I quit drinking
but kept smoking,
I prefer my executioner sober;
cloaked in poison
obscured by smoke.
Cascading to my lungs like silk,
bubbling up like tar.
Efficiency is not my goal
the destination is.
I'll take the longer route
for now, traveling forward keeps me sane.
Sane may be a stretch
it keeps me busy, at least.
Jan 29, 2017
Jan 29, 2017 at 4:36 AM UTC
I don't want to write a sad poem
but that's all i've got.
I want to write something happy
but my mind's started to rot.
This infinatly expaninding migraine
leaves the happy thoughts out of reach.
Maybe they'll return full of stories
and caked in sand from some unknown beach.
perplexed as to why i feel as i do.
They'll soothe me with quiet words and shaking hands
Waiting to leave on their next big adventure.
They'll hike through snow and golden sands
before the get home, if they ever do.
will they find me as i am now
sad scared scarred and broken
or will i have changed somehow
still scared and scarred
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:46 AM UTC
There's this pit inside me, this shapeless void
well it was shapeless, now it resembles you
I thought maybe you'd fill it, with that thought i toyed
but you didn't, you couldn't.
there's this hole in my bones, shapeless once again
your curves and corners have faded with time
details i loved silhouetted by months of rain.
but they faded, you faded
There's this crack in my mind
every now and then, light will funnel though
clears flashes of you, sweet and kind
but i wasn't sweet and you were too kind.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
I knew a farmer once, every day he'd wake at 5
and work til 5 to
His skin grew think on his hands and began to crack,
through here his soul grew.
Little blades of grass pushing out
as if the longing for rest
was forcing itself into the world
as days grew cold and nights longer
the ground became harsh as he shoveled through.
His bones told stories of countless hours worked
and his eyes, cold and tired, left stories behind.
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC
I was told that love never leaves you, but it does change.
I think i agree with that, regardless how strange.
I planted a tree today. a mile from my house
on my adventure i met a tiny field mouse.
I gave her your name and wished her the best
I set down some bread and...
I've forgotten the rest.
**** this poem, **** the next one,
**** the one after that and all I have done.
You were my muse, my divine inspiration.
Now i'll just use my own desperation,
as a reason to write what feels terribly wrong
because setting them right is taking to long.
I still wish you the best, as i did my mouse friend.
**** it.
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC