M Clement

M Clement Jul 2013

There's blood on the floor
And gristle on his cleaver
\
  Masks in the box at the corner
  of the small apartment flat
/
Hidden behind a moto-helm
Driving by fun, of the socio-style
\
  Richard, Phil, Charlie, the gang
  Over the head, face remains changed
/
Travel through the Phonehom
Slashing through the fleshy barriers
\
  Coming on a grisly scene
  Awaiting something new to see
/
Quick rap-tapping
Keyboard strokes
\
  Pushing through the double doors
  This is it folks

For the US, for the US!
The *****'s will fall
  But these two,
  At the moment, don't know it
  At all

I just beat Hotline Miami. It was amazing. That being said, I'm not so sure this poem is... Oh well, what's written is written.

M Clement Jul 2013

Thoughts of Modern Minutes

It's not about you; I promise

M Clement Jul 2013

Notepad

It's the easiest thing to do
Sitting on a red cushion
To a red sofa
To a put-together living room

Bachelor pad this isn't
And that's okay
It's home.

Past that, it's the realization
That there's more to write
Always more to write.

I'd honestly prefer to write on physical paper
However, my pad and pen I left long ago
Well, a day ago

And as the air whispers summer
And the breeze tickles senses
I wish I had a cup
A cup full of black, caffeinated bliss
And I'd look toward the air,
And whisper back, "I love you."

I know You'll hear it.

This is the poem I wanted "The silent type" to be. I'm extremely happy with this one. I'm normally very ******* my own work, but this one, I absolutely love.

M Clement Jul 2013

The silent type

Wander into the forest,
And mice will greet your feet

Wander into the city
There's homeless in the street

Wade into the water
There's fish awaiting you presence

Wade into the thought
And experience your own absence

This started out one way, and just took shape into another. I'm decently happy with the results, though it was not what I set out to make.

M Clement Jul 2013

Looking off into the distance (10 words)

Is it really okay that I am tired of you?

M Clement Jul 2013

Writer's block (10 words)

There is no poetry in this sad, wrinkled brain-sphere

I count brain-sphere as two words

M Clement Jun 2013

There's a Brunette on my Radar

There's a plethora of albums in my mind
And a good deal weighing on my heart

My brain desires fluctuation
Bipolar fixations based around emotion
And Unicorns with rainbows on blue,
wearable ocean

And everything is a microcosm
seemingly inconsequential
When looked at solely from
the view of entrusting it to You
And all the fear that rides the
coattails of such a decision.

Wrote this in the car after a trip to the bookstore.