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Jan 2020 · 52
Bummer Jan 2020
You can wear my hand as a necklace

I'll take it off once you're out of breath

I'll watch your face turn different colors

And watch you struggle to your death.
Dec 2019 · 169
Dear Russel
Bummer Dec 2019
As most of you know,

I am catastrophic.

And as most of you know,

I feel alone.

I see cobwebs collecting cluelessly in between the lines of your poems.

They age and sit and stay the same,
those poems from forever ago.

But aging is healthy, and time can be good,
what makes me sad is the static.

There are only ever old poems. Never new thoughts or feelings or the same thoughts and feelings strung and wrapped in different words.

It’s just cobwebs.

I used to read your poems religiously, I used to ponder what they meant.

But now I think I have my answers, and now I’m sure I’ve lost a friend.

What used help me cope has now become just a bigger reminder,

That everything I love will leave me in some way or another.

But I still read and I still write and I still think about the past

like a ghost in an old library reading only ancient texts

and I can’t conjure up the courage to say anything face to face

so I put it in a poem and I pray that you will find it.

Even if you do not write I pray that you still read.

Even if we do not talk I still put pieces of you into my words.

Even if we hate each other’s guts I still hope that you are happy

and I guess all I can really do is just keep on writing:
yes, this one IS for YOU
Dec 2019 · 151
The Last Lost Continent
Bummer Dec 2019
I saw you cry, you told me later you lost a friend to suicide
and when we sat there in that pizza joint,
the whole world was you and I,
you looked at me through mist and told me
"I swear to god this **** gets better,
and every person in this building feels this pain some way or another"
And I saw the funeral and the poems and the piece torn from your heart,
your sadness justified by loss, and that loss tore your soul apart,
and I knew that in that moment you were picturing it with me,
and how you can't afford more heartbreak,
how you can't stand to watch me leave,

You said "I love you"

and it echoed in my mind

My world stopped burning

I'll think of joy from time to time

"So sing for every buried moment that you'd thought would never end.
And sing your fears about the future; and a dirge for faded friends.
For all the love that you had held to, why it somehow failed to keep.
And sing each minute you've been frightened; every hour that you've lost sleep.
And sing for all your friends and family; sing for those who didn't survive.
But sing not for their final outcome; sing a song of how they tried.
We live amidst a violent storm; leaves us unsatisfied at best,
So fill your heart with what's important, and be done with all the rest."
Nov 2019 · 2.0k
"I would die for you"
Bummer Nov 2019
I would die for you even if I didn't have to

With red rivers on my wrists
Nov 2019 · 117
Blood in the snow
Bummer Nov 2019
We are a car wreck,
watch how we burn,
on the shoulder of the highway, melting snow.

We are still breathing,
our chests rise and fall,
laying in a bed in the deepest pit of hell.

We are still something,
Though our story is macabre,
So long as we're not nothing, I will still burn with you.

So long as were not nothing, I will still die for you.
Bummer Nov 2019
There was a knife by the window.
There was a pair of shaking hands.
There was a letter he could barely read.
There was a silence in the room.
There was a coffee scented candle.
There was a broken music box.
There was a photo of a stranger.
There was the death of a poet.
Nov 2019 · 376
Liar Liar World On Fire
Bummer Nov 2019
"I love you"

Yeah right.
Nov 2019 · 138
Broken wings
Bummer Nov 2019
Oh hell,
said the vulture to us as we fell,
out of peace out of love we could tell,
when our ties were unbroken we'd yell
And we stitched up the woulds from the fight,
from the fight.

Oh cry,
For the heartache unable to die,
think of times we were able to fly,
when the maggots eat, our throats are dry,
And we wonder why we looked so grey,
oh so grey.

And always you hold value in the corners of my mind, and we hold our bags of feathers to remind us how we fly, how we fly with such purpose, how we fall with such stillness, and always you will look at me as if I'm just your illness.
Nov 2019 · 89
Bad Brains
Bummer Nov 2019
I sat down In a book store and read some poems.
And they were all ****.
And I thought to myself, what makes me so special?
To be able to call another persons artwork garbage.
I guess that You can call mine **** too though.
So I guess it's okay.
I just have bad brains.
My Love Is Bulletproof
Nov 2019 · 118
Bummer Nov 2019
"I puked in your ******* bathroom dude"
it's true.
I did.
It was dope.
It feels like the only way I can take away my pain is by throwing up in bathrooms.
i love you
Bummer Nov 2019
It seems that all that we can do
is keep their picture on the wall
and nail its frame into our chests
and carry grief with every breath
Bummer Oct 2019
It is very possible
that nobody wants me
and that the only will that is keeping me here
is mine.
Sep 2019 · 364
Maybe tomorrow
Bummer Sep 2019
Tonight was only a matter of time.

I just wish you weren’t there to see it.
Sep 2019 · 1.2k
7 months sober
Bummer Sep 2019
It's been 7 months since I let your sinful filth between my lips.

I still crave you every day.
Bummer Sep 2019
I'm going round and round,
and I'm afraid of falling off,
because I know that if I slip,
there is no catcher in the rye.

Innocence is never preserved,
and reaching for that ring is scary as hell,
things just don't stay the same,
and that's the truth.

It's so bitter sweet,
it's a torturous love,
it's the happiest you get,
and the hardest you fall.

But if I slip,
and if I fall,
will you catch me,
one last time?

Will You Catch Me One Last Time?
I'm 16, so I'm allowed to idolize Holden
Bummer Aug 2019
I guess writing didn't work.
I'm starting to see cobwebs collecting between the lines of your poems.
They're lost, buried in a library of millions upon millions of other peoples problems that are just written in different ways.
It's okay.
I understand why you have stopped.
At times I want to.
My poems feel like rants, not art.
My songs sound familiar, and not my own.
Maybe if I throw in a metaphor or two it will end up being loved.
It's a romance that's fading.
I have just as much guts to say I love you as I do to let go.
But I'll keep writing.
And I hope you keep reading.
Maybe one day I'll change you.
Aug 2019 · 163
Hoodie weather
Bummer Aug 2019
I think when you kiss me you can taste the "I'm sorry" on my lips.

That must get annoying.
Aug 2019 · 567
sorry. i’m petty.
Bummer Aug 2019
i’m cold and I want to cry.
I know you’re on my side, but I want you by my side.
Bummer Aug 2019
I'm not satisfied with you.

Hell, I don't even like you.

I've put my time into you,

My tears into you,

Even my confidence into you.

And still you fail me.
And still you disappoint me.

I've drafted my work and practiced my craft.
I've read from the greats, and still I'm not content.

Do I need to include a ******* metaphor for me to like this?
Maybe give it an overtone of gloom and despair?

My poetry is a name on an old tombstone.
Unread and dead.
My pen is in the hands of an "Artist,"
Who's words will never be said.

I'm not satisfied with you.

Hell, I don't even like you.

But so long as I have a pen In my hand,

Ill try to get a little better.
i don't like my poems.
Aug 2019 · 119
Growing Pains
Bummer Aug 2019
I pressed my palms against the clouds to keep the sky from falling down, when you were weak, I would keep you safe and sound.
I have this pulsing in my veins from all these ******* growing pains, And I'll feel weak, but my heart will feel the same way.
Aug 2019 · 138
Cemetery Drive
Bummer Aug 2019
She apologizes without wronging and it gets under my skin,
How she thinks "I ****** up bad this time, so i guess i'll just give in".
She tells me I'm missed dearly, and I ask if she's okay,
though I know she's crying in her head while she thinks of words to say.
She's lost the light that I watched grow and her eyes seem to show a pain,
As if she has given up on the good, like there is nothing left to gain.
She hears me tell her softly how I know it will be alright,
I can't tell if she's listening or just trying to survive the night.

She has such a beautiful smile, when you see it showing true,
But lately I've been worried. All you're showing me is blue.
I love you, and I miss joking around with you. please keep trying for me. Ill keep trying for you.
Bummer Aug 2019
If I am a rose, then let me be your bouquet.
If I am your bouquet, then let me be your garden.
If I am your garden, then let me be your field.
If I am your field, then let me be your happy place.

And if you get weak, and sleepy, and blue,
then let me be your flower bed, so I can hold you.
I love you.
Aug 2019 · 179
Bummer Aug 2019
Im sitting here like it was yesterday.
It wasn't.
My nails weren't black yesterday
I wasn't as insecure yesterday.
But even though I got new habits.
And new records.
And a new reason to feel sad.
I feel like nothing has changed.
He is still complaining.
She is still annoying.
And I am unamused.
So I ask myself why.
Why is the past so prominent.
Why is the present so dull.
Why can't I change it.
But I give up.
Like I always do.
And I complain about it.
And I call it poetry.
At least I have you
Bummer Aug 2019
It's been one year since I admitted that missed you.
And I know I ****** up.
And I know it wasn't just me.
And I know so much has changed,
And I want to keep you close.
It's been so perfect with you by my side.
We can do this.
I know we can.
Jul 2019 · 258
I never really am.
Bummer Jul 2019
Another way to say I need help is to say “I’m fine.”
Bummer Jul 2019
Summer slits throats so sit up straight while I sing songs of sadness to suffering souls and saints of speaking minds.

Alliteration is consistency, and I need that in my life right now.
Read this out loud with a lisp.
Jul 2019 · 131
Bummer Jul 2019
Words of negativity are scraping and clawing against the inside of my skull.
Hoping to leap off my pessimistic tongue and plant seeds of sadness in the minds of others.

But I hold my tongue.
Like I hold onto hope.
Because I know it’s still there.
I just have to repress the haunting thoughts.

My brain is the strongest muscle in my body,
only because it works so hard to repress my tongue.
My heart is in the right place,
but my fists are always balled.

But I hold my punches.
Like I hold onto smiles.
Because I know that people care.
I just have to repress my anger.

Rage and depression go hand in hand.
But i’m fine with that because they help me write.
This is a modified version of an older poem I wrote.
Bummer Jul 2019
You reap what you sow into your bloodstained velvet robes,
and you don’t have power just because a crown of thorns sits on your tortured and beaten mind,
You have power because you need control.
You have power because you make me weak.
But one day i’ll strip you of your robes.
I’ll rid you of of your crown.
I’ll stand up to you.
And I won’t be afraid.

I won’t be afraid.
Jul 2019 · 148
Bummer Jul 2019
I caved in the drywall because you let me cave in.
And ****** knuckles seem painless when all I can see is red.
I wrote you songs so you would know how I feel.
I think I'm just afraid.
I know I'm just afraid.
This isn't about you
Jul 2019 · 322
Bummer Jul 2019
Most of us wrote about our problems.
So when we all stopped seeing each other,
we all stopped writing.
Jun 2019 · 173
Bummer Jun 2019
you can’t tell me the world is on fire and then yell at me for fixing it.
Jun 2019 · 164
The big picture
Bummer Jun 2019
don’t you understand that this is bigger than you see.
Now that I know, I’m just as bad as you.
This isn’t about anger or fear of being a snitch.
This is about saving a life and helping a friend out of hell.
You’re clouded by the weightlessness that the world puts on the topic,
but depression is a disease that’s looked over often.
So please stop talking about you getting in trouble.
there are much worse consequences down the path you want to follow.
i love you
Jun 2019 · 125
Scared of flying
Bummer Jun 2019
I'm loosing sleep to runways, and following signs, as my head is split open by bright florescent lights,
and these long linear hallways filled with leather on chairs provide shelter to all of the wolves in suits and ties.

I try to call you but nothing is there
I try to call you because I'm getting scared.

