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3.4k · Dec 2016
How To Never Stop Being Sad.
Michael Rucker Dec 2016
Look into your mirror,
bask in the essence of your aging body.
Notice yourself become more engulfed by your own life,
while becoming more and more detached,
from every one, and every thing around you.

Go to school and sit alone,
find the hallway in the isolated part,
just to eat lunch there.
Avoid your girlfriend's calls
and tell her "you've just been busy."

Become frustrated with everyday tasks,
and fall into a manic state of depression when you realize,
that you're the reason nobody comes around anymore.
Repeat the same song every day on your afternoon commute to work,
as the dreary humming of the melody carries each and every burden.

When people offer you help.
scoff at the idea and deny it.
Turn down every opportunity they throw your way,
shut out the world for a chance to finally be alone.
Fall absent of the world, conjure your body to glass.

Start to become infatuated with pretty faces,
and base your self-esteem on ****** expressions.
Smoke cigarettes on your walks down to the store,
then come home and write about how the cute clerk smiled at you
for just a single moment in time.

Buy a twelve pack every day,
sit on the same couch you placed in your dim apartment five years ago.
Drink every last beer until you're seeing double.
While you struggle to stand and slur every word you speak,
call your ex and tell her how leaving was "a mistake."

Cry beneath your blankets every night,
with the same pain in your chest you've had for ages and
lull yourself to sleep with the sweet whisper of inebriation.
A tribute to Dandelion Hands.
1.4k · Jul 2016
Rosemarie Pumo
Michael Rucker Jul 2016
She left, and didn't come back.
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
Another day on the job.
The typical 7 to 3 I work, day in and day out.

Expressions to all here on this morning,
composed of stone.
A break in time, where the sun has yet to rise,
and we all gather, to watch the sky.
703 · Jul 2016
Where does time go?
Michael Rucker Jul 2016
It slips between the fingers, like grains of sand.
Time, becomes lost once dedicated to the catastrophe called responsibility.
Do we ever seem to catch up with it, or does it simply catch us?
Perhaps, just perhaps, time is an assailant, a provider, and a blessing.
Disappearing right before your eyes, fading into something close to if not exactly, nothingness.
676 · Sep 2016
Marijuana & Poetry
Michael Rucker Sep 2016
A forced experience at my laptop, spent well wasted.
596 · Aug 2016
5:40 PM
Michael Rucker Aug 2016
I never considered myself anything significant.
Instead, I brought myself down.
Never letting up, and dragging everyone with me.
But the point of it all was unclear.
It seems to me now,
that I had wasted so much time.
But for what?
I'll never have an answer.
It could have been the drugs,
the overwhelming ego I had,
or just the sensation of suffering.
But I wasted my time.
585 · Oct 2016
An Old Excerpt From Tumblr
Michael Rucker Oct 2016
My sea of love had only been superficial words just as any other of the teenagers out there. Something that faded away with the lapse of a few seconds. I could keep the facade up to keep two people happy (myself and my significant) but why do such an empty thing when truly it means nothing to myself or the other. Sure at the moment it feels nice to be told you’re beautiful, but self doubt floods into the adolescent mind inevitably, due to weak individuality and self-assurance. This is why love is so short lived among us all. We depend on each others thought out contributions to make each other happy out of insecurity of the others unhappiness and dissatisfaction, rather than figuring out what we can do on our own without worry of them being happy.We push to the back of our minds the fact that knowing what we do naturally creates happiness.
568 · Feb 2016
Piece.
Michael Rucker Feb 2016
I understand why time began to fall apart in my hands.
Not only did I lose the bits and pieces of the reality I held but I lost myself in the mix.
Separated myself from everything.
Left everyone behind.
To start a new beginning,
and lead a new life.
Not only was I pushing everyone away,
but everything as well.
My family began to mean nothing,
and the friends I had held so dearly lost meaning too.
My life had lost meaning,
my lost soul,
stuck inside a fish bowl,
no depiction of time,
no sign of life,
just a hollow shell.
Revolving around my own personal hell.

