We were the kool kids,
messing up and coming down.
We were the kool kids,
always lost, don't want to be found.
As the kool kids grew older,
jokes became serious, problems defined,
only by the choices of their lost,
curious minds.
Social anxiety/illnesses creep in strong.
The death of my mother,
really driving me wrong.
MS suffering family members,
really getting along.
These kids are still lost, never to be remembered, and forgotten in song.
These kids won't be found, as long as I'm breathing, alive and strong.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
I could tell a thousand stories about a boy.
There are dry crystals of DXM on the desk on which he writes CVs,[1] and as he writes he listens to Lou Reed because of his apparent lack of knowledge of Reed's back catalogue.[2]
He takes Molly on Friday nights, because rappers say its cool, how could Chief Keef be an idol to reasonable people?[3] Spouting buzzwords and memes in public places, hoping to be noticed and applauded for a knowledge of he knows not what.
The Twitter feed reads like toilet paper, with less information
Fooling himself into thinking that he needs that rapid a-disinformation[4]
He wonders why there are still advertisements for MySpace, is it not dead yet?
He uses a trusted torrent search engine to download every episode of TV shows he watches religiously. Is that not an indicator of a profoundly unhappy person?[5]
A liberal thinker in his own right yet still regards the BBC as having unabashed liberal motifs haphazardly forced into all of its programming and news coverage.[6]
Why have hashtags stumbled into the global lexicon, and is this an example of cultural Marxism?[7]
Why is he never noticed?
That sweet jazz serenade that emanates from speakers in his lonely house, is but melancholy drones, might as well be Tim Hecker as opposed to Jack Teagarden.[8] His record collection is vast, the smell of vinyl pungent and nostalgic.[9] Obsolete so they may be, but those indie movies sure make them seem cool.
Oh he watches Truffaut, Fellini, Tarr and Michael Snow, he does it to appear cultured, but to who? Since nobody exists.[10] Antiutopian music videos, depicting *** and violence, he could make crass judgments on society but he knows that he loves that Robin Thicke video and what Kanye West did with New Slaves.[11]
Spending hours at a time, ************ to amateur **** on some seedy site and pictures of girls that he probably shouldn't have seen. [12] And after such laborious efforts he can return to an endless cycle of hitting F5 on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, 4chan, 420chan, VICE, TheYNC, BBC News, Mishka, 2DopeBoyz, World-Star Hip-Hop, Fetlife and Hello Poetry. Amassing information and retaining so little that it hardly seems worthwhile.
Yes he reads, when so many do not. Nabokovian purple prose and the way Bukowski was so ****** He read Poe in elementary because 'goth' was new to him, and now he loves Whitman, Plotinus and St. John of the Cross because Ginsberg mentions them in Howl and Other Poems.[13]
He uses words he doesn't understand like 'catechism', 'ecclesiology' and 'female orgasm'.
A sprawling mass of words, never ending streams of thoughts, the constant reminder of drudgery in modern times. Wishing he was from some other period, but the idea is ridiculous in and of itself.
He makes crass jokes and thinks they're actually funny.
He's lost. He's empty. He's sad and he's a fraud, its how I knew him best.[14]
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
The day that you passed was the only time I felt close enough to understanding why you are gone. It made sense to me because your hand was in mine. The curvature of your fingertip figured times tables into my palm that I will spend the rest of my life decoding.
Each day since then I question each footfall I conquer. For I can find your footprints upon this sandcastle heart yet all I see are my footprints being eaten by waves. Everyday has been a dislocation of hope, wondering why they took you and not me.
Asking my cells to work musical chair patterns to fine a cure for the algorithm I can't remember. Your nails. I remember them. Pictures. I have them still. You told me, in a house fire it is your 2nd item to grab. For a photo can't be recreated.
You never wanted to be recreated. So we cremated you. Burning ash tray loneliness into the humid smoke upon these lips. So why does it feel like I am jigsaw puzzling you back together in each picture. Attempting to take pieces of the past and walk into my future.
My feet are wet from walking through the watered down alleyways of yesterday. I have robbed myself, beaten the best senses senseless, and found my ****** self laid up in darkness. Interrogating the best reasons to walk into the light.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:47 PM UTC
Torment, guilt, and regret.
These are the fruits of today.
These poisonous fruits,
grow on every tree in my garden.
Aching inside, they laugh at me,
taunt me
These three feelings combined,
wrapped in silk,
ruin my love,
my life
my dreams
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
When I see a rose, I see it pass with time,
And slowly I start to realize as my life follows behind.
When I see a rose, I see beauty in its simplest form,
Wearing those survival scars proudly from the storm.
When I see a rose, I see all the pain it can cause.
With thorns like steal it forces those to take a metaphorical pause
When I see a rose, I see the pain that lies within
Cutting off the roses’ lifeline should be considered sin
When I see a rose, I see as the world kills it.
Slowly but surely the beauty’s wounds catch up with it.
When I see a rose, I see, well I see hope and love inside
What do you see when you see a rose?
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC
12:48 am
**** god and religon **** presidents and their ******** **** school **** laws **** normality **** clothes **** ***** **** drugs **** love **** sexism **** rascism **** blood **** words **** suicide **** murderers **** rapists **** knives **** guns **** you **** this poem **** this aint even a poem **** this
11:58 am
its like everything in the world is so beautiful and i am in love with everyone and everything and theres so much beauty and so much love that i cant function because theres no way for me to experience it all and theres no way for me to love all of it back
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:49 PM UTC
'Trapped in a lizard state'.
The singer's echoes,
the words too clear.
Like a lizard, I lay and wait,
biding my time.
Waiting for my prey to walk in the door.
To latch, and to never let go.
To playfully wrestle the bait.
But for now I am waiting,
staring at nothing.
I wonder if Lizards don't sleep much,
because of their dreams.
Cause if so, I am most definitely cold blooded.
Staring into nothing,
waiting for my prey.
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 12:37 PM UTC
A year, a lie.
Constant smiles, bad times.
What could have been avoided,
is now ******* with my mind.
Lost in lost emotions,
Brought on previous devotions,
These are the thoughts that haunt my mind,
And linger like his taste in thine.
Sleeping hasn't been easy,
I'm run down and broken.
Lost in these thoughts,
brought on by these envious emotions.
So while you lay to try and sleep,
remember the boy your trying to keep.
The boy who has lost everything,
his trust and respect in thee.
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 12:58 PM UTC
How can someone who fills me with
such torment,
leave with such joy in life?
She's asleep beside me.
She leaves my soul burning,
but beneath this burning,
is a feeling of bliss.
A feeling better than any position,
or narcotic I've taken in my life.
A feeling as euphoric as heaven
She is my ******
While I sit here watching, all the good
memories that disappear.
And I intern, become haunted by
everything that taints my affection.
As the clock hits quarter to four, I should probably try get some rest. For within the next 24 hours, I've to be ready to welcome this again.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 11:44 PM UTC