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Mitch Nihilist Feb 2016
I wish it was easier for
people to forget, if things left their
mind as easy as they let
them in, tough skin
wouldn’t wear thin
as easy as it is right now,
my past is full of imperfections
and bad decisions, leaving unstitched
incisions beneath the brink of sanity,
but who’s isn’t? every time falsities
start, my mind races
with my heart to contemplations on
when to finish, they tattoo the past
of others on their insecurities,
fuelling the fire that burns a hole
into respect and reputation,
creating a vicious cycle
of revenge and envy,
each gossip verbally vomited
into naive ears pulls the marionette
strings of perception into the road normally
taken, two roads may have diverged
at a yellow wood, but when the ignorance
burns yellow to ash,  the road less taken
seems blocked, so the next time you hear
something about another, don’t be too quick
spread the word, the game of
telephone can get a little distorted when
the next phone call
you get is that they
were found hanging from
a rope.
                                MJB
I've made some ****** decisions in my life, and people seem to distort the progression of such. The world we live in has such a call for attention that it comes as a sacrifice to the wellbeing of others. Most bad decisions are eventually identified by the maker, but when rumours start it makes it hard to forget and fix what has been doing you wrong. Basically, the message trying to be portrayed here (sorry for the vulgarity), is to shut your ******* mouth until you know more about what you're spreading. I've seen this type of ******* hurt way too many people.
Mitch Nihilist Feb 2016
the things that last
never happen overnight
but tonight seems
to last too long,
this feeling hasn’t left
me since you did,
a gut full of
“what if’s”
consume my
mind into
“why the **** didn’t I’s”
maybe there is someone
better off for you ,
someone who
has his **** together,
who’s ambition
isn’t a closet of
empty hangers,
darkness doesn’t
resolve on it’s own,
this stomach ache
of over-smoked
cigarettes and regret
lingers upon hacks
and coughs,
the smoke consumes my
lungs, reaching from the
ground up,
a house beneath ashes
isn’t rebuilt by the owner
alone.
Had to do something that removes this anguish.
Mitch Nihilist Feb 2016
I’ve been addicted to many things,
some things better than the others,
and I have yet to categorize her,
when she left me,
I started withdrawing
the moment she stopped calling
my name to hurry up
with the sliced hot dogs,
the moment the complaints
about her tea being to cold
left the mould her voice
built inside my head,
a mould filled with
unfinished memories
cut short by good intentions
and being cracked by
tensions of mental state,
being happy on my own
was the reason and the
latter concluded at treason,
a nicotine addiction
to her; fiction,
i share both
with hope of only
shaking one,
each cigarette
I smoke I know
kills me,
every kiss,
every chai tea
double double bought
is a gunshot not
to my lungs
but only
a feeling
that comes
and never leaves,
but my addiction
everyday seems to
categorize itself
the more my heart
ends up fitting
the mould
Mitch Nihilist Jan 2016
it’s late
or early,
depends how you
look at it,
only my hands and
heart are cold,
smoke filled garage,
rusted tools
hang themselves
in front of me,
paintless brushes,
painted brushes and
baseless screwdrivers
ashy floors and drywall
painted with holes
from fists and hockey
pucks, church pews
of razor-slit,
spray painted
by angsty young
i sit upon,
unfinished projects
are suppose to sit on
the other side of
the workbench.
Not sure what was going through my mind when I wrote this.
Mitch Nihilist Jan 2016
years of negativity
like seeing your
reflection on the other
side of the glass barrier,
I never looked both ways
when crossing the road
because of years
of being blind
to anything that
came close,
waking up
felt like finding
a new strand of
cancer somewhere
every day,
I heard nothing but
voices, I knew I
was hurting myself
but I never stopped to
look both ways,
I realized it wasn’t
just me that I was
impaling with sadness,
sometimes darkness
shines light on life
more than light itself
ever will,
at the bottom of
every bottle my heart
would sit and drown until
I ended up swallowing it
back into my chest,
slowly the whisky
is veering from
being stained red,
every mirror
reflects more than just
a face,
it shows a past
so dark the
background
is the focus,
instead of looking
at the rocks beneath
my feet crumbling
I’ve been taking steps back,
hands like blenders
left on too long
are reaching towards
pulling the plug,
looking both ways
has always been
a problem for me,
but I  finally
caught a glimpse
at what happens
to the left and realized
that change is right.
Mitch Nihilist Jan 2016
don’t let your
lipstick wear,
if it feels the urge to,
put some more on,
if you can’t find the
stick in your purse,
just try and get through
the night, the morning
will be kind,
i promise it’s not
a waste of time,
don’t let your
shirt drip,
don’t let your
buttons wave
beneath your waist,
choose a pair that
fits tighter around
the hips,
tomorrow will be kind,
use your eyes to talk
use your eyes to deny,
use your words with me,
tell me where your
lipstick is hiding.
Mitch Nihilist Jan 2016
past relationships
like useless barnboard,
scabs of shaved wood pasted
over each other only to
sit beneath abstracted
paintings of ****-less
cupboards collecting
dented ***** of dripping
varnish cans and
cigarette ashes,
still has a use, though.
I always ***** my hand
on it.
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