It was a bitter pill and
a sour drink and
it was all the truth.
It was misery and
disaster and
it was all the truth.
It was glory and
sunshine and
it was all the truth.
Everything was the truth -
even the lies.
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 7:53 AM UTC
There's this busy parking lot
and a strong North East wind
and a dusky night time feel
and a lost seven year old boy begging for change
and red lights and angry drivers
and tears rolling down my face
and pain in my heart
and the unwelcoming architecture of a mall
and I need a cigarette...
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
We will have to work
for our money.
And **** for our food.
Starve in the moonlight
to earn our inspiration.
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 2:14 AM UTC
Madness is addictive.
Spinning in unfinished circles and
cleverly hidden tea pots and
bright green hats and
leaves and things.
Having a vague and uninteresting effect and influence
on the people and
the pope and
the people of the pope.
Spinning
faster, faster, faster.
The lives around become a blur.
A memory of a
memory of a
memory of an
imaginary being.
Fast, fast, fast.
Crying.
Madness is good to slip into, they say.
Writing notes and
grocery lists with
your own blood and brains
and tears.
Repeating the lines of a memory
of a poem about a Spanish prison.
Crying on Death Row.
Walking down the street with hidden wings.
Cutting and trimming the
clouds and dreams.
Behaving well on Wednesdays
and teaching the dog theater etiquette.
Throwing bricks at the ******** next door screaming,
"Kerosene burns slower than gasoline!"
Signing the edge of a razor.
Life is bitter sweet for the mad.
Apr 4, 2013
Apr 4, 2013 at 9:01 AM UTC
I am a poet
Hear me roar.
Hear my mind run
and race in madness.
Hear my soul burn
and crackle.
Hear my tears drop
into your hand.
Hear my pen scrape
away old ideas caked
onto your mind.
Hear my laughter spring forth into
your
bright future.
I am a poet.
Apr 2, 2013
Apr 2, 2013 at 7:42 AM UTC