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Mar 2014 · 546
Can't Keep Up
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
Just another girl forging the beat.
Led zeppelin on her tee shirt,  doc martins on her feet.

She walks with a stride
Then blames it on pride,  when really it's the tight leather that surrounds her feet.

Play her any two songs and she'll just nod along.
She'll be wearing a new band in a week.
Letting trends set,  before she takes a hold. Last week she liked her coffee hot, this week she likes it cold.
She went from liking guys with long hair to men who are bald.
And so on and so forth, now she's getting old.

Her youth waisted hiding behind a face painted with short lived fads.
'I'm a lesbian,  this is how I was born, this is who I am, dad.'
Mar 2014 · 584
30g of Mushrooms Later
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
When I died
Face down in the night
The ambulance
Parked outside

My friends
Much older
Carried me
Over their shoulders

Pumped full
Of something
On the couch
I felt nothing

They thought
I died
That night

In a sea
Of red
Barely breathing
Strapped to a hospital bed

They called
My Father
I never told
My mother

They told
My sister
She could have
Lost her brother

Took over
And I
Went under

I should have died
Alone that night
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
My life,
These times,
The epitome,
Of a downwards trajectory.

My existence is but a career,
I wish to resign,
So consider,
Every crooked letter of this poem
As one step closer to my resignation letter.

Recognise this note,
As my termination,
Of a short life,
Of poorly attempted dedication.

Working this life,
For minimum wage,
With out a break,
Except a broken sense of direction,

Life is merely a career
And I wish to swerve,
I wish to veer,
I wish for my torn family,
To not shed a tear.
Quitting Time, Again
Mar 2014 · 657
Thinner Than Tin
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
Emotions thinner than the tin
That my dinner came from
Ambitions gone like my mind
At the party after prom

Skin scratched and stained
A life time of regret
Worth the pain

Not wanting to get out of bed in the morning
Legs gone lame
But no ones mourning

No reason to find direction
Writing plain, without discretion
Caring little and less about forged perfection

Living on a disposable income
Hoping I find long term affection

Still waiting patiently on that one discovery
Anything to separate myself from me
My shins from my knees

There's a windy city chill
But there's no use blaming the pills

Hands left hanging
Like a bandanna
Dangling, waving
From the homeless man's head

Expression couldn't make me a dime
In todays market of drones
Still feeling fine
Without staring into my phone
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
My whiskey habit is complimented then insulted by the ever temperamental voice of Jim Morrison,
I listen to Alabama Song by The Doors
I throw my pen and page
In an anger induced rage
As my mind recites the wrong words
To his poems and songs
His voice plays on repeat
All i can do is blame myself as the primitive synth dances it's oscillating tunes through one of my depleted senses.
My hearing
Mojo Rising's face crudely made into pop art painting by a fan, an idoliser's image
Suddenly the fender telecaster takes over the smokey airways
Hypnotising, mesmerising
as it fills the space between the barely conscious being and the walls that surround
The tempo of the snare, tom and high hat slows
I now have time to gather my ever harsh and bitter thoughts
Harsh like the whiskey, bitter like me
Errors are inevitable, go **** yourselves
Mar 2014 · 387
The Art of Discourse
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
Night life fades to dead days
I looked at you and you didn't look the other way

You sat next to me by the bronze horse statue
In the heart of the city

On the seventeenth floor car park
Underneath the over head cranes

The sound of hollow trains
Screeched past then faded away
Like they had a better place to be

The company of a drink would have made the time fly
But alas, I was with out my flask
On this cool summer night

So high above the passersby
Telling each other poorly constructed truths
With a hint of carefully thought out lies

You creased your jeans
I rolled my sleeves
You dotted the I's
I crossed the T's

More than acquaintances
Less than friends
Popular amongst each other
Far from setting trends
Ryan Topez Mar 2014
Years of being **** on
Taken away in a day
The small things in life
All fell into place

A package came in the mail
I got a new tattoo
I booked a trip to Brisbane
I get to see you

The corner store didn't have
The cigarettes I wanted
I tried a brand they had
Kind of glad I got it

I made a new song
On my second hand guitar
It's not very good
But it's my favorite so far

I got the bus for a students fair
The café I went to was closed
They let me anyway
Why? I don't know

Now I'm sitting by a steady river
On the outskirsts of the city center
Just my perfect day and I
The wind blew past and didn't shiver
There's not a cloud in the sky
Feb 2014 · 629
Half Hour, Half Asleep
Ryan Topez Feb 2014
Good things don't happen to those who wait,
Good things happen to those who stay up late,
And study their books,
Of predetermined fate,
I know good things don't happen to those who wait.