Michael Rucker: February 22nd 2016: 10:21pm
514 · Nov 2016
Untitled
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
Self-righteous desire to speak,
seeming impossible upon "genuine."
The overbearing stature of this burden,
bared like a cross, hearts and sleeves.
Behold, the nuisance choking graciously on falsetto cries.
locked within skull cavities.

Mutuality funding mindless self-indulgence.
498 · Apr 2016
She.
Michael Rucker Apr 2016
I slept easier knowing I had you at my side, I guess the point I'm trying to get across is that I don't want you to go...
I  wore us like the heart on my sleeve and I can't sleep at night knowing it's gone...
I wish it had never left. I wish you never left. I'll hold on to you, until time takes me.
491 · Oct 2016
My cousin.
Michael Rucker Oct 2016
"I am Christ."
A sacrilegious conviction, caused from the facade "LSD" impends.
Years of compliant living,
complacence behind their backs,
resenting every holy being,
yet now you are "Christ."
"The Messiah Complex" heeds your statement,
along with "Delusions of Grandeur,"
and "Schizophrenia."
481 · Nov 2015
Ranting (monologue)
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
I spent most of my time on empty. I wanted to hold their hands forever, I wanted to keep them all close, I wanted to never let go of the things I loved. Abandonment was what my life consisted of, the false pretense of sticking around but only leaving when reality was the inevitable. Things fell apart, every morning on the couch, every afternoon in the home my family separated in, every evening in the shower. Countless days, seemingly endless nights, profound dreams of a future only torn apart by the bare hands of myself, my own self destruction, my own rampant mindset, fragments of a once bright child tossed into the river of disease and illness. Eight years passed by, the only thing still on my mind was demise. Things kept breaking, vases smashed upon the floor, my own body limp on the floor of the school bathroom from a failed overdose attempt. The life I led until now had only been something empty, still empty. As a child, joy was once a part of me, I didn’t seem to care much about the world but only the direct objects around me; toys, books, countless trading cards my family carelessly brought me to feed my addiction at such a young age, little did I know it would turn into drugs, a daily basis of wake up and smoke, drink in the afternoon, and crash by midnight only to do it all over again like some lifeless zombie. My life was empty for the last eight years, and still continues to be that way. Even now, as I sit here writing this ****, drunk, trying to fathom and conjure some deep emotion only felt in such a way I could, life is still an empty piece of me just as the rest of the pieces are as well. Depressing as it might be but it’s just become a way of life I can’t seem to change and sadly I’d love to feel some sort of genuine joy. I’d like to feel a part of me be whole again, but after years of abuse to myself, the only thing I feel is a burden of past mistakes and the anticipation of millions to be made through my entire lifetime if I even make it to have an entire lifetime. It hurt so badly waking up in the morning, regretting every second of the previous day, finding the flaws in every sentence spoken the day before, looking back at every scene as if it were some failed attempt at a decent reality; every part reflecting on some broken child, surrounded by only distance from others, miles at least. It makes me sick to see people happy as awful as that sounds, it breaks me because I know I don’t have that, I don’t have the comfort of a loving mother, the happiness of a decent relationship where I feel connected in every way. Instead it’s empty, each and every day, more than the last, constant disconnection from everyone, constant hate for the happy, constant emptiness. My life is something diminutive; idly moving along, seldom part of anything significant. It’s funny though, I had a lot of friends growing up. I had enough to go around, as a matter of fact. But just like anyone else, they left. My life has been nothing but abandonment, and it’s bent me, beat me down more than it ever really had to, and I never knew what to do. Today, I woke up, to turn over a new leaf, but just as any other day, those plans crumbled under the weight of my own instability. Every part of me broke over the last few years. I’ll deal with it one day, I’ll put myself on the front lines of this self defeating war step up “as a man” and deal with myself. Give all of me, a shot at a decent reality. I’ve only wanted a place to call home.
478 · Aug 2016
When you left.
Michael Rucker Aug 2016
I had been stripped of my clothing.
Every part of me, bare.
Left feeling vulnerable,
like cattle,
stuck on some wide range.
The cold nipped at every part of my body,
turning the veins blue,
separating me from my extremities.

