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Garrett Johnson Dec 2018
Under the elements.
Scarcely relevant to everything in the bag.
It’s a drag he died.
Not really.
It’s not too bad.
Don’t be sad.
Grab the nonsense.
Make it into a movie.
Cry.
And Cry.
Until you're under the moon.
It makes your room.
Builds you a house.
The house you live in for ten years.
And share moments of isolation.
Let your fears run with you.
Then ****** them.
Clean and swift.
Kills that fit the description of the subscription pill bottle.
Pain.
Hands that throttle the life away.
Don’t mean to go this way.
You only live once.
You lived for eternity.
And never existed.
That very much hurts.
Numb.
Brain dead.
Waste away.
Stay in bed.
Dance in the woods.
Sing in your head.
It’s never too late.
There’s joys to be fed.
Lock your truths and lies away.
Pretend that they’re worth something.
Pretend that you’re worth something.
Pull the covers over your face.
Your Tears don’t belong here.
Wintertime love.
So warm and cozy.
Mosey on down to the general store.
Question those that don’t know the half of it.
Half of what your saying.
Or where you’re going.
Who are you talking to.
There’s nobody there.
Hallucinations.
Discover Nations.
Dictations.
And riddles.
Flashbacks of Nam.
Korea.
Germany.
France.
Japan.
Gettysburg.
Realisations that you don’t fit the Piece.
You keep the peace.
But have wonders.
Wander throughout doubt.
Create something meaningful.
And give it to a friend.
Like Morrison said.
This Is The End.
Garrett Johnson Dec 2018
Sorry For the blood.
It’s wine.
No tears.
Waffles and higher frequencies.
Higher meanings.
Spoiled drinks.
Sink into the rug.
Her presence.
Like a drug.
Walk around.
Insides hurt.
Nervous hands gripping hair.
Schnapps in the air around.
Watch.
Stare into a dark wall.
A dark hall.
Sit.
Quiet.
Silent.
No noise.
Don’t let them hear you.
Why.
You’ll drown.
In.
Stay inside.
It’s dark out there.
Smoke.
Lights.
Take what you can carry.
& Find who you wanna marry.
Too much has been chosen.
Dylan records on queue.
Few becomes less.
A mess becomes more.
A Mold of life.
A cold reporter.
War reporter.
On water works.
Water towers.
Wooden flowers.
Cancel the shindig.
I’m gone.
Tell her i’m wrong.
She was right.
I might just starve.
Out here.
In the wastes.
To the past pace.
Of when time was a place.
With nowhere to go.
No one to be.
No one but myself to impress.
Always.
I’m sleepless.
Garrett Johnson Dec 2018
We forgot to laugh.
The lonesome cars.
The lonesome people.
The poor souls.
The gutter trash.
The lonesome past.
Lonesome we.
Lonesome us.
Lonesome you.
Lonesome me.
Too lonesome.
So we ask.
Where are my manners.
Meet with hands in the mud.
Soil for the soul.
Eyes in a fade.
SIdewalk.
Old chevy with a silver bumper.
A *** in the alley.
Little soul.
All soul.
No soul.
All before it’s forgotten.
Allways of the way we were brought in.
Change.
Let the snow melt.
Drink it.
Eat the grass.
Still lonesome.
Lonesome but wholesome hospitality.
You’re dead if in a hospital.
The people gather around.
Just to watch..
Watch it all burn down.
They killed Jim by the creek.
They don’t care.
Sad Boys.
Sad girls.
Sad beds
Sad world.
Needles.
Scars.
Bits.
& parts.
Separate.
One with all.
All in one.
Patterns.
Killed.
No grave.
Only Michael T. Berland
Garrett Johnson Dec 2018
Eyes are pretty.
Green.
Acoustics.
Why.
Under.
Why am i ******* writing this.
Blankets.
****.
It’s not right.
Wait.
Until I write this.
No need.
Sky lights.
Double back.
For the first time.
In Forever.
Please.
Too much.
Not too much.
Not enough.
Never enough.
No more dreams.
No more drugs.
No more.
Ignore.
Ignorance.
Persistent.
Friend I'm sorry.
Highway.
Drive way.
Lightly.
Highlights.
Highway road lights.
& fog.
Headrest.
Sifting.
Conquest.
Conscious.
No more affection.
No longer intimate.
No longer important.
The writing is no more important than the ground I stand on.
Bleach & paint thinner.
Sadness gets grimmer.
I’m uninvited to my own funeral.
Let the takers flood in.
Let the knowers get drunk.
Let the mental serial killers float about.
& let the plan work with doubt.
Let the Charlie find their way home.
Let the poets go to Rome & drink tea, and whiskey.
Let the skellies run up mountains.
let your nerves wash away in a lake.
& let her kindness melt within what you need to take.
Let go.
Let go.
Let go.

— The End —