Eyes are bloodshot staring at the alcoholic LEDs,
It would be impossible to rip them off of
The angelic glaze slathered on the screen.
Tears streaming on a face fixed for a permanent smile.
Can’t scream, not s’pposed to.
The eyes are taking in sips of wood alcohol
Littered with food coloring to make it seem like bourbon.
They know it’s not,
The burns all the same.
Eyes sleepless and fried while the screen fries itself.
Maybe it's time to shut them

it's raining,
it's pouring,
the old man is sighing.
wondering why it's raining.
trying to remember how many times
he's sat on his porch and listened
to the rain trickle down in front of him.
after all, it was a rainy area.
he tried to look back on his wife.
he tried to picture the them back when the porch wasn't over grown.
"oy vey",
he thought wistfully to himself.
he sat content for now.
but he wondered when his rain drop might touch down.

five, seven, five, done.
seven to count, one and done.
five, seven, five- done.

A penny for my past,
A nickel for all my life.
That's all of life's worth

you're so **** smart you're stupid!
it's watching Albert Eisenstein walk across a road
without looking.
the irony is
you know what you're doing
you smart ******* *******
you wanna be dumb
so you don't have to be smart!
its a stupid act
from the smartest person i know

A mountain full of pressure,
Close to pouring at the seams.
A tree full of ants,
And those ants running with seeds.
A cliff upon an overlook,
A beach upon a sea.
A life left perfect,
A life wasted on me.
No point in trying to end it,
If you waste that perfect life with me.

These sleepless nights, with nothing spent done.
These hopeless fights, where no one has fun.
All my feverish lies, to show what matters.
All my fiendish cries, to find why the rain patters.
Our endless sighs, to sleep once again.
When we’re mildly surprised, to see what actually comes,
Of us,
Of then.

Who are we?
what,
are we.
we are the creators.
the illustrators.
not of words,
but creation itself.

Can you come with me please?
It would be nice to see the scenes.
I miss you in my pictures.
And all our days spent climbing trees.
I can't explain my feelings,
But I want to say to you.
Our days will end, with you and me.
And together we can be happy.
Happy till our happy end.

Our childhood was funny,
Middle school was so much fun.
Our teens we wished to dumb.
Can you come along with me?
I want you next to me.

We can sing all day
Or laugh and play.
Because we're happy
Together.
But sometimes scrappy.
To me that's fine.
Because you're so beautifully kind.

Can you come always with me?
To watch the buzzing bees.
To gaze at starry nights.
To laugh and live alright.
To take our flight and make a dive.
To see an end and welcome friends.
To be with me
Until
Our happy end.

I've made my bed
I know what I've said.
But i still fill my brain full of lies.
The ugly bliss
Of satisfaction almost missed,
Like a a truth
That was secretly a lie.
A wonderful thought,
Comforting you think,
but really it's not.
Its a tear down your face,
As you tear holes in your face.
With your own self-righteous lies.
You do it for yourself,
it would be nice if it helped.
But it does nothing,
But make me cry.

the hidden are not hidden,
only slightly departed,
buried beneath brick,
on top of brick,
on top of brick.
they lie there departed.
in silence of fear.
wondering when they'll be found,
found, find, and founded

my life is a soup of choices,
a broth of consequence and
steaming of effect.
poached like my ideas of right.
burnt crisp like my thoughts of wrong.
I'm boiled up in a roast stew of fallacy,
chopped up guilt and crushed cloves of forgetten forethought to add reality.
layered in-between self-hating bread,
I'm like a rhetorical tomato,
or concise and crisp lettuce.
flavored with oxymoronic mayonnaise
and ironically erroneous thought.
a tossed salad of melodrama and not enough attention.
with self-defeating ranch,
I'm a self-deterministic rock.
like bitterly sweet sugar,
I swear loving words like antonymous
synonyms-
and I never read past where the sentence stops.

what to do what to do,
in this cluttered mind of mine.
should I do my work,
or stay in bed,
oh what to do what to do.

it seems I'm writing poetry,
trying to make people.
get to start knowing me.
oh lord,
what should I do.

I guess I want to go somewhere.
I think it might be fun,
if I could go,
and play in the snow,
all I ever get is sun.

maybe I want some rain,
thunder in my mind.
confusing wild and weird.
I really wonder why.

A blinking cursor,
Is waterboarding to a poet.
Lines underlined in red,
Blooded rivers,
Among our heads.
Blank paper.
Lined and-
College ruled.
72 sheets,
And still,
blank.
Still,
Blinking.
Still,
Nothing.