I could feel the frost bite.

I understood the barren wasteland.

I finally got past it.
476 · May 2016
Come back Rose...
Michael Rucker May 2016
I ******* love her....
She isn't coming back,
Any time soon.
I don't know what to do without her...
I love her so much,
She was the first beautiful thing that I've ever been caught on...
And I ******* love her...
456 · Nov 2015
2:07 Pm
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
I couldn’t get very far,
under the eyes of everyone else.
My own ambition torn between,
self-hatred and an unappreciated existence.
Severed happiness from the root,
broken free from significance.
Deemed myself unworthy,
of a life lead content,
but placed instead upon the embodiment,
of reprimanded enthusiasm,
regarding generalized animation.
432 · Nov 2015
11/28/2015
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
Exponentially changing,
moods beyond comprehension,
the causation of misery.
An existence unable to comprehend simplicity,
more so vacancy,
an inept social inability,
and somber eyes.
Barely alive,
selling off a sense of satisfactory,
though false smiles,
kind assurance,
and concealed self destruction.  
-Michael
Michael Rucker Oct 2017
My biggest fear is driving next to motorcycles,
so I hold my breath each time I do.
I come from a city that goes to bed at 11 p.m.
Where poverty never really hit our town very hard.
The street lights flicker on -- to keep everyone safe --
and the glow feels like home.

This is a beautiful place I live,
I've never seen a friend die, or encountered danger.
Only my friends and I causing trouble --
is the only adrenaline rush I've had.
"Bored" is the best way to describe it, if you ask me --
but the adults beg to differ.

I don't know if any other place was meant for me,
white walls block the view of a foreseeable change.
I'll have to leave to see.
Maybe one day.
432 · Mar 2016
Perfezione Dolce
Michael Rucker Mar 2016
She was much older than I.
Her backstory was much unknown to me, and it didn't matter at all,
what mattered was that she noticed my existence, the fact she's going out of her way to take a chance at something that could either be the biggest mistake of her life or something that could put a smile on her face for the last bits of her existence. It's a beautiful thing to see someone come out of their shell for another, even the slightest bit, and to see her do such a thing for a person like me was unbelievable. Speaking to me as if she cared about what I had to say and not just letting it go in one ear and out the other, but actually taking my words and holding onto them, giving me the light of day. Her insides are as beautiful as she is and the head that rests upon her shoulders is a gift to mankind itself. She is the epitome of unique and the essence of remarkable. A keen interest in her is all I've come to assume, drawn like a moth to a flame, the passion I hold onto for this individual is extravagance alone. She's what I've come to think of before I fall asleep, and the thought that becomes present in an unannounced manner. She's grown to be apart of my daily routine, and someone I'd like to keep around.

Perfezione Dolce
431 · Jan 2016
The Family
Michael Rucker Jan 2016
The living room was hostility's epitome,
a battle ground for verbal warfare.
It was toxicity to me,
while the fear of being present was just the coupling quality.
"Afraid" was only crossing my mind,
blending into the couch cushion was my strategy.
Unwelcome in my own home came to be the assumed thought,
backed with the dissatisfaction and inadequacy everyone put upon me.
No leeway to prosper,
and absolutely not a chance to live normally.

-Michael Rucker
428 · Apr 2017
Day 1
Michael Rucker Apr 2017
Today, the tress still swayed in the same direction.
Leafy palms, collectively natural shades of green.
The sun set in the same pattern of rise and fall,
yet still "playing god" over the scenery.
425 · Sep 2016
The Bonita film fest.
Michael Rucker Sep 2016
You see,

I'm a normal guy, who leads a normal life. But when we take a step back, we start to ask ourselves "what is normal?"

