burdened with the weight of it all,
the camel stops and lies
in the middle of the desert
the man driving the herd--
the herd that's laden
with tired, overworked
camels, walks toward the downtrodden
offender with his arm outstretched
and in his palm, sat a pistol--
then, he hesitates--
as he stares into the eyes of
the camel--
deeply--
intrigued--
but beyond that,
he felt a sense of calm, which
soon turned sour--
everything turns sour
he gazed into the dark abyss
of the pistol
turned it toward his temple
and pulled the trigger
all the camels scattered--
except the one lying down
he placed his head in the sand,
then slept
in memory of
the
fallen
herder
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:26 PM UTC
are you really so ill
that you can not stomach
one word
I tell you
you just nod off
as if you want to sleep
and then
turn up the music
the music you play
isn't creative
and now when I look back at
this memory
maybe you aren't either
maybe it's what I have needed to
see all along
that
you were flawed
worse than I was
and I was only flawed
because of you
but then again
I still need you
I don't know if I
can look at you,
though
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
she asks me why everything I write
is depressing and not
happy--
I tell her I
only write what I know--
she left yesterday,
I dreamed we were
together
she dreams of other men--
men without souls
these soulless
masses of
skin and fat and bone
who will never know the sadness
I
now
feel
because they are hers and she belongs to them
I watch a fly bash it's head
against the television screen
I turn it off
the fly leaves
everything
leaves
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 10:08 AM UTC
all of us
from an early age
are murderers
we **** with our
bare hands--
no weapons
no remorse
no gloves
no arrest
no trial
just our hands
strangling out our victims
bringing about their untimely
demise--
and as we
slowly
but
surely
******
we are being
strangled
all in the same
by the hands of those who
supposedly love
and care--
where there is nurture,
there is strangulation about the neck--
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 9:45 AM UTC
a skyscraper begins to crumble
as I am left on top
I am the last of my kind
--and I sit atop the
swaying monolith
and watch the animals
around the once bustling
city streets
I once roamed these same streets
with little to my name--
at first--
then I hit it big
and I went from nothing
just another faceless being
to one of them
high society
I ate with the famous
and the famous ate with me
I slept with the fame-starved
and they ****** me
but now I am left alone
atop this building
waiting for it to crash
I am reminded of a girl
from my youth
the first to crush me
the first of many
the one that still
hurts--
even after she is long dead--
everyone is long dead
except me
and many would see that
a curse
while it reminds me of my glory days
at
the
bottom
I hear the metal beams begin to bend and sway
windows burst
birds fled
I think:
this is it, finally
as short lived as my death was
I found myself
again with the young girl
in my youth
and the conversation--
a despicable one
was different
she shared what I felt
and all was good in the world
at last, I was
at peace
other skyscrapers
continued to fall for years
and my carcass was ravaged
by animals
and rogue humans alike
and as the last of humanity
came across my body,
they swore I wore a smile
and in my hand
lay a picture
full
of
love
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 9:26 AM UTC
He's a catch isn't he
young and far from virile
nonthreatening and funny
in an unfunny way
to me,
the textbook *******
a guy that couldn't
do or deal with half of
what I do daily--
and after all my
pleas of love--
the poems I wrote you
the letters I wrote you
bearing my soul--
putting everything on the line--
you still won't look me in the eye
bet you'll look him in the eye
because behind his eyes are nothing
you love that
when you look behind mine,
you see the pain
you inflicted
you see the dreams
unrealized
but mostly you
see the pain
and the guilt seeps
and seeps
I hope
I tried,
out of both spite
and courtesy,
to tell him you'd just lead him on--
wait for him to bear his soul
then get uncomfortable with everything
and he took my words
and put them on a platter
and, with them, sat his--
delicious, appealing, and
poisonous
telling of how you love him
and you swore to me--
he was nothing--
less of a friend than I--
either way,
you'll cause my emotional death
make me sour for any woman
much
less
you
and now,
finally,
unlike every other time
I haven't forgiven you
I have but made you seem forgiven
for, now, at the last,
is the time for me to pull
the strings--
for me to ruffle your feathers
and I hope you tumble down
and eventually make it to my level
where you see the gods from below
and find them
all
but
divine
Oct 26, 2010
Oct 26, 2010 at 7:44 AM UTC
I hate woodstock
I hate the whole
mainstream counterculture
why embrace something as alternative
when society itself is evolving to be just that?
I almost desire to be
the textbook,
cookie-cut
worker drone
family man
but I figure,
I'll push in a different direction
than anyone I know
most writers are
bullshitters
anyway
especially the best
ones--
I could imagine Sartre
before fans,
promising a world he couldn't provide
I think all writers
at their core,
are idealists
dreamers
when that ceases,
they can no longer write
or turn
to nonfiction
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:25 PM UTC
we have all been crucified:
in the name of love,
in the name of marketing,
in the name of god,
in the name of country,
in the name of science,
in the name of hate,
in the name of ***
in the name of violence,
in the name of peace,
in the name of philosophy,
in the name of entertainment,
in the name of sport,
in the name of popular culture,
in the name of food,
in the name of medicine,
in the name of slavery,
in the name of freedom,
but mostly,
in the name of
love--
because the basis for all
crucifixion
at it's
divine core
is
love
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:19 PM UTC
I make the effort
place my hand on the wheel
put the key in the ignition
and turn
the car
sputters
but doesn't start
the cold air seeps through
elusive cracks
and I am left
to freeze
alone
as cars pass
sympathetically mocking
the piece of ****
I drive
I like all of them
but despise them
all
the
same
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:15 PM UTC
I thought I found myself
really felt happy
it was a first
since prepubescence
it all ended last night--
as if it had even started
my friends will all laugh at me
and they'll swear I'm a **** up
and it's true--
this miserable **** up
writing what you read right now
can do nothing right
absolutely nothing--
the worst of it all
is that I thought
I was
for once
I knew all the while
something was deeply wrong
if I did not pry into it all
I doubt I would hurt this much
but I dwell
I dwell
and continue to hurt
and hurt
I hurt
you don't care
no one does
so, I'll drink myself into comas
during adulthood
and eventually become a decent writer
and some people will like what I do
everyone but me
because through life,
I'll always be this miserable
**** up
nothing will ever change that
why would it?
life is a *****
but she is beautiful
she is wonderful
she makes you yearn for her
but the ***** life,
will never yearn for you
because you-- too
are a miserable **** up
Oct 24, 2010
Oct 24, 2010 at 1:11 PM UTC