Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2017
Ian Lewis Copestick
Shaking to **** in my suit and tie
Smoking cigarettes to make the time pass by
Hungover to hell in uncomfortable clothes
A job interview; yes it's one of those

I walk in shake hands, make eye contact
Tell them about myself, this and  that
Soon the awkward questions start
Beneath my ironed shirt I can feel my heart
               .            .            

Why do I put myself in these situations
It's not like I'm bothered about an occupation
Sitting smoking cigarettes and reading books
Noting down in rhyme my outlook
Keeps me happy more or less
No need for any of this trauma or stress
Money ? Sure I could do with more
But when I think about it, what for ?
I'd only start to drink to excess
And that's no route to happiness
Or the palace of wisdom, but I digress
And drugs turn your life into an unholy mess
So is it better if I don't try
Just sit and watch as life goes by
Making notes on it now and then
When I feel the urge to grasp my pen
Only too well I understand
The sorrows of a working man
If I don't work is it a life unspent?
And when it's gone, what had it meant ?
              
.             *.             *

So I shake their hands and take my leave
Wait for the phone call I'm supposed to receive
That is going to tell me how
I'll be spending my life from now
 Aug 2017
Ian Lewis Copestick
Detritus of the drunken night
A cig burn in a cushion cover
A swollen face from your brother
I shouldn't have had that last pint
Your wittering is irritating
This hangover is dehydrating

Blurred thoughts of how we fought
You brought up some other girl
Indignation  made my head whirl
T.V. blaring sports, you out of sorts
Outside for a cigarette
Both of us shouting, your eyes wet

The stumbling, bumbling long walk home
Sniping and bickering
Neon lights flickering
Now your face is set like stone
I've got to face your angry brother
And your unforgiving mother

Detritus of the drunken night
My stomach's churning
Your eyes are burning
Like red hot coals, they sting on sight
I'll apologize for what drink's done
Then go down the pub for another one
 Aug 2017
Graff1980
“Tell me quick,”
the demon smiled
with teeth as long
as a crocodile’s,
threatening to
chomp down on my hand,
and turn it into a stump
of mangled flesh.
“Do you think
that you will survive
all the monsters crawling
deep inside
you fragile fractured mind?”
The slimy skin
was glistening,
with over accentuated
varicose veins pumping
poison and acid.
I turned away
from the shadowy form
to ignore the coming storm
of my madness.
But he smiled
deep and darkly
as if he could see
the very heart of me.
I shivered with despair
tinkling in all my fear
because the monster
made it very clear
that I would die
this very evening.
Though I cried
he ignored me,
while he walked away.
In all the terrors that I’ve seen
this is the one that made me scream,
begging for the angels to rescue me,
but the feathered hosts
of heaven never came.
No mattered how hard I prayed
I was on my own.
There before me
lay a silver blade.
So, I grabbed it while I waited.
The beast came back to fill his gut,
so I shoved the blade right up his but
and watch the filth and blood
drain from his bowls.
A smoking mass of ****** blood
made the strangest kind of sound
as it drained in clumps onto the mud.
He howled in rage and agony;
but I just smiled
with a sinister glee,
because I found the monster
was not as beastly as me.
Now the forest may be full
of demons, trolls, or goblins,
but I know that I can stop them,
so I feel no fear.
 Aug 2017
Butch Decatoria
An itch loudly pines

Within

Like molting

Cicadas'

White noise.
 Jul 2017
wordvango
cures range from ice packs to an anti-inflammatory diet
to a blunt to a long walk with a dog
to a fifth of JD to writing sonnets or listening
to some badass Miles Davis blues and
work has its way of lessening the impacts
of those tendernitis
symptons that include
pounding hearts
intense sweating
headaches
dizziness
frequent urination (my **** Dog has this)
work hard physical labor
lifting 100 50 lb bags of mortar off the backass of a van
then 50 boxes of porcelain
has a way of making one's back
make one's head too tired to fret
and ignore the dog **** in the corner
and just come  in and
grab a beer light a blunt, sniff a line, snort
shoot up, whatever your pleasure,
just pat her head and let her jump all over you
(***** *** feet she has)
and sit on the couch
sipping --pause the world revolving for a minute--
getting tender is for painters
******* it
painters drink wine
 Jul 2017
Graff1980
This could be a great place to rent
but I don’t want to live here.

So, I let the train roll heavy
breaking every bond
in my once well rooted
but now withering body.

These words don’t mean ****
when there is no one listening
cause I am just an over entitled
society fighter who think he is enlightened,
but in reality, I am just a coward
running as fast as I can.

It has been an hour in-between spent
just waiting for my metal chariot.
My cup jingles with ice water
because I can’t afford
the hard liquor
that other strangers adore.

Earbuds distract.
Loud music
plays strange extended chords.
The electric vibrations
swirl around
then wave in and out
as the tempo of the drum
beats in the background.
So loud and strange,
it flows faster
then the rain
that hits the rusted track.

I change trains
cause I would rather
hit the rails
then stay tamed
like a well trained
house cat.
Who never leaves his home.
Next page