a ************* story does no good
"illustrate the pangs of loss"
why don't you illustrate my pangs of knowing you
stories only serve to accentuate
my failures I resent it
I resent you
my father, he was good
but not
exceptionally great
poetry was his forte
and even the poems
were not that interesting.
instead of being a genius-freak
he was a freak-freak
& with a beer in his hand, he would deny that
he drank because he was afraid of life
and said he was
disgusted with people like you
he was a walking catastrophe
rather like me actually
as I grow older I'm turning into him
I wish to vanish
he will never
there is nothing more that I can do
but wait I can wait
if hell is this chair what is heaven
I wish to be free but i
have no idea what freedom is
a shadow of an idea that our
fathers fought for mistakenly
sitting down is much easier than standing
though it does not allow movement
I wish to burn the books of my panic
see me reach for the stars but come back
empty handed
my hands are stained
with the blood of my consciousness
but so are yours
and so, so much more than mine
May 23, 2019
May 23, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC
a ************* story does no good
"illustrate the pangs of loss"
why don't you illustrate my pangs of knowing you
stories only serve to accentuate
my failures I resent it
I resent you
my father, he was good
but not
exceptionally great
poetry was his forte
and even the poems
were not that interesting.
instead of being a genius-freak
he was a freak-freak
& with a beer in his hand, he would deny that
he drank because he was afraid of life
and said he was
disgusted with people like you
he was a walking catastrophe
rather like me actually
as I grow older I'm turning into him
I wish to vanish
he will never
there is nothing more that I can do
but wait I can wait
if hell is this chair what is heaven
I wish to be free but i
have no idea what freedom is
a shadow of an idea that our
fathers fought for mistakenly
sitting down is much easier than standing
though it does not allow movement
I wish to burn the books of my panic
see me reach for the stars but come back
empty handed
my hands are stained
with the blood of my consciousness
but so are yours
and so, so much more than mine
not exceptionally proud of this poem, so if you have any suggestions, please comment or DM me!
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