"This isn't going to appeal
to the general
populace"
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
What do you have to say, you ****
Put it in poetry. If I've shocked you I just want you to know
that last tuesday the clerk at the bank
shook my hand, because this is art,
and I'm not like this when I talk, when I walk,
or when I pull words out from the gutter like a street-walker,
some loser who screams "It's a defence
mechanism, so ******* sue me!" If I saw you in real life
I promise
you wouldn't recognize me, I'm plain
and innoffensive. I wouldn't wake anyone up, open anyone's eyes,
so that's what this *******
poem is for. It's your wake up call,
so open your eyes and look for the beauty you'd see
if you weren't deaf and blind to it all. This is an ugly ******* poem,
but it's meant to be- I want you to look up, look out your window
down to a book or down at your hands
and see something beautiful, and unlike this
******* poem. I want you to hate this
******* poem, and let you love something that, before,
you never knew you could love.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 9:20 PM UTC
ah, the sky fell
and nothing was left
but the stars
what resilience;
we tore it all down
until destruction
clung
to the air
we breathed it in;
prophetic dust
in our lungs
telling us
‘a conclusion is inescapable’
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 4:24 PM UTC
If the world knew what I knew
About the broken heart-disease
And how it festered deep inside you,
Or if they’d seen you change as I had
Caught quick glances of the real you,
If they’d watched there be no cure
As it became a trust infection,
If the world weren’t so sure that you
were just an imperfection
Then they’d box up their rejection
And accept you.
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 2:39 PM UTC
When I'm older I'll
**** with my eyes closed
because I don't love my body
and I'll let go of you in the morning
because you never held me and tomorrow
there will be no arms sleeping round my shoulders
telling me not to leave
I'm young and stupid and I've given up
on love. When I'm older
I'll **** with my eyes closed
and I promise I won't
expect you to be there beside me
when I wake
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 10:54 PM UTC
bitter isn't something you taste
it's the feeling seeping onto your tongue,
the desease that makes you want to shut your eyes
and pull the universe by it's threads:
twine it around your fingers like a kite
and pull, watching it plummet, the magic broken
everything unwound
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 5:19 PM UTC
as intimacy is our lie,
would you hold my hand?
would you breathe for me?
you statue
i hold the door closed because
i know you stand outside
alone, you living statue
you real
living statue
i can hear your lungs fill
outside the door
(because you do not exist
i can pull blood from a stone
and if you find me empty,
bloodless, you will know)
this is the death
of ideals; romance only
the laughter on our tongues
Dec 14, 2011
Dec 14, 2011 at 4:59 PM UTC