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Nolan Bucsis Aug 24
I mean
What were they.

Besides.

Junkies?

They were
My
Friends.

I miss
Them.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 24
I
Swing
Between anger
And depression.

And.

Nothing else.

It all
Disappears at some point.

Left to the terror
Of all by
Myself.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 24
It's like
Waking up
To the **** in the side of your head,
Hair,
Matted by the blood
Ripping off
In clunks.

And,
It stings,
As you peel the fresh scab
From off the sheet.

You become
Numb
To the pain.

As everyday is a stark
Reminder
You didn't make it any
Where.

But,
I've accepted
That
A long time ago.

And, now,
All there is is the
Aftermath.

Of another poor decision,
Another scar,
More tasting the copper
In the blood
As it coagulates
And oxidizes,
Blood stains turn brown.

I've rotted and
Become
Something scary
And harsh.

Broken and bloodied,
My psyche quit looking
For reasons why,
After the first few
Hits to the head,
You go unconscious
Or move through the
Pain.

Love was always
An
Enemy.

But.

Violence was a
Friend of mine,
And
I purified myself
In its burning
Baptism.

Give us this day our daily
Bread,
And,
Give me a slap
Upside the head.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 20
Strange
That I inspire
Contempt
In people
I never think of,
Unless they're shoved in my face
Artificially,
But yes,
Do go on about whatever
It is that knotted up your
*******.

A good telling to,
though,
With the sycophants
Stroking your ego.

Wordy,
Hyperbolic.

The wisdom of a teenager,
More ambition
And know it all attitude
Than wisdom,
Presumption.

I've heard it all
Before,
No one likes you,
You're not wanted at the party,
You need an attitude adjustment,
Paltry petty derision
Derived and empty.

I can see
You're angry,
Now,
Let me make it worse.

The dust became a man
And it did  not like it,
So the man screamed obscenities
And returned to silence
And nothingness.

Deep,
Coulda summarized it,
From dust we are born,
To dust we return,
Inevitable.

A tautology.

Not even worthy of note.

So why do you marinate
In your disgust?

Seems,
Like,
A you,
Problem.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 20
I want to
Fester
In my mental
Waste.

I want to become
Corpulent,
Fetid,
Pestilent,
Diseased.

Wallowing in the
Awful offal
That is
The failed abortion,
Nolan,
S,
Bucsis.

I'll just call this
Self hate
Penance,
And become
Holy.

Bringing down the
Temple
On everyone in it,
A Samson
In spirit.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 20
Everything that seems
So visceral
Today,
Fades into tomorrow,
With a semblance of
Regret,
That
I often forget.

I want to burn
Everything down
Just like
All the bridges
Left
To immolate.

I want the feeling of
Their face
On my knuckles,
Tasting the blood
Dripping down
Their face.

Bruised and torn
And
Wretched.

I wanna feel
Control.

But I always do
The least constructive
Thing.

Isolate,
Withdraw,
Elucidate
The feeling.

Til it goes away.

Until,
Again,
I become overwhelmed
With nihilistic
Anger and a strong
Urge
To **** **** up.

I am not
A happy person.

I am not
Ok.

I am barely restrained
By my flat effect
And underneath it all
Percolating just under
My skin,
Itchy,
Stinging,
Painful.

I want to
Destroy.
Nolan Bucsis Aug 18
We used to
Walk around out
Here,
Long past
Midnight,
High and drunk.

We'd meet other
People,
Creeping about
The city at night.

Drinking down
By the river,
Illuminated in
The orange
Glow
Of a street lamp.

I went
Bump
In the night.

I crawled around
With bloated
Night crawlers.

I basked in
The shadow
Of a pair of ravens
Holding stern
Council,
Over the
Dim of the
Din
On a cold
Restless night.
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