Waste the day,
Stay up late,
Live life in a nocturnal state,
Of being,
And be that bird of prey
That hunts the mice of the day.

Stay awake,
Stay afraid,
Stay looking like five lines of *******.
All white eyed and dry.

Look for lines, search for friends,
No more ink left in my pen.
Metaphors so vague, less vivid,
It's not hard to tell that I'm ******* timid.

Gaze from the window in your
Packed like sardines shack,
And shout to the city skyline,
The trains shout back.

Lie to yourself and 'live' under a light polluted sky,
If only for another night.
Give all you have to give,
Shiv who you have to shiv,
Just to get by.

In the end the sardine tin opens,
Right before we die,
Before we go stale and feel numb inside.
Everything is open but we're so shut out,
I'd rather die in the day,
Just like the mouse.
Jan 2014 · 1.5k
Junkie Scum
Ryan Topez Jan 2014
Tonight I went to a house warming party,
Just to be nice,
When I really should have been at home,
With my hungover head on ice.

I didn't like most of the people there,
They bored me in fact,
Especially the cliche hippies with long dreaded hair,
Clothes, barely intact.

As the night went on,
The washed up ****** ****,
Came through the gate.
One by one by one.

I don't have time for people,
They drain me.
Trying to be nice by buying minors alcohol,
But no one repays me.

The welcome wasn't the warmest,
I was patronised because of my mode of transport,
By yet another ****** ****,
And his tattered up Jansport.

Eighteen years to realise,
That the public and I don't get a long.
Eighteen years later and I can guarantee,
That i'll be singing my own funeral song.
Jan 2014 · 336
Book Store Moment
Ryan Topez Jan 2014
The girl at the book store
With dark shoulder length hair
Fervent in the way she moved
And all I could do was stare

She approached me, dancing
'Can I help you look?'
'Sorry? Oh, I'm just glancing'
'Let me know if you need help finding a book'

She hung around,
No more than an aisle away
When I looked up,
Her body was in the way

'Do you stock Factotum?,
Then i'll be on my way'
Dec 2013 · 466
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
A night of high expectations and slick back hair.
A night of hopping trains from where home was, to here.
When I asked for a good time,
The night responded with *** fights,
Under the flicker of street lights.
Casting shadows of bare tree branches, leafless and old.
Defining what it means to be empty and cold.

The people at the station take photos of themselves,
With the person they've chose to love for the night.
Not knowing how to recollect,
A memory probably not worth remembering.

Everyone brushes shoulders with everyone else.
They lack an artistic view,
Yet they still try hard to paint themselves.
Dec 2013 · 999
Big City Blues
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
I drifted unnoticed like a muted sound,
As loud people floated past.
Through the roaring of a busy crowd.
I drifted as silently as a muted sound.

In back alleys of the polluted downtown,
I stood on cigarette butts
And kicked Starbucks cups along the ground.
But still could not make a sound.

One sound, any sound
And I would be proud
One sound, any sound
And I would forget this frown

Across the river and under the bridge,
I walked silently and alone.
Asking people for directions,
Trying to find my way home.

Standing on uncommon ground,
So far from the few I miss.
Still unheard like a muted sound,
The hushed silence of the abyss.
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
The affiliation with gangs keeps the *** shops in business after hours
The prostitutes sell their souls and bodies to make ends meet
But what does 'making an honest living' even mean?
When the police can't even keep the streets we call home, clean?
When the government can't keep crime at bay,
And show these forgotten souls a different pathway?
But can still look forward to a pay rise every second day.

Déjà vu of a man walking his dog home after the transaction is complete.
The drugs are in his hand and his dog is on a leash.
The man doesn't have dark skin so police let him walk in peace.