First things first, what type of ******* are they?
If it's a cane?
Your best bet is to file half way through it,
so when they're walking,
it snaps, and gravity takes it's course.
wheel chairs are more fun.
more expensive as well,
so take some water-
and squirt it into the wheels bearings.
watch them rust,
and beat them in a foot race.
annoying visual disabled people is a bit easier
partially due to the fact that sight isn't their strong suit.
but their hearing is much better.
so be sneaky.  
and put saran wrap face level through a door.
(make sure the ground is carpet or pillowed)
the brain damaged few?
have a bit more variety too them,
and with variety comes creativity.
so get creative and when they mention a color of something,
tell them that that's not what color the thing is.
"look at that cool blue car"
"what're you talking about? that's red??"
you'll never see anyone call a neurologist so quickly.
colorblind or dyslexic is real easy.
look up synonyms for short words and replace them with the longest ones you can find.
text them using this absurd paragraph.
watch the ******* emojis fly.
and colorblind is simply talking to them in type.
in random colors, printing it off, and handing it to them.
(make sure they correlate to the type of colorblindness)
and then make sure to dress in solid conflicting colors.
makeup too for extra evil points.
all the other disabled and crippled?
just put everything slightly out of reach.
works on everyone.
I  promise

Its a wondrous night to go walking alone
Under the shattered contempt of a flicking street light
Industrial lines weave arteries to supply
The broken will of concrete monsters still drying
Truly but the worst live in the best ways possible,
Sleeping beneath intimate foreplay between the weeping stars
The onyx asphalt sings electric humming
Like the vigilant barbwire standing watch
Over the ****** and grateful
It was a night to go walking alone.

He sat next to her on the train
And everyday they would sit there.
He had earbuds in,
And she had a book in her lap.
Sometimes his music would go to loud,
And she would poke him to turn it down.
He would pull out his phone
And she would peek over the book
To stare at his nose.
She was falling in love.
Everyday at 6 am they would dance
With a poke or a glance,
Waltzing around to make the first step.
Her heart would drop when he stepped off the train.
And his would stop when she would never show up again.
She was ***** and murdered
The night before.
4 boys nothing more.
He didn't find out till he noticed the ad
Across from their seat.
On televised slicked glass.
"Local is murdered"
"***** and killed, friged and cast"
He blinked and it was gone,
Replaced with coke propaganda,
The same way her seat was replaced with silence.
He got off the train and went home that night.
Wondering what to do,
Maybe who to fight.
He got a few ropes and stool to sit down.
Pondered what he was doing.
Shook his head and frowned.
He pulled out his phone to check the next train.
And Booked his final ride,
to heaven or hell.

I knew this kid that once lived down the block
All gangsta and **** with nothing but shots
Of ******, crack *******.
**** that gets you high when all you’re wanting is fame.
He grew up without his mama and his dad was basically dead.
He knew about god but knew nothing of what he said.
This kid he grew up at the age of thirteen.
And never knew the black and white blood that we all bleed.
He saw the coyotes of the mexican border
Shooting ******* crawling from the broken brick and mortar
All around he knew violence till he one day came clean,
Looked up at the sky and begged for something mean.
He cried out to the sky because he was lonely and scared
But only the devil responded because god was not there.
He soaked up all this pain and regret in a needle
Shot himself up and grabbed his desert eagle,
Shot up a few churches while the masses got done praying,
Put the gun to his head to blow out what was done decaying.

portable portabello sandwiches,
funky french dip and British rails.
Philly cheese steaks, sauerkraut and kale.
BLT and lobster rolls.
bourbon BBQ, and Po boy's.
pumpkin flavored bread rolls
And silly sunken loafs
Beautiful bologna sandwiches
With bumping bottled coke
Chunky Chicken club royale
With lettuce tomato and cheese.
Flagrant flopping subs
Spilling mayo at the seams.
Roasted turkey bonanza
On white rye and happiness.
Lovely little sliders with bqq
Bursting bumbly
Burger bouncing buns
And sesame seeds on top
Loving these sandwiches
Creations for a god

your dad ignored you for a week.
wouldn't talk to you.
wouldn't look at you.
wouldn't acknowledge he ever knew you.
your father would berate and demean you.
your father would be horrible and terrible to you.
your father would make you hate the world
and make you wish he was gone.
but he would never leave,
your father enjoys hurting you too much to leave.
your father enjoys abusing you too much to go.
your father lives for you hoping he'll say he loves you.
your father trained your older brother to just the same.
your father
is insane.
so i ask you now, why to me, do you do just the same?

so this is for any of my followers who are confused about the name change from "Maegan Deme" too "Bobby Dodds"....
I made this account a few years ago and at the time I was still a bit scared at putting my real name out there too the world,
so I went undercover basically, and was a french antagonistic female named Maegan,
when in reality I am, actually, a boy. so uhhh, sorry about any confusion about any of this, I just figured that I should put my real name out there, as opposed to falsifying things justified by my past fears or worries.
but yeah, my names Bobby, I wrote all the "poems" on this account, and I hope that I'm not seen any differently now that I've stop masquerading.
Thank you all for any amount of support you've shown, this has been a great place for me, and I've read and met some astoundingly unique people here.  
Thank you again!

Sometimes, I like to not take my meds.
It's a sort of punishment,
Ritualistic self sacrificing-
Because I’m too ashamed to **** myself.

Sometimes I like to climb on my roof,
Stand at the very edge and just,
Think about falling off,
Not jumping off- falling.
Like rolling the dice-
On whether to play another round of Russian roulette.

Sometimes I stay up all night just to feel like ****,
Because it’s better than facing the anxiety of sleeping.
And an easier deliriant than Benadryl-
Good thing the only withdrawal symptoms are fatigue.

Sometimes,
I give life a chance.
Every single time I regret it