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fugyadzi Aug 2014
McDonald's, our saint of comfort.
We offer you this prayer of thanks
for welcoming our downtrodden souls
and nestling our hungover hearts
into your soft couch *****.

May the late night mistakes of our youth
blossom into something


and maybe noble.
stupid kids on a stupid friday night
fugyadzi Aug 2014
i spoke to God
behind the big blue wall.
then i got off the ladder
and walked away.
then it rained.
and i was happy.
march 2010
fugyadzi Aug 2014
like i said
'you' is an empty shell
and i try to break free
of habits and irregular
heartbeats and hitching
breaths and oh did i
mention that today
i stepped on an
empty shell?

i stepped on a 'you'.
at least i wish i did.
no idea what this means anymore
fugyadzi Aug 2014
distant laughs
overheard from distant
rooms just like
this one and
this one night the
back of my tongue bleeds
scary and i spit
blood and it goes
right down the
drain through the sink
and i feel my eyes
burn cause i don't know
why and my knees are
weak and wobbly and
i almost forgot how to
spell 'knees'

but i grab and hold on
to poetry
written january 2010
fugyadzi Aug 2014
poetry is never a constant refuge
neither are dark cold bridges
there are some irregular breathing patterns
heart palpitations
and shaky hands
poetry can't heal
or darkness can calm down
the heart races on and fingers twitch more
jagged shaky breaths are still there
headaches plague still
isolation does nothing,
mother nature leaves you be
the insomnia threatens to manifest
once more, for the umpteenth night
eyes shift front and down
fingers desperately hold on to pencil
in awkward grips
as the letters scratch
from awkward angles
no pill or drink heals this
nagging plague,
this something i do not know
does it have a name?
the singer whispers
as this poem ends
this something i do not know
does it have a name?

found this thing on an old notebook, crazy to know this was me four years ago.
  Jul 2014 fugyadzi
Wait, I swear I've felt this all before.
That thought followed by this scenery.
My idea of what she may have thought of me while I walked out the door.
This tree,
and how it depresses me.
I swear I've seen it all before.
Perhaps it was in a dream.
Maybe I'm living in a repeated pattern of the same old thing.
Just another thread woven inside of a tapestry.

There's too much gray for it to be appealing,
with the only color coming from the heart that I am stealing.
Just the beginning of a romance that I will never be forgiven.
These branches try to trap me with a guilt I'm not admitting.

Wait, I swear I've said there will be no more.
I've put it all behind me.
I'll find something else to live for.

Then suffocated by a rope made of that same old tapestry.
I swear I've strangled myself before.
Twitching on the carpet,
I've died a thousand times and more.

These trees offer to hang me
with gracious low-lying branches.
I deny them all again.
Not tonight,
but one day you'll get your chances.

Wait, why do I keep walking down the same old streets?
Is it some mad hope of running into the younger version of me?
Perhaps I already have in some half-remembered dream.
I'm haunted by these trees and plagued by memories.

I swear I've felt it all before.
Fumbling for my keys in order to get through the door.
Stumbling to my bed in a drunken stupor.
How the hell did I get here?
What am I living for?
Hate me please. Please hate me.
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