The head of Caesar,
with drops of rain,
and drops of defeat.

my head hurts,
I feel sick, and
I’m starting to get a bad
coarse cough.

As I walked out the door,
it was like a scene from a movie.
A 1950’s french new wave film.

There she was, out of nowhere,
a beautiful brunette with a
cigarette in her mouth and
she stands there right in from of me wearing
a purple dress.
why don’t more woman wear dresses?
those skinny legs.
The sexiness lied in the way she lit that cigarette.
The head goes slightly down and she lights up and walks off.
I’m a fast walker, so I pass her, and as I pass her
I think.
-*******, whoever is getting that tonight
is one lucky *******.

I felt good and was smiling,
smiling at the people,
mostly the girls.

you know the pretty ones.

when you feel good,

you don’t want to hide from the pretty ones,

you look at their bombing blue eyes and smile and say hey.


smiling at the people who I
usually can’t stand,
i don’t like them and I don’t
want them around.

I felt good, not beating myself up
over nothing.
the mind was finally at its edge of peace.
The craziness has faded out of my heart
and now maybe I can love again.

In the news,
a man beats a dog with a hammer,
and it seems the rapes and the killings
didn’t make the deadline and
were cut out for that day.

Money drains too quickly,
and why do the bad things
in life attach to me?
the drinks drain quickly,
but I’m the only one
draining them.
After my fifth ****
in my broken down bathroom.
I look in the mirror and feel
good and scared and *****.

the floor has  a bright **** stain
circle in the semi middle.
and the toilet never flushes
properly.

my sister is dead,
and that hit me hard.
my baby sister is dead
and that got to me.

I ached for death too when it
happened.
got depressed.
Wrote poems that would’ve
put me in a psych ward.

No angels tonight in heaven.
No heaven at all.
just the night sky,
the night and I alone tonight.

I could never stand the snow,
it’s nice to see sometimes,
but it’s never good to feel.

Winter becomes a dark sad time,
and the people get fat.
The snow adds more work
into my life, and I never want to
work, I rather sit on the couch
and then jump up quickly, walking
quickly to my room to write
another mighty bad poem.

Quickly I type it before it leaves my head,
when it leaves it never comes back.
The one week in the dead winter cold. I had a poem in my head,
and I had nothing to write with.
I was going crazy, ahhhhh…
but I FOUND ONE!
and I ripped a blank page
from the book I was reading.
finally letting it out,
finally relaxed.