I feel ethereally insignificant...
in bliss...
:: You know the only reason we love is because we're afraid of ourselves, we're afraid of being alone.
:: You know I ******* hate these stupid "profound" comments you make when you're high.
:: What, ma-
:: You think you're so cool because you "shmoke dah ganjahh man"! cuz you can be "deep brahh"! **** you man.
:: Hahahaha Ahhhh Hahahaha
:: Hahaha haha! Yea brohhh I'm just messing with you, I totally know what you mean about being afraid of ourselves... That ***** crazy man, society's **** man, right now there's like no thrill in being alive anymore. I guess capitalism works when you always have a bit of ambition, or greed-
:: Well, when you take away materialistic desires, but you have wealth you're left in a position where theres no need for anything at all. Maybe even no need to exist; if you've already reached the top level of the game... well why are you even gonna' keep playing.
:: Maybe you can just be in bliss...
:: ...
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
You were goals,
you were excitement,
you were countless afternoons,
you were a future,
you were stress,
you were me,
you were love,
you were tears,
you were hope,
you were fulfillment,
you were curiosity,
you were knowledge,
you were caring,
you were so much more than I ever could have asked for...
now you’re just an alternate timeline.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:19 AM UTC
This is your mind on love.
Its hilarious really...
You think you’re feeling,
but you’re really thinking.
I don’t know how to love.
Is it me? Is it us? Is it you?
Its usually me? Or you
make me think that?
Maybe thats the issue?
Maybe its us? It might
be brighter on the other side,
but right now this storm seems years long.
Is it good we’ve overcome this much ****
Or should we have ended it the minute **** started
Is a perfect relationship shit-less?
I know you yell at me because you care.
I need to be better?!
Does that mean you love what I could be?
Does that mean you loved an idea or a version of me?
This **** isn’t even a poem.
I don’t even know you… that's what you say.
You don’t know me, you wouldn’t think I don’t know you.
Or maybe you think you know a version of me,
but I’ve told you I talk a lot, and yet I keep quiet when its something important.
I wait a lot, I probably shouldn’t, but I do.
So when you think I don’t realize if you’re mad, I do.
I just rather give you time because you've never let me in.
I like to think I try to let you in.
- I hope my therapist to be reads this and has a good laugh.
If I was ******** I’d ask myself if the age difference is a problem.
The “experience difference” probably is.
I’m a noob! Maybe to me you’re just a ****
Yo, Doc you laughing yet?
My life has been just YOU since WE started.
And its not a problem, until WE end?
I don’t think I’m gonna get sick of you.
I think you’re either gonna get sick of me,
or you’re gonna try real hard to grasp onto things
while I’m gonna do what’s probably best for you...
help you let me go...
Confessions of a depressed poet:
I don’t want to write anymore, I just want to die.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
Blonde and buttery, a pleasurable perfection
creates sounds that blissfully perpetuate
carefully crafted notes of musical magic,
mesmerizing crowds that listen in awe.
Across the stage, rich majestic mahogany
arpeggiates gratifying waves of wonder;
her chords delightful and her body ebony
ears and eyes feast upon sounds and sights.
Monterey pop, a prodigy, painted and proud,
modified for appeal, a sound that astounds.
Melodies invade, a plethora of joy proceeds,
making shivers frisson down and through.
The crowd sits still, for merely a second.
Applause ensues, a standing ovation, and,
while a crowd stands, I float, like a feather
and Betty, Lucy, and Mary blush backstage.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 9:39 PM UTC
Jealousy is a beautiful troll.
Filled with distrust and love.
Sweet in a way, or so you say,
but its invasive too.
The truth is,
and will always be,
that I only have eyes for you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 9:36 PM UTC
Back row torn, penetrated, yet warm
Butts and lit butts pressed against it.
Circular limbs transport my clients.
Curved triangle, scythe, ends the ride.
Behind a circle sits the controller,
abusing the engine, my heart, me.
Each passenger, client, friend, family,
hurts, helps, hinders, never ending well.
A big metal box recycles me.
My corpse gives birth to another,
so another controller may ride me.
Never ending, since model T, I roll.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
A five letter word
resting comfortably
over a lettered horde,
this time with nary a purpose.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC