I cut an apple blossom from the tree
and laid it out for her,
there was still some pollen residue on it and the branches were shaking from the wind.

she saw it and smiled, and I knew It was better than any of the cards.
be real,
don't try

it hurts

so much there's a tear in this heart

So much the claws come clawing

So much

the knees dont bend



So much the surprise is apathy and the face is demented like rot on a lung



I hang my head inside. I wrap up the good ones who wont go. Free as ever.

- you

It's never about writing that one immortal poem,
because believe me I've written a few
And the feeling never lasts
It's about writing a forest that some people hopefully decide to get lost in so they can find themselves on the
other side

I don't count the page.
Folded in numbers, frail and benign
Look to see what you've written
And what really matter s

This is not for you

This is not for your ears.


Hide away in the cellar

Play mercy

And ragtime witch pop.

We drag our sins across looming

Seas.
9p00

Crying when you haven't cried in months feels amazing and euphoric
It wouldn't be nearly as good if it happened every day
I really needed that

This is like my journal now haha
The dove swims
upstream

000+00p000


Sit down

     Lay down

the bag and collect your payment.

Who are these people

Suitcase full of stuff lungs full
Of residue
Off a cliff the rocks sit and pearly doves make their nests it's
too late

one day I'll be gone and we'll both be free

Why do some people in their
Poems suddenly talk like they're 18th century
Aristocrats?

I merrily stroll for thy love as truth is bequeethed upon me,
Strudle fruit like wine I digest for I am
Famished

Do they send it by mail too?
Indubitably

put on this planet to suffer, there's no poetry in the silence.
  just an aching like a broken clock and a heart which
slowly
rusts

feeling pretty manic right now maybe its because I haven't done anything of interest today.
scorpions settle in the eyes of traitors alone with rotten bananas that we do not discard unless poisoned
my
neighbor is spraying his house with a hose trying to wash off bird ****,
and I see him
65
with rainbow crocs and a ponytail as he huddles over his hose and sprays and he plays grateful dead
  and a waft of *** smoke comes out of his smelly garage in the saharan heat.
the tank top sitting like a used up napkin in a deli with green splotches of
life.
old timers used to be interesting but now they're hippies.
so it takes 5 minutes  to bake a hot pocket-
  the end of the world is
  now

I remember the nights in paisley shirts with my friends
Matt and Nate driving to San Diego and LA and Frisco and playing old velvet underground tunes or originals about hopping trains or Eliot Smith.
I miss those days, and I remember the scorched guitar that we got from a burned down house that still played perfectly and that we named Lucille. Everybody was awestruck by that guitar.
And I remember sipping beers by the Volvo at 1am laughing and kissing drunk girls who faintly cared for the music, but it was all about the music, ALWAYS about the music. And the crowds would applaud and we would fight on stage and flip tables like idiots and get kicked out, then inevitably park outside a knoll and stare at the timeless sky.
those days were formative and made men into men. Meandering along lost roads searching for purpose when everything seemed so bleak. We didn't know the direction, it merely manifested itself in front of us like ethereal plains, and when times got tough we stood tall,
when there were only a few options
we stood tall,
When the flame was all but extinguished,
we stood tall.
It was our only choice, no one taught us anything,
the pursuit towards glory was only a dream
but we chased the glimmer into madness

It's getting hard to live
When I can't even make up my mind
To exist

You get what you give
It's no use tryna make it out alive

Don't forsake me
Let me be
I'm riding this wave
Into uncertainty
With my eyes closed
Waiting for the call



I fold my head in my hands
And pray to eternity

I wanna make my way into the callous air

And see

We're all connected one away or another. If we're all essentially energy in a limitless plane just know that fetus whose brain is suctioned out is you. That ****** thats beaten and laying helpless in a gutter is you. That man ****** the child is you. The patient gouging out his own eye is you. That dictator starving the populous is you. I'm you writing this. You're me reading it. You're everyone and everyone is me. That itch in your arm is the millions as they decay, and the trillions as they echo back from the void; we see the limitless expanse. We feel the emptiness. There's no escaping god when you always were God

I then went back up stairs and continued to knock the door for 2 mins and yell as loud as I could; no response so I charged through the door and the hinge flew off and the frame splintered in pieces and I grabbed the **** from the throat and pulled him to the floor from the toilet and he gasped for breath.
"You ******* OD'd you *******" I said to him.
This **** is grey, and they don't care. I just prolonged the inevitable and he was angry,
Maybe because I broke the door maybe because it didn't matter

Never trust someone who doesn't know the difference between jail and prison.
If they tell you they went to prison for shoplifting, or drunk and disorderly they are full of ****;
especially
if they write numerous poems about it. there's only one poem to write,
and it's about sitting in your bed frame watching jerry springer.
The rest are breakfast poems
Stop lying

Losing my grasp
Agonizing over nothing,
Clinging to a crumbling piece of debris,
I am but a single period within your time.
I am a lonely cloud on a hot day.
I run amok when everyone is smiling.
I am a broken hand and a broken tooth
What I am is the same as yesterday.
Goodbye

Why am I laughing with myself right now
It's like that scene in the Joker
It's all so funny
And I hear a couple *******.
I throw an orange at the wall and **** out the window
.
Cut me up with your knife,
I've got the scars to cry over and damp lamps do not forget.