Defined by google, normal is to "conform to a standard."

But who makes this standard?
The Media.

See, through television, the radio, the internet, social media, etc. etc. we've been told that "This is what normal is, it doesn't change."

For a while this has been true, people of my generation especially. are aware but seem to still follow societal norms. They take in what the media has to say, and practically live by it. We have teenage girls starving themselves to be models, young men getting railed on ******* and alcohol, going out and being reckless, winding up dead, or hurting someone else, because of the media. We have these enabling parents, who all know that feeding this is wrong but still fall into it as well to make their kids happy.

There are people dying every day, but those who claim themselves as "men of god" living it up in a 3200sq ft home throwing their money away to the church. The best part about it, other people do it too, it isn't just some specific problem. We all do it, and we sleep like children at night.

Want to know what else is wrong?

The pharmaceutical industry, handing out "medication" like it's free.

Want to know what's worse?

Your child dying because of it.

Thanks, Mom.
415 · Jan 2017
3rd Degree Murder
Michael Rucker Jan 2017
To be honest, it's kind of a "blind distaste."
Resembling the last pill you swallow but gag on, for the simple fact it's "getting old."
It takes on the form of a psychological car crash,
no tame draw, only relentless disburse.
An art form content with an incomplete canvas.
Drunk nights, carrying a worn body down the hallway, stumbling over nothing.
401 · Sep 2016
Sundays At Melissa's
Michael Rucker Sep 2016
We are gathered here today,
in separate parts of the house,
taking part in some sort of mindless self indulgence,
not really gathered at all.

The repetition of foreign house music,
sun shining through what we call, "the blinds,"
and beer bottles scattered around the house from last night.
Four bodies, sick.

The laundry needed to be taken care of,
yet nobody had the drive,
nobody had the energy,
we were all sick.
399 · Jul 2016
Never Meant.
Michael Rucker Jul 2016
Does she sleep as much as me?
Does she spend as much time alone as I do?
Does she even think of me anymore?
Does she recall the moments on her bed?
Does she recall the first date?
Does she think about how much I miss her?
Does she even miss me?
Does she know that I go to sleep every night in pain?
Does she know that she's the one causing the pain?
Does she know that every time I see her I hold back tears?
Does she know that as much as I want to give up, I can't?
Does she know that I can't carry on like this?
Does she even care about me?
Does she even sleep anymore?
Does she look up at her ceiling and watch the days pass?
Does she wake up, as depressed as I am?
Does she remember that I'd give her my everything?
Does she simply block me out now?
Does she know that I can't live in this world?
Does she know she'll be in that suicide note?
She doesn't.
395 · Oct 2017
Tampa, Florida.
Michael Rucker Oct 2017
Jung Boulevard was the street that struck my chords.
The first time I saw her walking down the street,
her sisters were at her side.
I had them over for a "house warming" fire that night,
where the fire burnt out in twenty minutes,
and we all just sat in the cold with no words to share.

She knew she loved me in that moment,
and I knew I loved her.

Some nights her and I sat under the stars,
November cold kept us close.
We kept filling the air with empty words,
only begging to hear the lull of each voice.

The night we had *** in a candle lit room,
The time we came across the pack of dogs,
Waiting at the bus stop for you...
pieces of us.

The memory haunts me,
and I hope it haunts you too.
Michael Rucker Aug 2016
Visual projections, cast through my eyes.
Demons,
The ******,
Criminals,
Slaves of all nature,
Broken Individuals,
Torn families,
Victims...

