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Josh Elis Apr 2018
They've all got this gait,
this way that they walk
all pretentious and frustrated,
which mirrors their talk.

The man hasn't shaved in nearly a week,
so sharp patchy hairs leak out of his cheek
and something smells awful, it clings to his clothes
it's ***, and it follows wherever he goes.

The woman is painted in fantastic makeup
it's wet and smudged; she's afraid of a breakup
She asserts herself to me at the counter
her tongue is a blade and her words are all sour

The son, who's probably no older than seven
is stupid and young and loves both his parents.
and ever since mommy has ran out of luck
He's learned some new words like ****, ****, and ****.

"new daddy" says them when he's home from work
and mommy gets mad and calls him a ****,
and she tells her one son to go play with toys
but he can still hear them and that terrible noise-

-of her hitting the floor.

So yeah, they're at laser quest
they're suppose to have fun
but the kid is too small
to have his own gun.

so what does the ****** do
who's here with his "wife?"
they ignore their one son
like he's not part of their life.

I'm sorry, but you ******* are here for your son
if you wanted alone time, don't tease him with fun
he's small and impressionable; he’s had a bad start
The least you can do is give him some heart.
Yo- I work at a laser tag place and sometimes it gives me inspiration to write. I've seen the second half of this poem happen a few times and I just got really frustrated and decided to sort of vent about it- little touchy. I added the middle stanzas because thats kind of my interpretation of what's going on behind the scenes, idk- hate it, love it- idrc
Apr 2018 · 400
Down the Mind Drain Again
Josh Elis Apr 2018
Upper
***
Middle
Class
Dweeb
Devoid
Of Motivation
Without Inspiration
To Do
Literally
Anything
With my
Pathetic
Self






I
Hate
The Human
Tease of Life
And Its Dull
Reality










void
Apr 2018 · 209
Essex Breakdown
Josh Elis Apr 2018
Boxford (Trees)

Something wicked
Towering over
All that lives below,
All seems quiet
Until a storm initiates
Armageddon on the lives beneath.

Newburyport (Snowball Fight)

You ever hang out
With a dude you think
Is a complete dip-****
But then you realize,
After a wholesome
Snowball fight, that
He’s actually still *******
Terrible?

Salem (Fake Witches)

Demons are supposed
To be horrifying-
Morbid creatures
Who wish the destruction
Of all mortal begins.
So yes, I’d consider
You salem freaks
“witches.”

Haverhill (Badasses)

The towers here are
Reinforced with pure
Awesomeness-
If something was going
To fall, it would have
Done so already.

Dogtown (Real Witches)

The four mile hike
Was terrifying.
Each sound
Proliferating
In my mind
As we walked.
There were witches there alright,
And at anytime, they could extend
A cold hand and pull you into the night.

Plum Island (Heath)

Oh ******* ****,
My tank is low
Why did I drive
So far alone?
It’s cold and baren
Not a life form in sight,
I’m about to break down-

-And campout for the night.
Hey! I live in the forehead of the elephant that is Massachusetts, if you're at all familiar with the its shape. That region is called Essex, and it's a very unique and strange place. Most of H.P. Lovecraft's work was inspired by the constant fluctuations in weather, rocky seashores, and omnipresent fog that Essex County possesses.  Most of my poems are also inspired by Essex County's wild nature but with a more romance/neo-gothic outlook. Mix that with a whole lot of teen angst and you'd have what style I'm going for. This poem is pretty much a break down of themes I write about and experience! If you're at all familiar with the places HMU! I want to know what you think about them too!
Josh Elis Apr 2018
How the hell
am I supposed to say
“I ‘like’ you”
If I can’t even truthfully say
“I like me too”

And how am I even
Suppose to justify,
“I think we’d be good
For each other”
If I’m not even good for me.

No really,
Tell me why you think,
“This will last”
Even remotely reflects
Me as a person.

I’m still waiting! for
Some Cosmic Being to
Fall to terra to tell me that He
“See[s] her in [my] future.”
But no such apocalypse has befallen my Earth.

So just tell her
“‘he ‘likes’ you’”
So I can get on with
Ruining this faster.
And can go back to wallowing in self hatred.
Apr 2018 · 385
エセックス こぶり
Josh Elis Apr 2018
I am the light rain
That sways ends over in flight
But only lands once

I am the car horn
Bursting to vigorous life
Until the last ear

I am the asphalt
Frequently I am tread upon
Too firm to hold prints

I am the cryptid
The blood ******* vampire
One of the lost boys

I am the light kiss
That jumps onto lips at night
But lands just briefly
Josh Elis Apr 2018
I want it all so I can throw it away
You heard me right, that’s what I say

I want to study and get a degree
And get a job in the big city.

Then I’ll save and live off crumbs
And grow my wealth while I take none

And at ten years I’ll say I’m through
And I’ll sell my stuff, the apartment too.

I’ll use the funds to move out west
To California, that would be best.

I’ll buy a place, just big enough for me
And a new guitar to play by the sea.

I’ll learn and grow in all new ways
That can’t be taught in school these days.

I’ll meet new chums and live for the tunes
And never go back to society’s ruins

Unless my music is a real success
Or this poetry stuff, which is just a mess

And really who knows? I might meet the one
And as for kids? Well we’ll have none

And I’ll be happy knowing I’ll have changed
And broken the curse that’s born with my name

But really I just want to lose it all
And live like I’ll die, but resist death’s call.
hey, I'm new here so I'm just testing the waters with this poem. it's kinda hot headed but it's actually what I want to do with my life :)
Apr 2018 · 298
Flush My Bullshit
Josh Elis Apr 2018
Seasonal Rain
summer’s changed.
Vernal showers
super powers!
Summer gains:
summer pains,
lonely games
constant migraines..

Flush my lame ****
down the drain.

There’s no fame
for going insane,
keep your brain.
Be the same.
They’ll bring flowers,
you’ll build towers
Jenga Jenga
to pass the hours
Josh Elis Apr 2018
I am
a freak
my Bike does squeak.
Its rusted left-hand brake.

Fix
the seat,
and repair the weak
Rusted left-hand brake.

It’s dripping;
a drool
of oil leak.
Its greasy left-hand brake.

Birds call back
through a mouth they lack
To my noisy left-hand brake.

Their vapid squawk
My Bike does mock,
With that rattling left-hand brake

It’s broken
and screeching
and my life is depleting
Out that spoken left-hand brake.  

My Bike calls forward
each sound, more onward
While the feathered ones call for love,

My Bike calls for distance,
And the Future,
And the Purpose,

And the Birds, my Bike is above.
First poem I ever really sat down to write with the idea in mind-

— The End —