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arthropod-kingPoems
It is at this point. I usually am very effussive with words and all that, but I just don’t have it in me in this moment. I no longer remember the last time I felt life cascading into my limbs, from my heart. Apathy :P It seeped into my weary shoulders. Bleh bleh bleh bleh Words are a waste of ***** Melancholy deeper into the upitty piper purportedly… Silence. Silence and silence, but why…? Snow – Nieve – Plumba – White-out – ***** on porcelain** – Aruba - ***** on porcelain. A faint portrait of hollowed passions and GRAPEFRUIT. I… I’m sorry, really. I got nothing. I wish I was so noble as to turn bitterness into something majestic, but what are you going to do about it, right?... Right?... Right?.... RIGHT???.........RRRIIIIGHT????? Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff, right? Ra-ra-right? nO? OkEy DoKeY, then… Words are stupid, They always have been. Words irritate people and cause wars, and controversy, and celebrity gossip and all that intoxicating pink, glittery smoke. I wish there was a machine, like a bird-making machine, that used dusted, vivissected concepts and turned them, unaltered, into spewed energy. A violent discharge of emotion, but no, no emotion, whatsoever, NO EMOTION AT ALL, cramped and jammed up inside like, like, like, like a trainwreck, still perplexed about the fact that it didn’t have much room to wreck havoc with in the first place, and go smash into burning-red steel debris, so it doesn’t, no no no no, it doesn’t know just what to do, and the innocent bypasser is looking, looking from a dusty cliff among the desert, UNABLE TO FEEL ANY EMOTION, INSENSITIVE, and it was supposed to be christmas, but no one’s weeping for you, no one, that ***** out of fashion, you’re **** out of luck holmes, clusterfuck full of **** and **** and bad luck, sorry holmes, no way, ******* luck, sorry holmes. Bloh bloh bloh ilhc 674VDW864 A6WD8 4wd 64 WD 64c 6 4wf c6 *Ronald McDonald, sitting on a curb, face resting upon the palms of the hands, no happy meal for this clown, no lipstick-painted and make-up-enhanced smile on the face of this clown, not today, doesn’t feel like being a clown today, even though he WAS born a clown, from a colorfull egg full of Crayola polka dots, no, and no, and no, and who would want to be a clown? Certainly not Ronald McDonald, and certainly not today. And words are stupid*. I wish tears could flow cascading out of these eyes. Redeemer tears, pointing at the crude sculpture that the chisel of undrained emotions carefully crafted inside these tiresome intestines. Rioted tears, a revolution of tears. I would very much like to scream right now, thank you very much. I wish I could cry bitterly, weep sorely for my fate and for hers. However… There is nothing in my chest but apathy. I have no nerve response. Zero sensorial signal. So… I can’t. Whatever.
0
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:47 AM UTC
***** on Porcelain
It is at this point. I usually am very effussive with words and all that, but I just don’t have it in me in this moment. I no longer remember the last time I felt life cascading into my limbs, from my heart. Apathy :P It seeped into my weary shoulders. Bleh bleh bleh bleh Words are a waste of ***** Melancholy deeper into the upitty piper purportedly… Silence. Silence and silence, but why…? Snow – Nieve – Plumba – White-out – ***** on porcelain** – Aruba - ***** on porcelain. A faint portrait of hollowed passions and GRAPEFRUIT. I… I’m sorry, really. I got nothing. I wish I was so noble as to turn bitterness into something majestic, but what are you going to do about it, right?... Right?... Right?.... RIGHT???.........RRRIIIIGHT????? Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff, right? Ra-ra-right? nO? OkEy DoKeY, then… Words are stupid, They always have been. Words irritate people and cause wars, and controversy, and celebrity gossip and all that intoxicating pink, glittery smoke. I wish there was a machine, like a bird-making machine, that used dusted, vivissected concepts and turned them, unaltered, into spewed energy. A violent discharge of emotion, but no, no emotion, whatsoever, NO EMOTION AT ALL, cramped and jammed up inside like, like, like, like a trainwreck, still perplexed about the fact that it didn’t have much room to wreck havoc with in the first place, and go smash into burning-red steel debris, so it doesn’t, no no no no, it doesn’t know just what to do, and the innocent bypasser is looking, looking from a dusty cliff among the desert, UNABLE TO FEEL ANY EMOTION, INSENSITIVE, and it was supposed to be christmas, but no one’s weeping for you, no one, that ***** out of fashion, you’re **** out of luck holmes, clusterfuck full of **** and **** and bad luck, sorry holmes, no way, ******* luck, sorry holmes. Bloh bloh bloh ilhc 674VDW864 A6WD8 4wd 64 WD 64c 6 4wf c6 *Ronald McDonald, sitting on a curb, face resting upon the palms of the hands, no happy meal for this clown, no lipstick-painted and make-up-enhanced smile on the face of this clown, not today, doesn’t feel like being a clown today, even though he WAS born a clown, from a colorfull egg full of Crayola polka dots, no, and no, and no, and who would want to be a clown? Certainly not Ronald McDonald, and certainly not today. And words are stupid*. I wish tears could flow cascading out of these eyes. Redeemer tears, pointing at the crude sculpture that the chisel of undrained emotions carefully crafted inside these tiresome intestines. Rioted tears, a revolution of tears. I would very much like to scream right now, thank you very much. I wish I could cry bitterly, weep sorely for my fate and for hers. However… There is nothing in my chest but apathy. I have no nerve response. Zero sensorial signal. So… I can’t. Whatever.
arthropod-king
Written by
arthropod-king
Colombian
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:47 AM UTC
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