I have some junk inside my brain
I want to throw them away in the drain
But they somehow come up again
And make me feel vain
I am helpless because I have no restrain
It makes me feel that I might go insane
I'd rather prefer being mundane

I sat alone at night
Wondering and thinking in the dark
Now and then there were times
Where it'd be impossible to find
A series of meaningful rhymes

All the stuff I wrote in the past
Were simple words
Without a meaning behind them
Complicated words
To make a poem seem more articulated

But what for?
I am still here
Sitting alone at night
Wondering and thinking
Of meaningless junk

Nothing in particular
Just high
Addicted ****** ****

**** my liver
Kidneys
Dissociation is the key

I've spotted the freight train
Have I made it?

Bring me there I beg you
Spoon me
Me, the spoon, all me

Drink DRINK like a FISH

pop pop pass percocet
C-c-c-c-c-cocaaaaiiinneeeeee

***** ****** bored, dumb

**** my LIVER AND KIDNEYS
Dolla dolla nose job **** a stuffy
**** me on a tuesday, sneez sick puppy horsey

Cant finde me
Kant fine me

Run run run run run baby, yes ya do
Explain but not excuse

Substitute kkkills as much
Methadopamine or a xany ***** one night
Dextrahydraphetamine, ketamine meta-clean

Don't try. Understand to
Completely

Every spring runs dry
       **** son, 'least enjoy the high

My friends and I
are forlorn fabrics
haphazardly stitched into a quilt.

Comprised of different textures and fabrics,
frayed at the ends,
rejected pieces meant for the trash,
not good enough for made-to-wear mall clothes.

My friends and I
fit like a puzzle
consisting of pieces from various other puzzles--
found under coffee tables,
between couch cushions,
tossed into the bowels of forlorn toy bins--
forming a collage of something
disoriented and ambiguous.

Crammed together,
smashing our appendages,
leaving crooked gaps,
wrinkled, torn, ****** up,
but feeling better here
than in our small contribution
to the bland image of our factory's design.

My friends and I,
outcasts, rejects, punks,
convening in the junkyard heap
where we dance and laugh among trash
that makes us feel clean.
Pure when we're filthy.

Quilts and puzzles,
to instill and befuddle;
****** treasures.

oh **** oh **** oh ****!
I missed the garbage truck
I have a bin full of trash
full of people I want to smash.
Pain is the only thing they give
a people plague that pollutes  
the life I live.
But when the garbage truck arrives
and it will tomorrow morning
I will throw these people out
without a single warning.

Junk sickness unearths this
Deep-rooted, oozing desperation.
Slack jaws,
Eyes
Bouncing in the back of your skull.
Tear through the paper flesh,
Scraping for a vein
Needing of
Molestation,
Mutilation,
Shredded from that constant need,
That whining itch,
To feel nothing
And everything all at once.
Praying for the earth to melt
Around the bare bones
Of the walking dead.

I am
But an observer
Stuffed in the back seat
While needles clog,
Blood surges,
Rage stirs.
I am
Just a spectator
To their universe coming to a
Creeping
Dull thud,
As they dream of better days that will
Surely come.
I am
Not sure
If it's possible to dig yourself
Back up
From the depths of a self-made grace.
I am
Not sure
If there is life after dope.
Lust swelters,
The shot is done,
We drive on.

I contemplate
I buy it on aromatic instinct
The fight emerges
Don't eat it!
You're not even hungry!
I sit in my head
While the words debate
The palate ultimately wins
My hands follow orders
The sweet melting chew
Savory icing
Made for my mouth
I close my eyes
Taste buds dance
Pure enjoyment
A moment has escaped me
In my candy land
Until it's gone
A guilty pleasure
Plagued stomach
Churning to
Disappointed intestines
An alien
They don't quite understand
As it has no nutrients or vitamins to absorb
Sending the lipids and sugars
Away to live as fat
Surrounding areas I dislike most
I look in the mirror
And I imagine where that regretful donut went.

© Jl 2016