At times when there seems to be no time for rest,
You become obliterated by the aggravation,
Everyone else becomes a pest.
The human gives you an invitation;
to chose to become annoyed
and if you accept it
you than become employed;
as a world-class *******
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Exhaustion at its finest.
Noises blend together
And there is no room for kindness.
Feeling lighter than a feather;
Heavier than a bull.
Your being becomes the weather,
the weather becomes your soul.
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
.
For some it is a poetic crime
to ever use an imperfect rhyme.
As the Emperor of enunciation
I embrace differing pronunciation.
So chain not words up in a prison
let them go with their own rhythm.
.
© Pagan Paul (Sept 2015)
Mar 2, 2018
Mar 2, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC
Liquid courage to numb the pain.
Intoxicated to forget.
Offbeat blood, sent from heart to vein.
Returns with a guest, she just met.
She closes up, leaves the bar clean.
To her apartment, around three.
In bed she lays, counting some sheep,
That mock her, thinking she will sleep.
She hears the crickets’ lonely beat.
Reminding her of creeps she meets.
Sometimes they have a potential start.
But never truly go that far.
Each night dealt with some other cards.
But slowly starts to build up guard.
She puts less time in her makeup.
But drunks continue to pick up.
She joins in shots, hopes to pass out.
But in her head she hears the shouts.
Her heart’s hunger for real love.
Her clouded thoughts rise above.
A newly turned insomniac.
No longer sleeping on her back.
Till curtains peek with starry eyes.
So bright, leaves a forceful rise.
Her sobs like strings of violin.
A void no liquor can fill in.
Despite how much she tries to drown.
The aches resonate with shrill sounds.
Another night, still found no one.
A man enters, two drinks and done.
She questions him, “What is the rush?”
Always pulled into a quick crush.
But never really tends to last.
As he mumbles about his past.
A bartender, like therapist.
As alcohol reveals the gist.
Now drunk and loud, he starts to shout.
Before his crash, he raises doubt.
He talks about, the best he lost.
Always at home, waits for the toss.
She cheers him up, when in a rut.
He gets up again, “That **** mutt!
To see her hurt, curled up in bed.
I held her paw, up till her death.”
The next night, slept pretty early.
He was perfect, brown hair curly.
Her eyes were lost, but not with lust.
Enjoyed his smells, delicious must.
A piece of her, became a part.
Happy to save his sinking heart.
Rescued him, he slept on her rug.
Named Milo, her three-legged dog.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 5:19 PM UTC
I am living as static
amongst a chaotic mess
I am living as shy
amongst a world of socialites
my sister,
she is living as charisma
she is living as the current
I am living as a shadow,
not to her, but something else
I am living in fiction,
as she makes them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction
she is living as she goes,
doing all things she knows she knows
I am living half; she's whole
I am living as a fool
she is living half; I'm whole
she is living as a fool
I am living as I go
doing all things I know I know
she is living as a shadow,
not to me, but something else
she is living in fiction,
as I make them laugh with brilliant, life-time diction
I, her sister,
am living as charisma
I am living as the current
she is living as static
amongst a chaotic mess.
she is living as shy
amongst a world of socialites
Jan 31, 2018
Jan 31, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Why form an opinion if it hardly ever makes an intense difference?
What difference?
Exactly.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 4:56 PM UTC
Man this world makes me annoyed
and happy
and silly
and corny
and *****
and angry.
But most of all, indifferent.
Jan 26, 2018
Jan 26, 2018 at 4:55 PM UTC