Yes, the flowers are
beautiful
for a while
and the still sun keeps rising
and I see that
it is good,
but still I sometimes wish
that god existed,
just so I could
**** him
up
hard,
a vengeful creation
squeezing that divine
neck
with my bare
hands;
look straight
in his thousand
eyes,
watch him suffer
and anguish
and finally
die
too,
because somebody has to be,
has to be!
accountable
and pay
for all this
****
that lasts
forever
and so
little.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 7:45 AM UTC
Better perhaps nothing
than this -
to any action
or idea -
all the intricate complexities
resolved,
we will find
it makes no
difference,
and boy,
how would we like
to be
efficient.
But god happens
to like
war
and not
abortion.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
So many poets,
so many lines,
so many words
of nothing
new.
They truly believe
so many times
to be deep,
to be meaningful,
to be original.
So many, many
times
they are wrong -
they do not know better:
or worse.
What they have written,
so many times,
I've read before and
oh, so many times,
without the added
insult
of puerile explanations
and hashtags
#after the end.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
The meek
may well
inherit
the earth,
but they
too
shall be
broke
after all
the inheritance
taxes.
Oct 10, 2018
Oct 10, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC
That's what
I eat,
so that's what
I ****
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 3:20 AM UTC
It doesn't matter
how thick
your skin
is
when she
is
under
it.
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
And as the flowers late
to bloom rot
the wait
of the world
up
on
my shoulders.
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
Everything is a bit dull sometimes,
and as I contemplate the absurd of existence
and the children die starving
in Africa,
and I write this on my iPad
and the dead
(still starving!)
children assemble another
in China
and another and another and another and another,
it all just seems to strengthen the message:
it is absurd,
and I'm an *******
for pointing it out
and laughing.
The circle, the circus
of moral one-uppers,
either by adhering or
rejecting
or merely observing
and commenting
on some fact,
ideology
is sickening twisted,
hypo
critical.
Why does it not all
end
in flames
like her eyes
or the lack of them?
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 11:25 AM UTC
There will be
at least
one
person
to like this
poem.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 12:09 AM UTC