3 stories down and it's over and I HOPE it's
messy

this is a hunger poem ,

    my stomach is rumbling , and the coyote pelt with its whiskers sits there staring
with empty cut out eyes in the dining room. it was $22 bucks on eBay;
  the stool is twisted at its ankles
and I call for no-one's help.

My nephew has been diagnosed bipolar and so I calm him down;
the rain falls gently on the porch outsides and I drive to a
gas station.

$5 in nickels, the pump greased with sanitizer, I squirt it in.
     a  10th of a tank, and a 10th of
  human heart -- rolling into a dusty willow patch and making no amends.
we all must die
sometime

your tears hurt me
and I can only watch.
I can't force something out of pity,
it needs to be real and right now it feels like obligation,
like something preconceived

I don't know what to do anymore, but you keep making the same mistakes over and over allowing yourself to feel such pain
over nobody.
dispel the myth,
there's nothing behind these curtains

Youve been stuck In a lift we've been trying to reach you for hours
The power has been cut
And the doors wont pry

  What is your name, do you feel Ill?
Where are your parents?
What do you do?

Press the button to the bottom floor,
And be on your merry way
There is no resolve

Flooded by false hope,
the flowers can faintly breathe;

Is think about yourself.
I don't write this.  I don't need to know why    I just need proof that it was there, and actually lived, not a fading shadow or a lost thought

She's a new mother
and she's a beauty

Full of anxiety and uncertainty
I kiss her slow
  and feel the etchings on her arm

We drink a little bit and then do some other stuff.
The TV is annoying so I turn it off

When the day it awakens I remember
That
I never got to meet her,
I only dreamed of her and that's where she'll stay because I don't
get to meet any *******
   manic pixie

I got a 40 oz, and listened to music on my way there. I bought it and asked how he's doing. He said 'fine'. I actually wore a mask this time, then I drove down the road and saw a downed tree and some rocks.
It was cloudy and grey, and devoid of life and intention and it felt fine. It felt natural like my imagination made
reality
But I always vanish in my dreams and I've just started sleeping

I can't fight it anymore , send all your messages;
I'll like and comment and repost, I'll pose in front of a cucumber with the lilting light as it kisses my cheek in front of a bank,
I'll suntan on an Indian gutter as flows of sewage
dance across my back;  
I'll stare at sunsets as they explode in grey nights. I'll cry to myself as your fingers pulse in ***** cement ;
I'll stand naked as you call me a
**** up . I'll keep my phone on silent and reply to a select few - and plug in the modem as it dies down and turns blue. freedom without fear -  the sliding carcass makes it way somewhere in the east -- love grows
in surprising places, mostly piles of ash

Your talk isn't enough to sustain me
I can't feel the warmth of words or their touch
At the end of the day i live in a ****** apartment in the middle of nowhere
With barely any food in the fridge with a cat that doesnt work and a car that is on its last legs with no insurance and am unemployed and losing my mind and sit under a dull lamp with nowhere to go
Thanks for having tried, but it is an illusion, and it is a facade and I'm not playing anymore, the game is
Rigged and hopeless, and all I have left in my cellar is some
rope

Too much pride to go around you beat the faithless
Hanging by their nails as the kaliadiscope bleeds; parasite

To know the road is to know eternity, indoors.
Faces marked by suffering, i fold out the blade
Color 2, fifty in pairs, don't hang yourself like a pale
lung

bass and feel
based
in grounding
air tight no room for sin
it goes up and down
loud and slow
hot and cold
blue streaks of fire
I wipe my face of sweat
and needles circumvent me- lasting til dawn,
faces
scrawled on ash silk, there's 14 candles and one still burning. tomorrow is yesterdays history

I used to care so much about my hair, having
the perfect fade, if  it grew too much I'd freak out etc, etc.
But this quarantine has made me realize I really don't care.
it's just hair .

