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 Jun 2020 Mike Virgl
 Jun 2020 Mike Virgl
I ****** in the bitter smoke
and I realized
this is not what I want
I’m becoming
so hurt
so cold
but I will not become it
the sun is still shining
and there is still the smallest amount of hope
Haven’t been on here in forever! Trying to get back into it I forgot how much I missed poetry :)
 Jun 2020 Mike Virgl
 Jun 2020 Mike Virgl
I lit my cigarette with a candle
And I kept on smoking
Didn’t mean to
I was thinking to much
Just thinking
 Oct 2019 Mike Virgl
I've always worn my heart on my sleeve
and poured my soul right onto the sheet.
I watch while all of this time comes to fleet,
wondering when will I be set free.
I've always used this medium
as a sick form of release
when the thoughts got so dark
and I could no longer dream.
I had gotten nowhere in life,
no movement in my feet.
Living for the better of days
in the horrible weeks.
Why did I ever try to be normal
when I've been perceived as a freak?
Why have I written the memoirs
of a ghost for you to read?
I'm sure you'll scoff at the thought
just like every show on TV,
but I've always worn
my heart on my sleeve.
Why do I write anymore?
No piece ever feels complete.
It'd probably be better
if I chose to leave.
Why do I do this anymore?
There's no artist in me.
I always poured my soul
all over the sheet.
 Jun 2019 Mike Virgl
Perhaps I am nervous about the future,
growing up and leaving home
and ascending into the unknown.

Perhaps I am self concious
and have low self esteem
about my body and my brain.

Perhaps I am lonely and need a partner
because love always solves problems
in the movies.

Perhaps I need to be struck with lightning
and turn into a mutant
(I like that, but it's unrealistic).

Perhaps I am a transplant from another reality
and the more I affect this one
the more it messes with my mind to reject me.

Perhaps I am lazy
and haven't bothered to look for my purpose,
maybe I don't have a purpose,
maybe I had something and then discarded it.

Perhaps I am an archetype
and there is little, if anything, unique about me
and I am just repeating
the behaviours and words of my peers.

Perhaps, friend, perhaps.
 Jan 2019 Mike Virgl
I have been halted
My potential has been dismissed.
Halfway through puberty, my thyroid stilled
Dependent on daily doses of artifice
Taking vitamins, supplements, medications
For all my unnatural natural disorders

Already bloated with self-hatred, I dream, yes-
I wish and hope for impossibilities
Denied me by my biological construction
Dreaming, wishing, hoping is futile.

I am forever limited.
My frame is weak and small and pathetic
I am swollen with disgrace, I work
I act and I cause with no effect
I cannot speak to my reflection in the mirror
Working, acting, causing is futile.

I will always be held back.
My body will release blood and tears instead
My flank makes my figure obvious
Hidden, buried,
I don't desire to resemble a perfect muse
I desire the average, out of reach
The mean. The median. The mode.

I deceive myself with mindless motivations
Persistence, Perseverance, and Patience
All lies, the real truth is time ends all.
All my hopes, all my joys, all my pains, and yet
I see in the tea leaves in the dredges of despair
I perceive the hopeless reality
Time will end my life.
 Dec 2018 Mike Virgl
the pilot
 Dec 2018 Mike Virgl
He just wrote it.
He buried himself in words.
He didn't need paper to succeed, he just flew
in an airplane suspended by thoughts-
not his, but big strong thoughts-
he flew,
upon letters of recommendation
and capital sentences:
to jump his bail, fly the coop, escape from jail.
He folded his passion in life ori-gami,
gave it some ****** with his mind,
and off it went,
finding some draft in the stale and lifeless air.
He lept off the cliff, and what luck-
He flew.
 Nov 2018 Mike Virgl
 Nov 2018 Mike Virgl
I'm sorry I didn't say thank you

Those weren't my intentions

I almost killed somebody

Don't you mind

I'm having a heart attack

8 AM

I've arrived

Heaven's gates
are closed
my soul is trapped

Eternal flames
cover my body
I'll burn alive

I'm gonna miss somebody

No one minds
 Oct 2018 Mike Virgl
A fortunate man can cry over spilled milk, a misfortunate man no longer flinches. Those who throw stones surely have never bit a bullet. When did bad blood become a luxury? You collect heads to decorate your wall with. I pity you, I cannot envy you.
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