My hands start to shake and strangers start to pass but I act like I'm fine just to make it home,
my feet become more heavy and your texts become shorter while I wait to fly home to feel just as alone.

Airports are lonely, but it's better than home.
Jun 2019 · 382
Caffeinated Melancholy
Bummer Jun 2019
The pitter patter of rain fell onto the cracked cement,
as it mockingly aplauded our attempts to mend our selves again.
Outside of the coffee shop where the lovers go to cry,
a strong headed velvet stranger wiped the memories from my eyes.
While puddles formed and dams broke I found saftey in the unknown,
while storms raged and hurricanes sang I saw that I wasn't alone.
The street was a winding river that carried me miles and miles from saftey,
but this rainy coffee shop day dream made me feel a lot less empty.
Even when you're miles away, you still strike me with safety.
Bummer Jun 2019
As ****** as they treated me,
they are still a part of me.
They made me who I am,
And I guess I’m okay with that.
Bummer Jun 2019
I just changed half of my passwords to go **** yourself.
I don’t even know why I’m mad.
i’m always angry
Jun 2019 · 134
Untitled (3)
Bummer Jun 2019
I can turn a friend into an arch enemy in the timespan of a heartbeat
and I defend this broken promise with the bullets between my teeth,
I can bury all your secrets under lost and frozen ground,
and I will stitch my lips closed while keeping memories safe and sound.
I can strangle all the monsters that hide behind closed doors,
and I can be your demon hunter, I can make your ghosts sore.

I can be what you want, and I don’t care,
Just so long as you like me, so long as you’re there.
Jun 2019 · 244
Future Violence
Bummer Jun 2019
Summer slits throats.
But I’ll stitch you back up.
I’ll fill you with my blood.
I’ll take away your pain.
Jun 2019 · 113
I hate you
Bummer Jun 2019
We were so focused with ending the world that we forgot how pretty the flowers were
Jun 2019 · 115
Bummer Jun 2019
There is a paper thin line between bravery and Ignorance and I dance on this tight rope like a ******* circus act.
Jun 2019 · 185
Bummer Jun 2019
‘till death do us part or the flames of our home, a split or a distance has always been present.
     Dad started sleeping in the basement around 4th grade.
I think.
      I can’t remember when it started but I know it became normal.
      Now he works and complains and he never finds joy
       I wonder how long it will take before I end up like him.
        So I put verbal miles between us and hope that I end up okay.
      I collect records and CDs to distract me from the secrets behind closed doors
    But Kurt and Billie were only distracting to an extent.
     So I saved up all of my money, from pocketing moms dollar bills to mowing the lawn.
      And I bought a blue electric guitar with all two hundred and thirty of my dollars.
           It was storming the day I got it, and I have a fear of thunder, so I named it after my fear because it was loud as hell.
Cheesy, I know.
    I spent hours on end, day after day, cutting my fingers on the six nickle wound strings.
     And I got good.
I could play the **** out of that ******.
        I wrote a song called “he said” and I showed it to all of my friends.
I never liked the title but the song was okay.
       It was about a boy who ran from home because his family was broken.
       The first line was “I can only see out of one eye after I cut myself loose”
      I would change it every time I played it depending on the story I wanted to tell.
       Sometimes I would sing “after YOU cut me loose”
     I followed this with “ I packed my bags, left my ambitions on a noose.
I changed my hair, don’t want to know my reflection,
and you can’t gat lost without having direction.”
     It was edgy and it was catchy and marissa said she liked it.
         That made me happy.
       Since then my songs have been a good distraction from the fighting.
                    But they never helped me cope.
       And my friend daniel told me to never limit my art,
       He told me to branch out my creativity and he showed me his poems
   They were the depictions of a twenty five year old nobody
And I thought they were really good.
        I still read them and try to learn from them because I idolize his art.
      So I began writing poems in November because November makes me sad
     And I wrote consistently because I knew my friends would read them
    My friends wrote too, and they were always better than me
       I loved reading their art because we all struggle with honest expression
                               But lately I have stopped.
The distractions have stopped.
     The flames of my home are catching up and I don’t have the motivation to stop them with my art.
        So I’m sitting In my room listening to a nirvana record that my favorite person gave me.
     And I’m writing the odyssey of the teenage ghost
                         And I’m getting no answers.
                        And I’m getting nowhere far.
     And If you are reading this it means you can help.
       I don’t know how to end this.
I don’t know what to say.
     I'll try to keep writing, but these secrets are catching up.
      I don’t know how to end this, so I guess I just won’t.
    Just remember that I always thought-
i’m fine
Jun 2019 · 301
3 months sober
Bummer Jun 2019
I think that coffee helps.
It’s still really hard.
The only thing keeping me going is not letting you down.
Bummer May 2019
******* for calling my art “rants.”
For not being able to see past letters I paint on a canvas.
There is a certain spot where ***** like you will never be allowed,
and that’s between the lines of the words I write.
I’ll write all you ******* off as I write of all your ******* sins,
and I’ll wear another mask just like you want me to.
I build a home and you burn it.
I build a reputation and you stain it.
I’ll be a ******* carpenter of confidence, and you’ll still be my villainous vandal.

