Outside
The wrath
Turns the night
Slowly backwards.

She pumps and gushes
A heart like the river
Like black ice
Cracking
Blue steel.

The hounds of vice
Screaming salty,
Swinging wooden
Narrative.

And as he took another swig
Yes, Another
of Whisky
not whiskey but
Whisky
there's a difference.
He knew this
He also knew he was drunk
he drunk more
and they asked him
Did you talk to your parents today?
yes,
well
we Texted
And He took another swig
He drunk
He gulped
And he wished that text was a Talk
So They wouldn't feel so far away

so ****** in the face of it
at the end of it, your perception
on the nose of it
this feeling in my nose
this tingling wall
this numby crunchy face on my face that blocks out the light and the truth and the life .... that's how it feels .... sorta
how crazy does that read?
i'll bet it reads ugly.
i'll bet it reads sick.
it should because its a description of drugs crazy people, ie. people like me take to try to feel less crazy
they make your ******* face feel like it jumped rebellious,
eyes, ears, nose, throat, turned traitor.

Escitalopram
Buproin
Nuvigil
Lithium Carbonate
Quetiapine
Abilify
Risperdone
Harpoon IPA
Johnnie Walker Red Label blended scotch whiskey

it seems there can come a certain special kind of time in a man's life,
when he can feel weird and lonely enough
to type a few words
and call it poem.
******* Bukowski.
this is his legacy.  the possibility to do what I'm doing right now.
without that disgusting, self-centered fool
I never would have thought to try and write these weird feelings I'm feeling.

a little attention,
that's what strokes this need.
a few incidental internet readers,
to read this strangely pointless pontification
on the bits of sadness that are me.

i wish i could find an open field
and lay back comfortable
in the crisp cold air
and feel the stars shoot through me
my heart pounding in the dirt
and waiting for *** or sun or wolves or rain
or anything else you might call "love."

i wish for more death
or more life
I can't stay here.

Kindness rules Toronto,
they've institutionalized it here.
They've printed it on signs.
Socialism always breeds that slight smell of sweat spent
by the orderlies as the patients finally took over the asylum.
Victory tastes good
but the taste left over is
somehow seasoned with regret.
Full moons symbolize something similar for everyone,
something longed for,
the reach and stretch of inevitable death,
The regret of infinite moments
that might have been
if only,
the shame of an identity worn once and discarded,
The crying of the lambs
echos inside a collective mind.

Love enters from heart and nourishes in soul
It takes one to beauty and beauty remains goal
When it spreads  from pore to pore, pole to pole
It dominates brain and takes one just as a whole

What a beauty and what charm to make it glow
When beauty strikes love to burst,love to blow
It is spring flowers to bloom do not be in a row
Beauty comes as a gift so beautiful has to show

Let my sweetheart to embrace let beauty portray
Let be light of my night let be just glare of the day
I must admit I must declare I  vehemently pray
Let us be very good lovers and then for life to stay

Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

when you say you wanna heal broken people, I tend to reveal a broken sequel
I'm usually doing fine until i remember of what I've been through
and I still cant let myself cry in front of you.
just feel jaded, numb, wishing I was gone.
But these are the facts I stick to:

I never had something this good, my heart races at every view
When things get a little shaky, my mind thinks "too good to be true"
It's what I'm used to, I've lost what I'm close to
I've never lost hope, but I feel like I'm supposed to
Im in deep waters, regardless if i chose to
going to feel it hard, like I overdosed you
When it's too much, I'd always excuse you.
But you chose to stay when I don't expect you.

650

Pain—has an Element of Blank—
It cannot recollect
When it begun—or if there were
A time when it was not—

It has no Future—but itself—
Its Infinite contain
Its Past—enlightened to perceive
New Periods—of Pain.