The moon is high,
Casting a shadow,
Over the kids in the streets.
Higher and brighter than the moon could ever be,
They stay out late,
So they can afford to sleep.

The world was theirs if they had a can and clean walls,
To express the lost art called freedom of speech,
But if they didn't,
Then who's world was it?
Probably yours.

The stumbling ******,
Caught fumbling his car keys,
Is put behind bars,
Before he reaches his car.

After further investigation,
He was searching for his insulin.
Oh well,
Six months imprisonment.

If he does't retaliate he'll get off on probation,
But if he has a fit from not getting his medication,
We'll say he attacked us.
Beat him to death,
And get awarded community protection,
Dec 2013 · 903
Scotch on a Sunday
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
A little whisky can go a long way
By yourself on a lonely sunday
While all your friends are seeing one another
Doing the same thing that i'm doing, but together

A little whiskey can go the wrong way
When you've had too much
Your mouth begins to burn
Then nothing, it's numb

Along with the rest of your body
Your minds at work,
But it's ready to resign
Is this by coincidence or by design?

It's going to be a long night
If I can't refrain
From fighting with myself
But what does it matter?
I have nothing to lose, nothing to gain

I'm trapped in my mind
With a bottle jammed down my throat
Finding it hard to breath
And wondering why?
Dec 2013 · 677
Shaky Hands
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
What is hope?
Hope is believing that I can finish the bottle.
Telling myself that I can stomach each sip of wine,
Holding the pen when shaky hands disagree,
Until I finish writing this line.

Just for once I'd like to hear good news when I wake.
Like, 'Payday was early.'
So that I can afford to put food on my plate.
For the next few days, at least.

Hope is convincing myself that I can meet someone,
To whom I can relate.
To plant seeds with,
So memories can bloom.
But if a person like that came into my life tomorrow,
It would be too soon.

My friends and I jam and tell stories,
Into the early hours of the morning.
Anything we can to reach a euphoric state,
I don't need drugs, anymore.
I only want a nice girl to date.
Dec 2013 · 978
Ryan Topez Dec 2013
I tore out the intimate stanzas that my friends had written in my note book
I used it to clean their mess
Jealousy at it's bleakest
Excuses at their best

Angst and nerves filled my head
Most of the time i'm too scared to read what they had written
Most of the time i'm too scared to read what they had said

My notebook is hardly mine any more
Merely scrap pages for my friends thoughts
Their voices are loud and powerful on paper
But I hardly spare the time to listen

**Imagery created by all means
But never correctly interpreted
Nov 2013 · 640
Drunken Rambles
Ryan Topez Nov 2013
My heart beat rocks me back and forth
Like a old timer on a porch
with his dog and gun
Telling minorities to move along

A cloud of smoke exits my lungs
and my mouth opens,
Smoke no longer crowds my gums

If you stop breathing
You can hear the seconds tick past
You can hear the swishing of whiskey
In the old mans flask

And with every second of forever constant time
You can taste the age in every sip of wine

Do people people say
'Time heals all wounds'
To make them forget about
Their first world blues?

Or are they preaching it,
as a muse?
To grasp the concept of the news
No matter how false or true

Believe me, If i knew,
I wouldn't be lost
I wouldn't be left to assume
Nov 2013 · 1.9k
Ryan Topez Nov 2013
I don't want to offend you,
But I'll walk around my house naked,
If I want to

I don't want to *******,
But I'll sleep in the same bed,
If you want me to

I don't want to disturb you,
But if I need to ****,
I'll wake you

We'll both brake our glassy eyes,
If you have enough for two

We'll sleep until the sun is hung high,
Then I'll wake you

You'll leave around noon,
And I'll tell my friends
That I left you
Ryan Topez Nov 2013
I've seen her once before,
Two years ago to be exact.
I followed her through an art exhibition,
A Tim Burton exhibition in fact.

Thoughts of her pale face,
Taunted me for years.
Like film reels, pictures played in my head.
From ear to ear.
Year to year.

I politely apologised to the people I ran into.
Never before had apologies fallen from my mouth,
So insincere.

