JLB - Hello Poetry

JLB Jan 2012

Dignity?

Like mourning bells ringing,
I woke to hear trumpets playing taps,
Next to a funeral casket.
I observed quietly,
With some foreign melodies filling the void between my temples.
Showing disregard out of mere respect,
Really.

Not for myself,
Certainly.

For I was as dead as the corpse I was grieving.
Falling into my fog again, screaming the names of ex-lovers

Over and over and over.

Needing infatuation
On uneven planes of judgment,
As if I were seeking insight from an invalid.

But there was a time when I lacked even more
Than at that loathsomely lonesome moment.

And it went slithering on inside of the void
Like some ******* disease that was ripping the holy living **** out of my heart.

Seeing the casket lower
Under a cascade of flowers,
My temples went silent,

The melodies burned away like thousands of distant cinders,
And their voices occupied the void, as if my mind was their soapbox.

JLB Jan 2012

Ya Just Can't Win.

Feeling weak.
Like I am the loser,
Because I care.

JLB Jan 2012

This is it.

All I want
From you

Is me to be
Enough.

JLB Jan 2012

Fear so often compromises happiness...

Simply enjoy the present,
As if the pending weren't impending.

JLB Jan 2012

early, morning | chronicles.

I’ve been waking up early lately Not intentionally, though the days do seem longer It makes me wonder what my body is scheming It has plans for me of which I am unaware I wish I knew them Then maybe I wouldn’t get up so reluctantly, guzzle black coffee, and sit here while some arbitrary words unfold in my mind The usual I feel the urge to record them It’s like psychological regurgitation, this typing I suppose it’s cathartic Worthless probably, otherwise But it’s the only thing other than running and smoking which keeps me sane I’m addicted to dopamine and now I’m down my usual quota because my *** life is at a standstill Maybe that’s why I’m up so early ****. I feel psychotic at times like this I know I’m not but my observations of others’ behavior tells me otherwise They’re happy, or at least seemingly so Or, at least they have the nerve to ***** about how sucky their life is out loud for everyone to hear Which isn’t getting them anywhere I, on the other hand just sit here quietly and write about it Which isn’t getting me anywhere either so why the **** am I waking up so early, I mean ****.
At least let me sleep in.

JLB Jan 2012

Working Class.

The foundry is wet and frothy with felons like you.
They all say you’re not a bad guy, but your breath reeks of Grey Goose,
Your eyes are wild, and your morals are loose,
But I also hear that you have enough heart to share between two.
It wasn’t hard to tell the meager malignant magicians from the brutally bruised and the blue.
You always told me that was true.
Yet, I feel melancholy now that I’ve spoken with this lowly American middle class few.
I pray their sweat will count for something worth more than the products they produce.
Their dime will only go as far as a brick and a bottle of juice,
What will come of such men, I haven’t a clue.

JLB Jan 2012

Anarchial Rant

Let me tell you something:

I have more to feel, and to express, and to share
Than these social peripheries will hold,
Let alone could let disperse amidst the insipid fog of this air.
See, it’s you who’ve all caught me in this ******* snare.
Thus, let it be known, to those who are so bold
So as to assess me falsely,
That there is far more to see
Than the sheer surface of me.
There is more passion
And far more complexity,
Than many care to realize.
And if you disagree,
Then let the forbidden sirens sing a cacophonous reprise
For my fellow misfits who follow their hearts, and their will to be free.
Our passions will surge like psychedelic smoke as we rise.
**** all the rest and their soul’s reciprocity.
It will be their demise.