I'm growing it out like  Jim Morrison ,
    the end

Stop liking my throw away poems, you might as well just tell me you don't care what I say
Now this is a poem

Flapjacks and cream
Flapjacks and cream
The lonely mouse skitters into an old boot

beautiful like a flash in the pan, beautiful like a light in the fog,
beautiful like
a tree on a hill,
beautiful like a skull
with bugs,
beautiful like a spider ******* the fluids out of a grasshopper
and feeding its young,
beautiful
like inheriting your dead mother's fortune
beautiful like walking along a cobble stone path in July when the lilacs are dead
you are beautiful
like a
word

I hope future undisturbed, beautiful generations with their rich communal bonds and time- honored traditions and ceremony and purpose  may look back and only scarcely begin to imagine how perverted and degenerated everything got before it was too late,
But it had to happen, and Im glad it will all have  been a bad dream

I don't want to love anymore,
because at some point, someone wants something that the other person can't
provide

it's never enough.

'I don't talk enough',
' I don't make enough',
'my friends are annoying' , ' I had previous girlfriends prior to you that make you jealous or something'
'I'm too affectionate'
'I drink too much' , 'you do this, you do that'
I'd rather just not be a part of it.
you want to be 'friends', but you know that could never happen.

there's nothing to gain by friendship, you need my
heart

Rolling hardship up a hill like a hungry peasant

I lay my offering at the temple.
So very lost,
I see no reflection, have we all been
duped

Is this a poem?

Or
   is
  this

a poem?



I received a $2,142 return on my taxes and they are due by July.

I
  received a
$2,142
dollar
  return on my taxes and they are due
by
      July


This whole art form could be arbitrary.

were my forum posts on seedy websites
poems?

she's finally gone,
and I'm happy for her.
I felt like I was an abusive owner to a kitten feeding it nasty leftovers and barely attending to it when just over the fence was a loving home that would have gladly taken her in and provided the care she deserved. She's probably sad now, but it'll just be for a little while.
sometimes the grass is greener, and I'm glad
she'll be able to find that out,
and find out that she can be loved, just not by the likes of
me
So long, it was something...
<3

I just forget how to be myself if I feel like someone
cares about me
it makes me feel like there is something
wrong

I thrive on self-sabotage,it's my only way forward by
following the smoke

I get tired of writing about me all the time
Because how much can a man *****?
So dig up some dirt and clean a car,
Don't cry, don't be a sad sack.
Put those dead roses in a vase and pretend they're alive, at least they smell good

I just lost another poem by my finger sliding and hitting a button oh well it doesn't matter. It was ok, I liked the description of a certain woman's hair as 'death' and my heart like a pale sepiatone.
Anyway you win or not or whatever.
I think I'm a loser, or just really don't care anymore.
What's winning if it costs you everything and it's for someone else? Get the **** out of my life.
I hope it's sunny tomorrow so I can feed some ******* ducks in the park

blah blah blah

the enlightened shrine sits atop withered disaster zones like toppled fortunes among
Hebrew scholars.

Donald trump.

a wind storm overtakes the nursery and a thousand perish like sickly flies-
2am in baltimore; the newscaster speaks
"IT'S A TOUGH ONE"

stained glasses with velvet tips, you bleed out into a cavernous emptiness;
if only
  lies made for better entertainment- instead we
die mercilessly and
unloved, and
   un inspired

I just want to live inside poetry or in the night of a Van Gogh painting.
Everytime I step out into the world and am greeted by a sad cashier's face or a **** lining the cement or a guy throwing a slurpee into a schoolyard or politician talking at a camera or a lady digging for coins or a bomb exploding in a plaza it makes me realize what I hate about the world,
It's the world

you could write 20,000 poems and you would still be boring to an insulting extent.
Ishmael
wrote 1 millions words
and still no one cares . I don't count my turds as art either, or it would be up in the millions now too.
be honest with yourself . it's time to get a job as a transcriptionist
at the
  law firm. they're in the billions of
words

just go **** your Egyptian kiss *** lover boy
I don't care.
You'll have to do a lot more to ever make me jealous,
like leaving me alone
when I need space

my dad is so proud,
he hammered some plywood against his deck
to sort of act as make shift walls

it looks ameteurish and cheap and I don't quite understand the purpose,
but I love seeing his enthusiasm

and after a while it did become cozy. the thin, wobbly plywood
added charm, and my morning coffee seemed much
warmer
I sip slowly, and a bird arises from its nest of twigs

Don't ever fault yourself for having loved too much
That's like faulting the sky for having gave a desert too much rain to see if at least
one flower could
grow

These eyes have seen enough

You wait in a hall for your lunch
It's so so
The lights of Tokyo blind you
And your guts are cancer

Smoking in a balcony, I don't wanna slip,
The stars are history that we swear by
I used to be
A child full of
love

a nameless poem as you skulk around in your winter coat;
running water
with a rusty faucet.

He got his first tattoo; so did the mail clerk, and
lady  making stew.  We peel away our desires.
last I tried, I looked up to a haze and stole my own dreams . IF you want to speak unwind your tongue.
fissures
  on a back
  like steely remains.  Demons may only dissolve in cool
lava ,
beat away the forces that keep you repressed. & Don't apologize
ever again