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sgholterPoems
"Oh, yes. That hurt. That hurt like a thousand slaps from a Thousand teachers each. Like Dragon claws dripping with bile and Venom into male ego exposed. Ego And pride and the nature of the bottles Of labelled **** that you threw back, Chickening out on cold, hard reality. Once again. Friends and lovers lost, some long, Some not. All gone with the wine. You Could have written volumes by now. Recorded legendary albums, created Art like few others. Yet, every millidrop of your Blood screams for someone, or Something rather, to take you Away from all that's everyday. Be it even war." Well, I want peace, now. Battleworn and Empty from facing all the same Demons. Chainmail shredded, Body worn on the inside from Aqua Vitae and ale. It hurts. It hurts like a thousand Freshly sharpened pencils carving Into the exposed areas of my love For bad nostalgic habits and Days after days with drink, laughter And inhaling The air of temporary excitement, Picking at scabs and naming myself Surgeon, letting the hearts of others Pick up my tab when one of us Inevetably leaves;   Those freshly sharpened pencils Carving mantras to keep me alive And wake me the Hell up, like: *"The people I Need do not Need me like This,"* and *"I have Pride."*
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Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
Picking at Scabs and Naming Myself Surgeon
"Oh, yes. That hurt. That hurt like a thousand slaps from a Thousand teachers each. Like Dragon claws dripping with bile and Venom into male ego exposed. Ego And pride and the nature of the bottles Of labelled **** that you threw back, Chickening out on cold, hard reality. Once again. Friends and lovers lost, some long, Some not. All gone with the wine. You Could have written volumes by now. Recorded legendary albums, created Art like few others. Yet, every millidrop of your Blood screams for someone, or Something rather, to take you Away from all that's everyday. Be it even war." Well, I want peace, now. Battleworn and Empty from facing all the same Demons. Chainmail shredded, Body worn on the inside from Aqua Vitae and ale. It hurts. It hurts like a thousand Freshly sharpened pencils carving Into the exposed areas of my love For bad nostalgic habits and Days after days with drink, laughter And inhaling The air of temporary excitement, Picking at scabs and naming myself Surgeon, letting the hearts of others Pick up my tab when one of us Inevetably leaves;   Those freshly sharpened pencils Carving mantras to keep me alive And wake me the Hell up, like: *"The people I Need do not Need me like This,"* and *"I have Pride."*
sgholter
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sgholter
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 12:44 AM UTC
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