All in my back yard.
366 · Jun 2017
I hate myself.
Michael Rucker Jun 2017
The sun shines every morning.
I dread waking up to watch it most days.
I'd much rather be sleeping.
Admiring the fantasy most associate as dreams.
I feel trapped in my relationship.
I feel trapped in Naples.
Only being nineteen,
I should have went to a university and made something of myself.
Instead, I'm stuck in the same ritual.
Cigarette after cigarette-- counting my days.
365 · Apr 2016
It began
Michael Rucker Apr 2016
It began at a young age.
The stillness of a room, beckoning.
Reflecting the essence of an expensive solitaire.
Even though ephemeral, quite ravishing in thought.

It began at a young age.
Watching them quarrel day in and day out.
Becoming observant of the atrocity seen as their marriage.
Aware of the covert countenance among them.

It began at a young age.
Presented the embodiment atop later years.
Transitory associations, paired with dissociation.
The distal end on a plain, lay I.
363 · Nov 2016
When I Listen To Rap Music
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
We put together pieces,
carry the weight we don't want to,
and break our backs.
We live to see our kids grow,
hope to fall in love,
and pray to god we don't stop moving.
Take a look at the way things are,
and tell me it isn't breathtaking.
Peer through your neighbors window,
watch the heartache when the father dies,
behold a child's face when they say "where's dad?"
Watch their neighbor,
the struggling mother with three kids and no husband.
Witness the man winning the lottery,
the woman being made C.E.O.
Look at this world and tell me what you see isn't beautiful.
Watch this world fall apart and be built again.
360 · Apr 2016
Near The Kitchen
Michael Rucker Apr 2016
The clock ticked,
on and on,
still set I,
the dining room table.
Around me,
movement,
still set I,
the dining room table.
360 · Dec 2016
Lazarus Syndrome
Michael Rucker Dec 2016
Waking up in the morning, to face hallway lights beaming through cracks in my door.
It's 6 A.M. and nobody has to work.
The sun isn't up yet.
Insect repellent, dousing the floors of the house.
My shoes were where I left them, last night.
357 · Jan 2017
Channel
Michael Rucker Jan 2017
I lose myself when in the rain, closing my eyes to wake. Water pushing against my blood vessels, crying for the pressure to cease. Black rings surrounding my ocular cavity, collapsing in the sand. Waves crashing, clouds rolling. The oracle speaks a message...
354 · Feb 2016
Rose Marie
Michael Rucker Feb 2016
Seeing you back in November
or was it October?
The details are too blurry to remember.
What I do know is that seeing you for the first time,
and hearing you as well,
put a smile on my face.
When you came around, I didn't know what to say.
But I knew we would be close.
I knew, that maybe by this time,
we would be friends at least.
I had no clue things would ever go this far,
I didn't think that lying on your bed would put you there with me.
In hindsight it was wonderful,
and even then it was as if time had come to a halt,
and for those brief moments I was there,
total bliss overwhelmed me and left me with a sense,
conjuring itself into "This is where I want to be."
In the comfort of your apartment,
under your roof,
simply sitting with you, and listening to your day,
listening to that beautiful northern accent that seems,
to italicize vowels with such effervescence.
I found comfort in your arms,
I found comfort,
in you.
That's where I want to be,
Rose Marie.
.
349 · Mar 2016
Thank you
Michael Rucker Mar 2016
I don't get on here to read what others write, i'll be the first to admit it in all honesty. I don't get on here to post and expect people to see what I write, and I'm not trying to make it as some poet. I am here to vent, to look for someone who can help, to help myself as well, this is my space where I can put my feelings into the open and nobody say a word about them. I love it endlessly. I believe this community is a beautiful one, so thank you for letting me open up here.
343 · Oct 2016
The Sun & The Slave
Michael Rucker Oct 2016
For me,
hope is a Friday afternoon at 3:30,
leaving 25th on White Blvd,
unloading the air compressor,
putting back the last "tear off" shovel,
hoisting my *** on the black lawn chair,
in the shop of Blackburn Roofing,
examining the stench of J.W. Craft,
forcing itself upon me,
waiting for my uncle to arrive with my paycheck.
337 · Apr 2016
Coupled
Michael Rucker Apr 2016
Coupled with cheap beer and cigarettes.
Refined to seldom notions unabridged.
Placed upon park benches, latent among nature's silhouette.

