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The Mellon Nov 2018
I'm still awake.

I'm still awake.

My mind is foggy-
My stomach is churning-
Starbucks booster pack
Double punching me in the gut...

34 hours ago I woke up.

I'm still awake.

I'm still awake.

And it *****.
**** it not again...
The Mellon Nov 2018
I know why you're mad...
I don't blame you for that
I would be too.

Your sister isn't the only one I hurt,
Yes believe it or not you have feelings too
But we are fixing what we broke.

So I hope someday you'll move past this,
I know it won't be easy
But I almost lost your sister,
And it would **** to lose you too.
The Mellon Nov 2018
I am many things.

Most of them I am not proud of...

I am my own lurking monster in the dark,
My own nightmare in the flesh.

I am my own worst enemy,
Even when I'm at my best.

As far as ways I'm good.
Well...
There was just you...

And now that you don't believe in me,

I have nothing
I'm am no good...
Worthless
I'm empty
The Mellon Nov 2018
Mamma always told me-
I was struck motionless at the sight of her
Son,
Don't let me catch you playin' with fire.-
Her hair was ablaze
One of these days you're gonna get burned. -
Yet I am but a moth to her flame
Two poems in one, because 2 is always better than one.
The Mellon Oct 2018
People are beautiful,

However.

Pretty people please a perverted industry,
Of powerful men
Preferring **** to passion to progress,

Preferring ******* productions over
#metoo protests
As mr. president likes to grab 'em by the p..

Provoking pain-passing-fists
Pulsating pro-rights protests,
Journalists plee for coverage praying no one pulls a
Knife and produces plumes of blood from the press
All while
Young picassos paint Guernica in America.

A broken people of a nation perpatrating hate-

Where red plus blue can only make purple-
But dark blue and dark red parish and persecuted plee for due process?

Plain racism profoundly perpatrates power and policy because polititions prefer power over people!

A parchment in hand is worth two poor people on the shores of Philippine islands passing pork bones around on plastic forks polluteing ashore to portion a pathetic excuse for super.

Admittedly population proceeding proper capacity depleting the recourse needed per proper production for product based programs-
-tax breaks produce proper rich persons-
Poor penny pedalers paddle street corners prostituting their dinner from someone's porch steps.

Pathetic "Presidential" GOPs
Catapaulting propaganda past press outlets producing media paranoia.

Piranhas perhaps are the least problematic politition ashore.
Petulance is peace right?

Perhaps Palestinian misplacement and
Poor communication produce
A melting *** per pound of C 4
Blasting
Terrarist propaganda pasted
On highways toting plywood posters
Providing hate.

Parasitic politics polluting a proud nation
Patrolled by plastic islands and pay-per-view gun violence.
Police brutality providing protection for
Parkland shooting,
The NRA having premeditated lawsuits against progress

Programs protecting people getting
Passed-

-Sorry blocked,

By political party(s)
Preferring deep pockets to
Public safety

Appocoliptic predictions
Loom in present day policy
As unreputable "science" papers
Preach lies to gospel preachers

Perhaps human problems
Produce paper cuts
Peeling skin to skin
For radical apologies to bleed out,

Perhaps bleeding pools
Poor out filling
Evaporated paradise
With EPA Pruit's preference of
Proper science.

Perhaps penguins and polar bears
Produced proper plans:

Die off before the planet plummets per plume cloud of nuclear power.
Or more likely planetary pestilence
For people.
Inspired by Harry Bakers poem "Paper People"
The Mellon Oct 2018
It's almost three in the morning.

The problem is,
I'm not tired,
I'm Broken
The Mellon Oct 2018
My feet are cold.
Maybe one too many tears froze to them now.  

Standing in my own tundra of regret,

He who should walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death...

The wind stings my face.
It whispers in my ear:
~Happiness will never find you~
I wish it would lie to me.

I take a step forward so I can look at the track I left behind.

I peer close and see the destruction of my soul,
Ripped from her hands,
Torn by my teeth,
Shredded by her words.

Laying tattered underfoot.
Discarded.
Forgotten.
Alone.

Oh God I'm alone.
With only my mistress of depression to accompany me.

I lay in the permafrost, using the snow as a blanket, and shiver.
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