sell souls to
the nicotine dogs
that gnaw on your
fingertips,
and beg for bone
as crunchy costs
of habit.
Apr 4, 2019
Apr 4, 2019 at 3:43 PM UTC
a poet’s just
one dumb *******
having the courage
to meddle
with words
far bigger than
any emotion
he’ll ever feel.
no true poet
wants to draw
butterflies
through verse;
we, the ********
use flowing words
to boast
a ****** life.
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 8:20 PM UTC
cups of
earl gray,
cans on cans
on cans of
lukewarm beer;
to the squeals
of my guitar,
I sustain
a broken back/
a liquid diet.
Feb 7, 2019
Feb 7, 2019 at 8:05 PM UTC
drink the cold away
with lovingly boiling whiskey,
light up a couple smokes,
sit back
and feel your
eternal love
for
Black Sabbath;
smile,
stretch,
thank the Gods-
repeat.
Jan 23, 2019
Jan 23, 2019 at 8:39 PM UTC
my father
sat in his room
to the music
he later chose
to raise me
with;
now, I sit
in my room
with the music
he chose
to raise me
to.
even when
he isn’t
looking,
he still sees
the man he
used to be
and I see
the man I
will be-
to our music.
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:32 PM UTC
as my eyes roll to the back of my head,
I gain clarity
and tell myself-
“the Earth only spins in one direction;
no amount of delinquency
will ever
give you the power
to change that.”
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
when times
turn to lines,
and we deform
through indigenous
degeneration-
we, as the ones
that had time stand
perfectly still
at midnight,
between the past
and the
upcoming,
gave in to the
sloth, the
gluttony, the
pride, the
wrath, the
lust, the
greed, the
envy,
and chose to
thrive
eternally,
on the
absurd.
on the absurd,
with the
cheeks and foreheads,
on the absurd
with the
black dresses, shirts
and smiles,
on the absurd,
with all its wobbling,
wishes
and hungover
mourning
in the
morning.
we gave ourselves up
to be groped by the force of time,
and time ended up
making love to us,
*******
majestically.
the table fills
with empty cups,
and we
dance
until
the cups topple,
lay a new,
crackling
plastic
carpet
underneath
our restless hearts
and
beating feet.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 7:36 PM UTC
a king
spends
a month’s worth
of rent
in four days
to get high
and drunk,
and then
even more
drunk
and a tiny bit
more high
to fit in
yet another
drink
until he’s
just fine.
imagine-
you became poor,
but were a king;
tired boots
collecting
dust,
and coins,
cigarette buds,
on your way.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 9:02 PM UTC
the only ******
I care for
is your
**** soul-
the quirks,
the pains,
the habits,
the ways
you’d **** yourself
if you
really had the
chance to.
the only ******
I care for
is drinking alone
at four in the morning,
wishing for
something
to take it all
and make it
better;
to
put some
clothes
on it.
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 9:41 PM UTC
artists suffer
for their art,
but poets
live in hell;
they rule
the fire
that others
merely
tried
adapting
to.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 1:33 AM UTC