So *******.
And your scummy scandals.
And your insidious intentions.
And your daggers of delayed and destructive dialogue.

I’m over you.
Bummer May 2019
I steal your stuffed llama so you can yell at me, dummy.
I like it because you squint your eyes and get close to me to try and get it back.
And I call you pretty ad nauseam because if I’m going to annoy you I should at least do it with the truth.
I tickle you a lot because it makes you smile. I’m sorry. I know you hate it but it’s so ******* adorable.
I annoy you because I love you.
And I really love to annoy you ;)
May 2019 · 246
One sided
Bummer May 2019
Maybe it’s just me.
But our talks feel one sided.
I truly believe that conversation is what keeps bridges strong.
But bridges take two people to hold up.
idk. maybe it’s just me
May 2019 · 437
Death is in my head
Bummer May 2019
Put a gun in your mouth and then ask if I’m okay.
It’s hard to speak, isn’t it? When death is in your head
And by the way, no.
I’m not okay.
I’ve had a gun in my mouth ever since my grandfather died.
The gun keeps me from talking and sounding insane, but I still write of death every single ******* day.
And It’s not because I’m suicidal.
It’s not because I’m edgy.
I’m just scared.
I don’t want to leave nothing behind.
idk. i’m just scared
Bummer May 2019
I can’t tell you why I’m writing this.
I can tell you that it feels right.
I’m listening to your record to get a feel for you and I’m lighting coffee scented candles to help me miss you more clearly. I’m scared to write.
I miss you so much sometimes.
Even when you’re right next to me.
It’s annoying.
I always doubt myself around you.
I think you think I call you pretty too much.
You are so ******* pretty.
I feel distant, but then you look up at me and I’m reminded that I am an idiot for missing someone so near to me.
Then I think of how ******* lucky I am.
And how perfect you are.
And I go home and light candles and write of how I wish I had the guts to say “I love you.”
And how I wish I had the guts to believe that you would say it back.
You can call me a coward for putting it in writing, but it’s still true.
I love you.
May 2019 · 323
I wrote a poem
Bummer May 2019
I wrote a poem about you but I lost it.
I wrote a poem about you but it got ruined in the rain,
I wrote a poem about you but I forgot it.
I wrote a poem about you but it brought too much pain,

I wrote a poem just for you but I got scared.
I wrote a poem just for you and then I wrote an excuse,
I wrote a poem just for your where I declared.
But I know you’ll never read it so let’s call this a truce.
it was long and sweet but i don’t think you will see it.
May 2019 · 277
Total miss
Bummer May 2019
I don’t mind that you didn’t hear it.
Or that you chose not to hear it.
Either way it still stands true.
I’m sorry if it bugged you.

But I would be lying if I said otherwise.
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