results in no diagnosis and
only the verbal verdict of wordplay sentencing

And well,
I am merely parts of many
a life experience, cultivator, harvester and pack rat
articulating the pack of traps
that abruptly catch, pinch and grasp us
by our sensory follicles
resuscitating our visions
by passionately spitten'
pure liv-id liquids
into the cesspool of third-eye imprisonments
through this audible monocle
Otherwise known as my therapeutic chronicle

But I'm sure you all understand
because for the most part you're here
listening to me, a poet
sit up here and spit
letting every saliva droplet
to drop it
on the ones and twos
and back to the one
solely to son you
with my verbal voodoo
and thank you for making a societal misfits
words fit
because to fit in with the rest of the world's life context
would be


(©) 2008 by Jessica Freites 

This Is the Life...


The path of living is on some dope skitzo shit
approached and flipped
into a battle of wits
with hidden agenda tricks full of covert operations and tactics
where the transitional final product is the immaculate gift
of the conception of one's


The trife life, basked in nebular limelights
where the enemy can't come to phase you since they're only dwellin' in
the 2nd dimension,
missed the last ride on the express time continuum

bobbin' n' weavin'
bobbbbbin' n' weavin'
bobbin' n' weaaaaavin'

tetanus infected
jagged wrenches
Constantly attacking your voice of reason
and then you could end up like me and...

Smiling and breathing and moving and healing
Keeping the faith and embracing your inner heathen

Collecting the the day in your memory banks
Psalms sung by sparrows and freedom chants

Navigatin' odyssies next door
Comforter sessions on the spaceship floor

Loathing mediocrity whores
Embracing simplicity...and escaping the bored

This is the LIFE...

(©) 2010 by Jessica Freites