My mind was on auto-pilot,
My body was in flight.
The people I nudged past were merely complications in the weather.
Storms, on a grey sky night.

She walked into a room,
Not a soul inside.
And as sure as I was unsure,
I trailed behind.

When I entered the room,
With not a soul inside,
She was not there.
Had she gone outside?
Had she disappeared into the brisk air of the night?

I despised myself for such anticipation

Well **** me,
Had I been deceived?
Why would my mind play such unpleasant tricks on me?
And enforce a false sense of reality?

The epitome of deceitful lust.
Was my mind, like most things in my life
Something I would have to learn,
Not to trust?

Two years later,
I saw her once more.
And two years later
Her pale face, I explored.
Nov 2013 · 1.5k
Spring Ponies
Ryan Topez Nov 2013
I took a different route home
And sat in the shade
Of a tree that over looked a park

Of rusted spring ponies
Paint chipped and weathered
All together, but so lonely
Oct 2013 · 344
I Want A Refund
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
My limbs have been fashioned from spare parts.
The key's been lost to my bronze locked heart.
These lungs of metal, these lungs of led
These locks of hair filled with dread

Plagued with faulty parts,
From heart to head,
Never showed how to love
Maybe i'll feel it when i'm dreaming in bed
Oct 2013 · 472
No Fame or Fun
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
No fame or fun
When words are sung
Hardly Spring until it's sprung

These polite words are scared of heights
They fall back from my tongue
Down my throat
Into my blackened lungs

Only to remain unknown by you
But known too well by me

Until a shallow breath of air
Pushes them back up
And turns them into a gamble of rambles
Abrupt and corrupt.
Oct 2013 · 1.5k
Old Train Station
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Broken Needles and rusted gates,
Treading over thorns and crushing glass in an apathetic state.
At best toss the thrown rock will crash,
Not without aggravating a storm of Asbestos.

Iron-lacking in socially acceptable art etiquette.
Climbing neglected buildings.
One hand gripping a rusted ladder,
The other, spray paint wielding.

Battling for space between the wall and the vine.
First time I don't feel misplaced, struggling for lines.
My minds at ease, I have everything I need.
A place to sit and think,

A place where the space is occupied by two high school kids.
Lighting candles that have merged
With the unstable rotting wood of the table.
Scratching their heart's words through bleeding pen nibs.

Loose leaf pages scatter the ground,
Not worthy of residency in my note book.
Reunited with the fallen leaves.
Reconciliation with my mind hook or by crook.
Oct 2013 · 373
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Dear those who I held so dear,
I've been left behind like morals of a Christian gone queer.
Clearly caught between two things unclear,
I'm starting to realise my apologies are becoming less sincere.

A color can't define my mood.
But if it could, the color would be darker than blue.
Oct 2013 · 869
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
We ditched class,
To go the park down the road,
We followed toe to toe,
Shadow to shadow.

To forget our troubles,
To forget our woas,
To forget education,
To forget our sorrows.

You probably think this is about a girl,
I'm referring to my closest companion,
My alter-ego.
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Crooked fingers grasp,
A nearing empty bottle in my left hand.
Your hand,
Loosely gripped in my right.
The cigarette that hangs from my cracked lips,
We'll follow into the night.

Seventeen years too old,
Left looking for cheap thrills.
Waiting for an early death to unfold,
Brought on by unprescripted,
Prescription pills.

It's cliche and *******,
But all I can write about is unsatisfactory coffee,
And harsh, stale, half-lit cigarettes.
My thoughts and hands are not insync,
Like when my own hands stopped me from drowing in the kitchen sink.
Oct 2013 · 481
Pies & Faces
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
My coffees burnt,
By now I should have learnt.
But something about a rooftop garden cafe that serves pie,
Intrigues both of my blood shot eyes.

The light on the table,
Isn't doing me any favours,
It casts a shadow over my note book.
Over crinkled pages.

But still I return,
To see your face.
And still I burn,
To savour new tastes.
Oct 2013 · 619
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Scream my name from a moving car,
The most cowardice of greetings.
You slow down to shout
And drive off when near.
Exhaust down my throat
And me in your rear view mirror.

