What's peace anymore!
Men like killing, it makes them big bucks. Who needs peace

I found out today we don't always get what we expect
But we should expect to get things unexpectedly.

When
I'm at my emptiest,
I long to lose
Myself in physical
Ecstasy.
Desperate
yearning
extinguished
Through
flesh on flesh.
******* passion
Throats ripped,
Blood pours.
Devouring
your entirety
On a wave of
Nothingness.
I ache
to feel
Something.

One little cut across my precious skin

I feel the blood leaking out of me as it slides down my leg
I feel everything that has been bothering me drift away
As the first drop of blood touches the floor with this high I am experiencing

I make another cut

and another

and another

and another

and another

Until I am so cut up that I am numb
I can't feel anything and this is what I want
To not feel anything
To not have to deal with this pain that makes living so unbearable

But this

This habit in which I have developed is what keeps me going
If it wasn't for this addiction
this pleasure
this outside pain
this high
this coping mechanism
I would be dead
With cutting I cut to numb the pain inside
I cut to make sure that I am still alive

I cut

because this addiction is a secret in which no one else knows about

and I like it that way.

A good day for a walk and a good talk
No phone to speak and no television no more BROKE.
So off today to the new , ABC warehouse. A bomb television store down the road that catches any bored dudes attention

The brilliant idea you've been
waiting for expired
a moment after someone else thought
it. Implementing emptiness
has become your forte and scavenging for
adrenaline
within the souls of second hand tennis shoes
is representative of stability in your crooked,
unbalanced way, when
you glean nothing but
past tense grammar
on any given day of your actual life.

There's no grand story here. Go somewhere else.

And you can't even paint a sympathetic
portrait
of your dry and chaffed lips, of purple ink
stains beneath eyes, of words unattainable
stuck around your gums,
because the guy over there painting an unequivocal
masterpiece is homeless and
utilizing dirt to make a rainbow with
seven more colors than
your store bought acrylics ever could.

Pity is
stupid
when you've got everything
but that

Modern day slavery, hath manacled man's hand's and feet. Chained, tied, blindfolded, leading to one's demise. It cometh by many form's; pride, envy, wrath, gluttony, lust, sloth, and greed. Thus a free willed decision, with Lucifer making rich men affluent; wealthy they've become, off bomb's, secret societal seed. Thieve's of tribal territorie's, madmen of brutal glory!!!
Mind control ruler's, martial law suiter's, polluter's of land gone to waste. O' prosperous creature, what hath thou done? Tooketh holy scripture's of God from public schooling's, passing out satanic fooling's; becoming puppet's for Beelzebub? Suicide's, sky high, as parent's, thou hath left thine son's. At the bar? Bellie's enlarged: isn't that smoke and drink enough? Got the good stuff? High on bag's of dust? Wife at home? Cheating stealthy mode, and thou wondereth why it's thee who shalt succumb!!!! The terra firma hath turned wretched, stenched by the elite's Gucci cover, whilst the world killeth one another, on war's to maketh money off of the deaf, dumb, and blind; awakest, now's the time ....................Global collapse, it's just around the corner mine friend's.......



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Two thousand fifteen
America and worldly collapse;
Awaketh from thine slumber
BE DONE WITH THINE NAP.


©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry

Daily why try more for college when all it does
Is bankrupt me.
New school reality

It seems that I made a mistake
Nothing new there, then
You never received the myriad of messages
That I poured out to you
So how could you have known where I was
How could you know that I was in your town
Or when and where
And so I saw all but saw nothing
Please forgive me
I became so empty and cold
And lost for anything to hold
When I thought that it was over
Please stay with me

                       By Phil Roberts