Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2018
these tired blood-shot eyes
have left me
for the alarm clock
in the dark
and death is making
shadow puppets
on the wall
lethargically shifting
gears out of bed with
shuddering bones dancing
all around me in the
twinkling candle-lit room
splashing water on my face
while the demons dictate
my mind with scraps of
stipulations that I must
involuntarily attend
another day of
onerous labor,
leaving behind scars
as deep as canyons
that told more stories
than broken hearts
and gaping buttholes

and when you get there,
to the bar, after work,
you can always tell who
has been outfoxed by
the smoke screen of
cutthroat commanders
handing down the
punishing orders
by emptiness in glass
needing a refill,
emptiness in provision
needing subsistence,
emptiness in soul
needing inflation
and bags of exhaustion
rest in the dark blue
hammocks under my
weary eyes as I take
another sip and
teeter-totter on the
brink of insanity
and stare at the mirror
behind the bar
with a reflection of my own
skeleton staring back at me
and hallucinations of the
devil standing behind me,
massaging my shoulders
singing me the most
beautiful aplomb
serenade I’ve ever heard

“**** is perishing and festering
off the pews of treachery and
absurdity from vacant hearts
and complicated minds that
the living will ****** and ****
without one conscience hair
but when the day comes that
someone puts ketchup on a
hotdog, everyone loses their

I suddenly
no longer
felt alone
and swallowed
a pocketful of
and chased it
with a tumbler
of liquid doom
straight to my
thimble mind
went home.
Rick the shoe shine boy
Written by
Rick the shoe shine boy  35/M/Couch to couch USA
(35/M/Couch to couch USA)   
         raphael, AM, Frank Russell, TD, Weeping willow and 29 others
Please log in to view and add comments on poems