McDonald's, our saint of comfort.
We offer you this prayer of thanks
for welcoming our downtrodden souls
and nestling our hungover hearts
into your soft couch *****
May the late night mistakes of our youth
blossom into something
greater
and maybe noble.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 9:09 AM UTC
i spoke to God
behind the big blue wall.
then i got off the ladder
and walked away.
then it rained.
hard.
and i was happy.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:41 AM UTC
like i said
'you' is an empty shell
and i try to break free
of habits and irregular
heartbeats and hitching
breaths and oh did i
mention that today
i stepped on an
empty shell?
i stepped on a 'you'.
at least i wish i did.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:37 AM UTC
distant laughs
overheard from distant
rooms just like
this one and
this one night the
back of my tongue bleeds
scary and i spit
blood and it goes
right down the
drain through the sink
and i feel my eyes
burn cause i don't know
why and my knees are
weak and wobbly and
i almost forgot how to
spell 'knees'
but i grab and hold on
to poetry
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:36 AM UTC
poetry is never a constant refuge
neither are dark cold bridges
there are some irregular breathing patterns
heart palpitations
and shaky hands
poetry can't heal
or darkness can calm down
the heart races on and fingers twitch more
jagged shaky breaths are still there
headaches plague still
isolation does nothing,
mother nature leaves you be
the insomnia threatens to manifest
once more, for the umpteenth night
eyes shift front and down
fingers desperately hold on to pencil
in awkward grips
as the letters scratch
from awkward angles
no pill or drink heals this
nagging plague,
this something i do not know
does it have a name?
the singer whispers
as this poem ends
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 11:32 AM UTC
With the frenzy
of a stereotypical lovestruck fool
I pluck flower petals
of my existence.
I am okay. I am not okay.
I am okay. I am not okay.
Not sure if finding
or placing meaning,
if living,
or always failing.
I am okay. I am not okay.
I am okay. I am not okay.
When finally there is no more to pluck
My days have already been
spent.
I am okay. I am not okay.
I am okay. I am not okay.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
when you told me
you've been growing your orchids
for ten years
i realized
years don't count
in how well i know you
and those flowers
have seen your days
more than i did.
we have a mutual understanding that we will always be part stranger to each other
then apologize and move on
but i am made of the same stuff as you
and you are the only person
who makes me like phone calls.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
i think people are more interested in themselves
than the swarm of bugs on the streetlights
crickets on the road
or the explosion of sprinkle stars up the dark sky
but i guess that's common sense
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 11:33 AM UTC
my father and i are alike in a lot of ways
but his panic attacks are worse
and i can see him freeze
and beat himself up in silence
behind the steering wheel.
he's sixty years old
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 9:21 AM UTC
Why do they call it being 'absentminded'
When you're present, more than ever, in your head?
Maybe live somewhere else instead.
My share of conversation's dead.
In one ear and out the other.
Swim in space and float in water.
Jun 11, 2014
Jun 11, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC