typing is hard

hands-down
She was the first love
I have ever had

and Her face
still comes to me
in my dreams.

It's not me,
it's Bukowski.

******* all,
constant readers.

I love me
for what I am.

I hate me
for what I'm not.

I have so much hatred
pent up inside

but I don't know for whom
or even why.

ʇɥƃıɹ ʇou ʇsnſ s,ʇı 'ƃuoɹʍ ʇ,usı ʇɟǝl

Continuously loathing the longing I feel
for the people I'm the most afraid of.

wow writing is so cool
just knowing you're reading this
is the key to making stool.

I just **** these words
out of my keyboard.

I think she forgot to look both ways
before crossing my mind one day,
for now she is but a bloodstain
upon my memory.

I feel she was beaten to death,
one brutal pulse at a time,
by the last heart attack
that I suffered.

But sometimes the daydreams take
me away from this atmosphere,
and the shadows from Saturn's rings
form her name in space.

As I spill my coffee,
alone.

This website ***** golf ***** through a garden hose.

When I stop
to read the signs
I can feel them
reading me instead.

I miss my truck and
I guess a piece of me
still don't give a ****
about the rest of me.

But that's not true,
I'm trying to change
these soiled linens
on my bed of rage.

Let the dust settle now,
I'm approaching the age
where time grabs hold
and ceaselessly shakes.

I hate.

a line
in a circle
in a triangle
on her skin

and the kind of pink
that makes me want to sin

From the time we meet,
I want you to forget me.

And the reasons we seek,
will make you regret me.

A-l-l-o-w
m-e
t-o
s-p-e-l-l
i-t
o-u-t
f-o-r
y-o-u.

what's it really matter though?

Puddle of shade, both
cool and damp,
I darkle
in the dwindling day.

But a shadow,
is all I am.

Cast forth
by the sun,
as it sets on the man
I once was.

Maybe I'll read a book
Or play some tetris

Ain't need to say it,
I'll let my actions
Speak for themselves.

That's all that really matters anyway.

hahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhaha­hhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahh­aahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaa­hhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahh­ahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhah­ahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahah­haahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahha­ahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaah­hahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahha­hahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahhahahhaahha

See, I think it's key
but she sees it differently
because hypothetically
it could be a liability,
that is, this honesty,
because maybe truth can be
painful it seems
and that will only lead
the pain to breed
and somewhere in-between
that golden honesty
can become a sheath
to house a blade honed keen
we use to cut each other deep.

Best left behind,
that's what I've found.

Sometimes if you can't understand why,
then just maybe
it's best left behind.

Carry me yonder,
my stubborn stride.
For the past, and all it's burdensome belongings are
best left behind.

You think so?
Because I don't.

In fact I try so **** hard
not to.

The cans dry me out,
the brandy's got me hung up
and sober from the relentless lust,
and for the first time in a few weeks
I can smell the putrid way it reeks when
my lips crack and leak liquid copper
all over that loud and sour smile
I wear plastered on my cheeks.

Held true an honest sword, never.

Yet still a firm grip persists
from a grudge long clenched.


Gleaming and bitterly cold,
this sharpened-heartstring blade.
Forged from flesh betrayed,
handed down through ages of old.

I wish to burn
I live to die
I yearn to drown
in flooded light

I see the end
I hear a cry
The taste of copper
blood that's mine

Oh, I smoke too much?
Maybe you breathe too much.

Never been quite sure
where it all ends,
whether it be down in Hell
or up in the Heavens.

Don't matter much to me
you see, 'cause
I got friends in both places.

As hard as I try
to ignore that crumbling keystone,
I'm still painfully aware
that the arch will soon come crashing down.

I wonder if when that happens
I'll have the audacity,
and the brazen cowardice,
to act surprised.

To feign knowledge.
To play a selfish fool.

The silence was deafening
and the atmosphere was palpable
when first I laid eyes upon her.

Learning the language
of recycling

I now speak in clinks
and broken bottles

Ninety-one

They're still highways
That take you here,
But they seem less so.

Somewhat more like trails,
A hardpan of sorts,
Beaten through the hills.

They're still streetlights
That bring you to a stop,
Painting the wet streets in red.

Somewhat more like a twin dusk that
Demands hesitation, and patience,
To wait for the green dawn.

I've calluses from working,
but writing always leaves me
with a couple fresh blisters.

yeahyeahyeahdude
forsure

Father had a rotary,
Whereas I favor flat four
But when Pap has a V8
I cain't argue no more.

Birthdays won't be the same

heheh...
hahahahahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Mandatory.

These eyes, mirror child,
glassy in your head,
are rivers flowing inwards,
towards knowledge of the dead

Your hands, running wild,
under the sheets of your bed,
as creased lips spit words,
you've never before read

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