If I lived in a town where no one knew me,
I wouldn't have to question,
Why people persist to shout
Just to gain my attention.

At second glance,
I just missed my chance,
To talk to you,
A girl, I rarely encounter.

I grit my teeth,
And bite my cheeks,
As your car hugs a bend.

That's it, you're gone
Goodbye, so long,
My nervousness is at an end.
Oct 2013 · 828
Grade Twelve & Uneducated
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Sirens calling in the morning ,
As I sit at the campus across from my school,

Are these sirens coming to take me to a better hell?

The school bell rings not long after,
Soon to be trapped in a prison of forced laughter.
Engulfed in the musky scent of cigarette smoke.
To teachers, I must be a joke.

Self inflicted sickness is slowly killing me.
Not any quicker than the chance a teacher has,
To ******* mock me.
Oct 2013 · 1.0k
Writer's Blocked, Nose
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Writer's blocked, nose,
Mind's half stigmatic.
They say one day you'll resemble a rose,
I could never get past growing thorns.

My pen trails over memorable tales,
Of frail dead friends.
Days and days of nothing,
Starting to blend.

Slaving over thoughts,
Not thinking of words,
To reconcile,
Dead and dying nerves.

My mind is a swimming pool of fiction.
Drowning just happens to be my latest addiction.
Oct 2013 · 673
Jo-Black Coffee & Me
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
The reflection that peers back at me,
In my jo-black coffee,
Is taunting and eerie.

With every sip my face ripples and grows old.
The steam that was my youth is no more,
I have grown cold.
Like the remittence of the coffee that once was,
All that is left is grindings and sugar,

To be drunk, regardless.
Coarse, as it runs down and grazes my throat.
The person who was staring back at me is gone,
And with every coffee that follows,
an unknown reflection, it will host.

Like the empty cup,
I have been rendered useless, by my own nihilistic judgement.
Oct 2013 · 553
I'm Afraid
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
I want to die at an early age,
But i'm afraid,
My name wouldn't entertain readers of the obituary page.

I want to chew gum when I crave,
But I'm afraid,
Four years of braces would go to waste.

I want to quit smoking,
Not because I'm afraid of cancer,
I just don't want to be a slave.

I want to write my thoughts in a poetic way,
But I'm afraid,
Every stanza will go astray.
Oct 2013 · 428
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
I wake up in the morning,
Put on my favorite shirt,
I walk to my bus stop,
I go to work.

My bus doesn't stop,
My chest starts to hurt,
I have another cigarette,
I'm late for work.

My boss fires me,
I call him a ****,
I douse my throat in liquor,
I start to smirk.
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
When the rain cleans the leaves, from the classroom awning
I walk to the hospital carpark, yawning.
Treading over makeshift graves for dead leaves,
I think to myself 'They've left home, they've left the trees.'
Sarcastically wondering why I can *** a smoke from cancer patients in mouring.
Constantly reading the same signs,
'No Parking'
'No Smoking'
'No Loitering
But I know I've been here far too long,
When the shattered, sick and weak tell me to move along.
Oct 2013 · 655
Short Sighted
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Early graves, paved by the lost and misguided
To whom do I owe the pleasure to, for being short sighted?
Your presence does not shake me like it used to,
Not since you've left my skin like a ******, faded tattoo.
Can I get by if my thoughts remain one-sided?
Or will I get by if I become more open-minded?
Oct 2013 · 810
New Watch, Old Habbit
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
New gold Casio watch,
Loosely hangs from my wrist.
It hits the bottle harder than I do,
Against my best wish.

Swish of whisky down my throat.
I've never been one to boast,
About newly bought possesions.
But this watch,
This gold Casio watch is the exception.
Oct 2013 · 434
Grace and I
Ryan Topez Oct 2013
Summon to mind when we were teens,
The nights we spend climbing to deserted roof tops,
The nights we spent exploring quaint coffee shops.
Just two teens, in our torn black jeans.

We would exchange thoughts of the future
And tales of self-inflicted torture.
One year age difference never meant anything to me.
That night, I told you i did not want to live past twenty-three.

Now you're twenty-two,
The thought of one year age difference
Makes a second and final appearance.

— The End —