HardBoiledCapitalism - Hello Poetry

Here I am Alone again Hands perpetually cold Thoughts full of wishes and dreams The future will never behold.

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Apr 4, 2018

Apr 4, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC

HardBoiledCapitalism

Alone Again

Here I am Alone again Hands perpetually cold Thoughts full of wishes and dreams The future will never behold.

5

He sat down. Said nothing. It was apparent, though, that something'd gone terribly wrong. He sank deep into the magnanimous cushions Absorbing his suffering. A casual rendezvous. He's hardly thirty, but not presently. He exists in the realm before life; The land after death. Surrounded by the vast infinity of nothingness. Tomorrow he'll return to his desolate cubicle Occupied by the essence of lost-potential. For now, though, he's woven tightly into the couch And is lost in a world that doesn't exist. He's home.

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Apr 3, 2018

Apr 3, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC

HardBoiledCapitalism

Home

He sat down. Said nothing. It was apparent, though, that something'd gone terribly wrong. He sank deep into the magnanimous cushions Absorbing his suffering. A casual rendezvous. He's hardly thirty, but not presently. He exists in the realm before life; The land after death. Surrounded by the vast infinity of nothingness. Tomorrow he'll return to his desolate cubicle Occupied by the essence of lost-potential. For now, though, he's woven tightly into the couch And is lost in a world that doesn't exist. He's home.

14

The putrid smell of death Lingers stale within the air For 'while since the body's decomposed. Many a maggot had their fill And grew to fickle fly A body made to many more Than what its lovers cry.

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Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC

HardBoiledCapitalism

Reincarnation

The putrid smell of death Lingers stale within the air For 'while since the body's decomposed. Many a maggot had their fill And grew to fickle fly A body made to many more Than what its lovers cry.

7

It seems that every night I lie in bed awake; haunted by My past mistakes Knowing that sleep will set it right - If only I weren't to wake. But sleep not and see not I; tears fall As I slowly wither - A flower deprived of sun Beaten down by the continuation of small tragedies And the dread of life; That throng of trivial **** Killing quicker than AIDS Which is always there ... And among mine, I saw many minds Of my generation Destroyed by madness A lost brigade of platonic Conversationalists leaping down fire escapes Off windowsills Out of the moon Because the world had failed us all. But an old tale it is fore Humanity, you never had it From the start So let us endure this hour and See injustice done. See the horror and scorn and hate And indignation - Oh, why did I awake? When will I sleep again? I'm tired and I Long to rest And don't try and wake me. I'll be gone And glad to go But it matters little Because life is nothing much to lose And this pain is absurd because it exists, Nothing more. So I feel this misery in The boards of the floor, listening to music, My melancholy, These thoughts that sing within the caverns Of my chest A song that will Never be heard.

0

Apr 2, 2018

Apr 2, 2018 at 4:53 PM UTC

HardBoiledCapitalism

Game Over!

It seems that every night I lie in bed awake; haunted by My past mistakes Knowing that sleep will set it right - If only I weren't to wake. But sleep not and see not I; tears fall As I slowly wither - A flower deprived of sun Beaten down by the continuation of small tragedies And the dread of life; That throng of trivial **** Killing quicker than AIDS Which is always there ... And among mine, I saw many minds Of my generation Destroyed by madness A lost brigade of platonic Conversationalists leaping down fire escapes Off windowsills Out of the moon Because the world had failed us all. But an old tale it is fore Humanity, you never had it From the start So let us endure this hour and See injustice done. See the horror and scorn and hate And indignation - Oh, why did I awake? When will I sleep again? I'm tired and I Long to rest And don't try and wake me. I'll be gone And glad to go But it matters little Because life is nothing much to lose And this pain is absurd because it exists, Nothing more. So I feel this misery in The boards of the floor, listening to music, My melancholy, These thoughts that sing within the caverns Of my chest A song that will Never be heard.

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