cool-aid cool-aid in my glass
if you don't,
I'll kick your ***

My pet theory goes running in the yard.
with it's, “is this what it is or something else?”
And self imagined self imagining
another's imaginary me.
Questions of will this be as it should,
or as it will be?
Tips it's head to one side in confusion;
then raises a leg n' does a ***.

My pet theory loves to go chasing  cars.
With it's “is what ever we have what we deserve?”
Blaming the other for the others need
while praising the “I” over all others.
Questions of are all creeds ,species
and kin truly brothers?
Tears the bumper from car;
Runs of to place it with the others.

My pet thero.... Oh, it's just
gone and laid a nice big
steaming pile of pretence
on the kitchen floor.
I don't want this pet theory Any more!

© 2016 Greg

Sifting through the ashes of my life
Trying hard to find something thats went right
I search and look, **** and poke
It's begaining to look like my life was a joke

How could this be
I tried so hard just to be me
I look back on my time line
On me was committed many a crime
It changed me to a sad little being
But I still managed to keep on singing

But it didn't seem to be enough
Now life is calling my bluff
I'm sitting here with so much rust
Feeling mighty hollow, nothing but crust
So I'm just gonna sit right down
And in the ashes of my life I'll just drown

Watching you write
Gives me a feeling of delight
Doing what you're passionate about
While I look afar
Wanting to know just who you are

When I'm with you
I'm not asking for attention
But I love affection

Although I can't write like you,
You are something I expire too
Writing, prompts of stories you drew
And I'm watching, and thinking of you

Although I couldn't ask
When you did, like a swig of a flask
I was drunk by your words
And as high as the birds

I **** at writing poetry, but I do it anyway
Because life is an absurd struggle in
An impersonal universe, thus rendering
All efforts ultimately meaningless,
If that's the case, why shouldn't
I write bad poetry? If we are to, as
Camus says "imagine Sisyphus happy"
Then I'll keep rolling this metaphorical
Boulder of frustrated creativity up the
Mountain of artistic expression, in the
Misplaced hope that just maybe,
One of these times, instead of rolling
Back down and adding one more instance,
To that large pile of abject failures that
I've accumulated throughout my life,
It will stay at the top, rendering me
Successful, and making one of these
Jumbled word salad tangents into
Something that's actually worth reading.

...probably not gonna happen, though.

This odd feeling
builds in my chest.
It rises into my throat,
trying to escape.
Finally I can no longer
hold it back.

A sick,
bitter,
twisted laugh
bursts free.

It is directed at
the ones
who have ruined
my life.

Joke's on them.

I will show them wrong.
Every.
Single.
One.
That I can do the things
that I want to do.

That I can, and will,
become more successful than them.

Joke's on them.

Useless memories that only makes me bleed
I'm about to give up, about to coincide
Lifes a joke and I'm the punch line
I'm on the wheel of time
Spinning around throwing sparks in the grind
Knowing full well things will never be fine
I never was something
About to become nothing

Useless memories that only makes me bleed
I'm about to give up, about to coincide
Lifes a joke and I'm the punch line
I'm on the wheel of time
Spinning around throwing sparks in the grind
Knowing full well things will never be fine
I never was something
About to become nothing

I open up my can of trash
To find the things I've tossed
But as I do, it shines apparent
Those things are "ever-lost"

This simple fact, which I forgot:
My trash can't be displaced
For everything I throw inside
Is dropped in outer space

Recalling this -in retrospect-
I maybe shouldn't have....
Dropped my baby brother in
...Probably won't get him back...