Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Johnny walker Dec 2018
Awful day dull raining sat having my usual bacon bap and coffee In my local cafe looking out and  thinking
what Is the purpose of living In this world, why was It created
what the reason I don't
understand perhaps would
have been better If It had never materialised
but If It
was created has religion says, again I ask why at the
end of life what can we say we've achieved nothing but ask the question, what has been destroyed answer plenty
almost too much, so If there Is afterlife, like to believe there Is, but can't see who would qualify to be In It
who's  really has done enough In their live's to justify a place In Heaven
Probably talking *******
If so do apologise just going threw thoughts strange they may
Probably a load ******* I've written here mumbo jumbo just felt I had to write something try answer sure hell I can't come up with one
(strike while the iron's hot,
else...up prize cold hard steel Goldfinger
rewind: the following case in point).

Believe me you (stranger out there
along the information super highway),
perhaps feeling comfortably numb,
which I (personally experiencing futility)

vainly searching for Nirvana) attest
to be more appealing that flounder
(like a Phish out of roe jeers waters),
this Pink Floyd wannabe (actually live

ving an absurd existence as an A1 Deep Purple
People eater among a Band of *******)
oft times doth Abandon All Hope, when
this close (a hare's breath - imagined

by thumb and index finger nearly touching)
pinching that elusive Golden Silence),
when in the throes (up raised hands
signifying Abhorrent success) hopelessly

striving to summon forth a measly poetic
creation only to Rage Against The Machine
(Ablaze In Hatred) horridly glomming fruit
less endeavor, (a far cry approximating A

Blue Ocean Dream) extremely at wits end tide
feeling the painful impact re: classic mind
paralysis vis a vis Abnormyndeffect (whereat
most diagnoses an Abomination at best,

(strongly resembling, and easily mistaken
for gingerly feigning good knight two step
A BoogieWit da Hoodie), thus mental health
specialists advocate best ditch writer's block

as an Aborted effort gone south (by About a Mile),
yea...Just Above The Golden State (The Ruins),
when...with a whoosh A Canticle for Leibowitz
manifests and Jethro Tull appears waving a

magic wand while issuing Abracadabra birthing
from out The Breach of Silence inspiration met
with immediate backlogged literary juices, and
sudden Abrogation viz A Broken Silence, where

what appeared as a budding **** fantastically
heralded breakout New York Times best seller
collapses into a Uriah Heap of absentmindedness
twisting within psychic wind Abysmal Grief pain

full Acceptance of Absolute Zero literary talent
with strong considerations for an Accidental
Suicide Usher red via shocking the body electric
with maximum AC/DC self selected Act of Violence

deadening this once Acute Mind eve vent chilly Beck
conning Adam and the Ants, the Addiction Crew, and
most Petty full Heartbreaker i.e. A Death in the Family
unexpectedly engendering A Different Breed of Killers

who (Like the House of The Rising Sun nemesis),
essentially a Phoenix villa fied Gorgon Twisted Sister
faintly resembling a cross between Golgotha, Adolescents,
and Adonis, when...Who should appear A Dozen Furies

hence fomenting A Dream Too Late, Adultery admonished
by an Adult Mom with a doctorate in Advanced Chemistry,
and physiology of A Few Good Men inexplicably trans
forming into A Flock of Seagulls After Dusk matter of

fact After Forever leaving an Afterglow Against Time,
a veritable Air Supply ample enough to solve every
Algebra problem posed by Alice Cooper easy enough
to solve by average Alleycats, Stray Cats and Also Eden.

I hope you enjoyed Altered Images (ideally while in an
Altered State) Among the Oak and Ash during A Month
of Somedays assigning Amorphous Androgynous (A Pale
Horse Named Death) naysaying A Positive Life!
Xan Abyss Feb 2016
Solitude defines us.
When our spirits are colliding, and we crash into the silence
of Nothing.
We are not
what we eat,
how we dress,
or who we love,
we are chaos and electric meat
our weary bones,
collapsed with madness.
Left Alone, our fragile souls ignite
and many wither...
As the flames of isolation
reduce the blaze to a glimmer
Til the fires have been weakened
enough to destroy.

Our Souls,
Left to Wander,
Lost in the Aether...

Our Passing Thoughts,
Preserved Eternally,
behind tiny glass windows,
inside little plastic boxes.

We hold this glass over our flames, and suffocate the fires.
Planned Obsolescence: Our Model Has Expired.
more ramblings about something affecting me at some other time in my life found in an old notebook.

— The End —