Coupled with gloom and recollective though.
Strings of the heart tattered.
Memory conceived, derived of past affair.
336 · May 2016
Rant
Michael Rucker May 2016
I loved when we first met. I felt like I was on top of the world. Sierra and I just broke it off and I was ready to move on and start again. You kept me on my toes and still do. But as of lately it seems like you just don't have time for me anymore. You're always working, you seems to hang all over Nick and move toward him, this whole week you've spent it telling me you can't spend time with me. When I see you at work, you're in awful moods and you give me this attitude like it's my fault or like I'm the person you want to take it out on. You hurt to be around now, I see you and it just makes me ache. I don't feel important to you, I don't feel wanted, I just feel as if I'm being put on the back burner, to be taken for granted and to let the *** boil over. I don't know what to do anymore. I started talking to Sierra a little bit, she tells me every day how she misses me, and to be honest when I talk to her I miss her as well. She never treated me how you do, she never took her anger out on me, we never fought, we never had days where we didn't want anything to do with each other, but I still left her for you. I left her at a chance at something maybe even better but what I got myself involved in has been nothing but fighting and drama. You always yell at me, you take all my words out of context and twist them around to make me the bad guy. You take your anger out on me, push me away when you're upset and do your best to keep your distance. I never thought I would come to say this but you're making me sad, you're taking the life away from me, you're just not what I thought you would. Now don't get me wrong, the sun sets and rises around you but *******, I'm just so sick of you treating me the way you do. It's not fair, I do my best to sit there and make you happy but you only throw things in my face and hurt my feelings. I don't know what else I expected though. I just figured things wouldn't be such a drag so often.
336 · Jan 2016
Help
Michael Rucker Jan 2016
Consider it a cry for help,
but the things I write have only been simple depictions of my mind.
Truly unstable,
completely unable to function within normality.
I'm a mess,
my mind in shambles.
It's sickening to wake up every morning this way,
atop a mountain of despair I built.
Secluded to my own suffering,
with no feasible way of escape,
my cries for help,
revolve around,
"I hate myself."

-Michael Rucker: Jan/24/2016 12:13am
333 · May 2017
My house.
Michael Rucker May 2017
The caged bird's whisper, white walls darken as the sun falls.
Carried myself across the hall, to watch another episode of family feud
like a typist ******* a keyboard.

Waking up to saliva on the denim couch
stumbling to my queen sized bed, wishing my sheets were less floral
another night spent
listening to the dusty box fan.
I took the time to write this when Zane and Eddie were visiting. It hurts to read it over again, but I hope the when someone see's it they know it was meant for them.
331 · Jan 2016
My condolences
Michael Rucker Jan 2016
I can't express the amount of grief I feel for even crossing that line with you. I know the relationship was new, but what I did was inexcusable, petty, and disgusting. You deserve so much more, you deserve someone who gives you their entire loyalty, not some ****** up kid who doesn't know who he is or what he wants from life. You deserve a guy who can take care of you mentally, emotionally, physically, and in every other aspect that needs nurturing. Sierra, you're an amazing girl with a heart of gold that I, in no way, deserve. You don't need my toxicity in your life and you don't need to know what happened, it's something i'll take to the grave and never let loose or forgive myself for either. I love you, but I've crossed that line and threw it all away right in the beginning. I'm so sorry you had to go through my problems with me and i'm so sorry you had to deal with me every day. You kept me up for a bit but I threw it away like some ******* *****. I'm sorry I ever cheated on you, I can't live with it. I can't live with myself....

