Decapitation
Fornication
Prolific death
Eradication
Rotten soul
Decaying mind
None can save me
None will try
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 6:48 AM UTC
pale effigy
stalking rusted bars
in the emerald haze
of solitude, emblazoned,
Oh, such stark futility;
refulgent, and coveted
a mild severity of trauma
a cherry charred,
hollowed out and raw,
undetermined conviction
sulking on wilted arms;
engulf a shadow,
swallow it,
you can’t even endure yourself
drowning in instants,
pointless interactions
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
i really don't think my parents
ever
dreamed
their kid was going to grow up
to be
a depressed
sarcastic
*******
that's addicted to the internet
and has more
virtual
friends
than
real
ones
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:05 AM UTC
when you live
somewhere dead
you slowly die with it
and when you leave
all your friends
they give you such ****
"why ya movin', anyway?"
"you don't got the ***** or the money."
"you'll never make it."
so you turn
to your family
your blood and your love
and they're the worst of all
it scares those that
love you
to see you leave on your own
and make something of yourself
that doesn't involve them
"you got no dedication. you got no ambition."
"you're being stupid. don't sell your stuff. you ain't goin' anywhere."
"no you can't have any money."
so you grit your teeth
and make it a promise
to show them all up
prove them wrong
right before
their
eyes
with no support
you look to everything
anything
for a crutch
but
you fall
again
and
again
so
you get right the ****
back up
and you learn to
walk
without a crutch
and suddenly
your family
your friends
they see you pressing on
and when they see your vision
you creating your own path
writing your destiny
leading
they
all
follow
and 3,000 miles will never be far enough.
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
have you ever
sat
to think about your life
and just
how
inconsequential whatever you're doing is
just try
for
a second
fretting over finances
or
straightening your house
or
maybe trying to write
something
anything
worth reading
it's a peculiar kind of feeling
when
one particular Thursday night
you come to fully embrace
the idea
of being cosmically irrelevant
a small kind of feeling
akin to
maybe
standing under a large skyscraper
though
perhaps
the scale of that
doesn't quite do it justice
so you stop
and
think
and whatever you happened to be doing
seems silly
but
when you
think
a bit longer
you come to realize
you are cosmically irrelevant
so you fall asleep
on the toilet
reading Bukowski
one particular Thursday
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC