shane-oltingir
My name is Shane. I drink too much, write too little; I have a novel in the works which may or may not be worthy of publication -- if of course I can finish it without killing myself. / / I am 19 going on 9. An odd, most possibly toxic, amalgamation of wise, cynical, and self-destructive -- all the while so overwhelmingly immature that I should really be drinking my whiskey from a sippy-cup. / Actually I would probably do such a thing anyway just to make a statement -- but then I'd spend hours picking the perfect customized sippy-cup. Minimalist enough to be rebellious but sophisticated enough to be able to whip out at formal events. / / It is worth mentioning that I have dabbled in the hedonistic abuse of every known popular illegal drug (bar heroin, crack and crystal meth) and am somewhat of a self-taught expert.. I personally blame the mundanity of being an under-achiever in a flawed education system.
Give us burn-outs, bars, and battered schools,
Streets of litter, needles, walls,
Smoke and smog and drugs and drab,
****** and heartbreak, liquor, ****
Fury, fuck-ups, fear and fights,
Cut down trees, and sleepless nights;
Polluted rivers, dead-end jobs,
Tell us that there is no god.
Then wake up each and every morning,
Embrace and kindle global warming;
Watch as wars and famine strive,
And watch your poems come alive.
For that is what we writers need.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 6:43 PM UTC
If one compressed a smile into
A brew, a concoction, a molecular grin.
Would you trade what makes you who are ,
for the artificial kindness within?
If what once could flood a page with words
From tobacco clouds and whiskey rain,
Was that which sent you off, and into
The nether kingdom of Dante's reign.
Would you become a soldier
For a life of Chemical Happiness?
I would sooner swallow my sadness.
For at least I know it is natural.
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 10:27 PM UTC
Be not afraid to **** your darlings,
For they will fall as humans do,
And bleed their words upon the page --
A bandage wrapped around a wound
Be not afraid to **** your darlings,
For they will litter every shelf,
Their headstones will compose the cover,
Of books which you have built yourself.
Be not afraid to **** your darlings,
They will not grudge nor hold in strife,
For bestowing death upon your darlings
Has instead bestowed upon them life.
May 24, 2014
May 24, 2014 at 3:47 AM UTC
I, one day, wondered, whether I,
Was loved by she whom spent my time,
My money, patience, days and nights;
I wondered if her words were true.
So lost, and feeling loveless, I
Wondered long into the night,
With nothing left to warm my heart --
For my burning joy had smoked them all.
I decided that I was not loved;
From me she stole the very last
Inch of thought, and sleep, and cigarette
And not a thank you, from her lips, did pass.
I awoke to find myself alone,
Her presence preserved in mountainous ash;
And beside me where she used lay,
Was a house made out of cigarettes --
Graffiti'd with a note which read:
"A pack for every one you gave."
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
The drunken poet drinks his strife:
He stumbles, falls, and tumbles rhythm;
Vomits verse unto the ground --
That he cleans up in the morning --
Before passing it off as poetry.
May 18, 2014
May 18, 2014 at 3:17 AM UTC
One day, I swear, you will regret this
She said in a contemptuous snarl,
Gnawing at my ego with a ******* zeal,
Clawing at my love-drunk smile.
One day, I smiled, drink in hand,
At the feral beast whom ravaged my smile,
For now its tame, and strives to play,
In the garden with my wife and child.
I do not regret a thing.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
They **** you up your teachers man.
They do not mean to but they do.
They dictate all the things we can
And all the drugs we cannot do.
But they were ****** up in their turn,
Encaged in essays, books, and notes,
And half the time were drunk or ******
And half with pills thrown down their throats.
Teachers teach our misery to us,
Wreaking havoc on our mental health,
So study as much as you possibly can,
And for God's sake do not teach yourself.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 7:35 PM UTC
I flick my cigarette into the fuel,
Awe-struck as its embers glow --
Its pyrophilic fireflies occupy the darkness.
And summon from my chasmal abyss --
An inferno of icy, cold-hearted abuse --
And scorch you who have yet to hurt me.
But, when you leave,
My tears will quell the flames --
For in truth, I only burnt this bridge,
In the hope you would swim back to me.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 8:53 PM UTC
When I gave you my heart in Pandora's box,
locked and sealed, and safe from me,
You did not taint nor break my heart,
You simply lost the key--
It is there where all my hatred starts...
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 7:09 PM UTC
. Even if I compressed galaxies
Into a nebulous ink of stardust dew,
It would fail to, with words, describe,
The beauty that's contained
In You.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 5:37 PM UTC