-Michael Rucker
328 · Jan 2016
Deception
Michael Rucker Jan 2016
I hid behind my age,
depicting naive to those,
but steadily watching,
taking notes,
to promise myself never be like the rest,
to make plans,
and prosper as an individual,
despite others convictions.
I'm not going to be the kid begging for money,
or the angry pencil pusher,
even the stressed father.
None of it.
I won't let this world break me,
contrary to everyone else's beliefs.
I don't deserve to fall apart anymore,
and hopefully the day comes,
where I leave,
and don't come back.
321 · Nov 2015
November 26th, 2015
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
From my deepest conviction,
Emptiness,
Beyond comprehension.
Utterly undignified,
Severing simply,
Every tie,
Pushing away emotionally,
For the sole desire of absence.
Gathering ashes,
Tearing apart every piece of existence,
My own embodiment,
To this earth,
A gleaming sense of nothing.
Recklessly searching,
For someone to call something.
Blatantly false positivity,
Empty attempts to trick myself,
Into a sense of health,
Where I don’t hate,
Every part of every day.

-Michael Rucker
321 · Sep 2016
The Theme To The Movie Jaws
Michael Rucker Sep 2016
Her mind was that of a lost child.
She never really knew where exactly she were to be placed.
But, that was when I knew her.
That was when I had no idea what I wanted either.
I loved her though.
She always seemed to give off this sort of,
graceful radiance.
She was absolutely magnificent.
But that was when I knew her.
That was before she knew her place,
and before I knew my own.
That was before she found the many things I still search for.
Friends,
beliefs,
love.
Where she may be today,
and where she may be ever,
I wish the most beautiful fruit from her life.
The very life, she worked years for.
The one she spent countless hours fighting for.
I just wish for her to be happy.
Just as I am, in this lost world.
320 · Jun 2017
Take a seat.
Michael Rucker Jun 2017
I've lost hope in my own salvation.
318 · Mar 2016
Outlook
Michael Rucker Mar 2016
My own stability fragile,
frail like flower petals.
Simple things break me, and I never recover. I learn to move on, but hold on to memory, an iron clasp, on each and every scene, reflecting in though, so deep, each memory.
Looking back, nothing I'd change. Looking back, it stays the same. You lose more hope, as days pass by, and lose yourself finding security.
Observation proves theory, misery loves company, and the whole ship sinks. Observation proves theory, people dont change, they all stay the same, with only a new age.
Exposure to illness, like atomic bombs, you're torn apart and never forget, the feeling, the pain, the sorrow, the waves of inadequate thought, you never forget. You hold on, to each piece, from that movie scene, embedded in your mind, losing track of life, losing track of time.
317 · Dec 2015
Knock Off
Michael Rucker Dec 2015
My mind remained low,
the thought of no hope only seemed to flood every part of my insides.
I broke,
every morning,
on the bathroom floor,
puking up my insides,
from last night's suicide attempt.
317 · Jul 2016
Collaboration
Michael Rucker Jul 2016
At this hour/ the streetlights have a tune/ all their own.
The shimmering light bends as the cascading particles illuminates with a sense of urgency.
A record on repeat/ the majority retire/ the ladder lack homes.
317 · Feb 2016
Family
Michael Rucker Feb 2016
Even though they're all dysfunctional,
they are mine.
I'm stuck knowing that they exist until the day I stop.
I get to relive memories and make millions with them.
Watch their lives go by,
along with my own.
See my twin go through life's trials,
watch my mother and watch father as well,
be put into the ground.
Grandma and Grandpa too.
Held forever in my heart,
embedded into my bones,
my love for those dysfunctional *******,
forever close.
315 · Nov 2016
Untitled
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
That sun burning my **** skin.
Watching Gerod throw every last bit of trash on the ground,
seeing the rolls and plastic lie atop the pebbles.
and that **** sun.
315 · Aug 2016
My nightmares.
Michael Rucker Aug 2016
Screams,
flood my ears.
Blood stained hands,
as the dust rises.
Combustion, the causation.
And for what?
Oil?
Money?
Land?
No, greed.
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