I keep trying to trying to write,
but the words keep running off into
the night.
While I collapse into docility.

It's as if me and creativity have
gone through a divorce.
I guess I must have thought
with a little too much force.

Maybe if I get a late night snack,
the word's will come running
back to take a bite.  
while I burst into verbosity.

Vegetarian sandpaper snake,
opaque as a back ache.
Tied into steam whipped air.

Needles and spokes,
rustled and restless,
concrete and wingless.

Following a Papel sideshow travelling into town
to form a claim of no coherent ambivalence.
With most moist avuncular symmetric denial.

Reclaiming such winkled names in claws.
Reptile claws of rainbow rhythm or
mindless meter.

Needles and spokes,
rustled and restless,
concrete and wingless.

Turning smile as screws eyes are bolts.
Locked out and locked in.

May I borrow a tomorrow?
I'll trade you today and yesterday.
One is worthless,the other's
too much work.
Just give me the result,
without the effort,
and I'll be on my way.

When it falls will it make a sound?

I'm sure that we will hear.

Will it touch the ground?

I'm sure we'll see.

Does it matter in the slightest?

No, not in any great way.
it's all down to the laws of causality.
After all, it's just another tree.
One loss is only a loss,
if it leads to a multiplicity.

Who was it that took axe to bark?

We have no need to know

Why do the deed to bring the fall?

It does not matter; another will grow

will it just stay here to rot away?

No,We'll burn the wood to
be warmed in the cold of night.
To let us see and cook in it's light.
A wrong for our needs,
and our wants is always a right!

Choking in you clothes,
Tight; pretty as a tiger rose.
Wild claws, sharp point needle feet
Slightly reddened, in light of
Blood dead moon; resting on a
Salt grain littered sky
Hurry up n' drink the glass throne pond
Squander its delusion sup
Quickly now fresh prey is nearing
From unnatural light clearing
From the songs of the throng.

Your claws deep in;
Drawing his tin blood
All the wealth, of
Disease potential
Your groans of
Victory.
At the peak of flesh;
Lust referential.

Night; pretty in absence Of days clothes.
Glares darkness through home
Windows.
You prey is consumed withered
And fallen, twisted to a whim.
From snake to worm, birth
Blood stolen from him.
your Tiger rose left him
Sleeping in weakness.
Now hunger freed
Back to the daylight
Life you lead.

I cannot hear, the past in my rear view mirror;
Nor the wheels rotations,
or motion's sensations;
While under a flower bouquet
182.88cm away from me.

Prepare yourself,
this gets interesting












Have you ever imagined how a hanging body sways.
Back and forth
A human pendulum
The physics between each swing.
The noose,
The body
potential to kinetic energy
Over
And over
And over.
welcome
To the dark side of my brain,
The dark side of my art we call poetry.
This is the side not many see.
Because this side of me craves a bullet between my eyes,
My delicate blood to be splattered as artwork.
This is the raw side of me.
That i dont show people
This is terrible you could be thinking
Or...
You could be thinking
ive heard worse
And maybe so
But nothing is worse to me than wishing for ******* death,
Rather than looking at a ******* abuser one last ****** time!
ive had enough
And
I know im crazy.
But every human snaps...
Kind of like the time he snapped my arm
a slight pop
And
Ouch
A world of pain.
But stop,
And you could be thinking...
now what the actual **** am i reading
Allow me.
You are reading a lonely 15 year old boy's crazy side.
A side he can easily hide,
But has decided not too.
This is the thought of letting my inner self free just once
Letting my suicide revolver speak only in poetry just once
No,
If you actually care
Dont worry about me.
Im fine.
Im not gonna guzzle bleach
Pop a bullet
Or go for a physics lesson.
Nope im gonna keep living
And writing crazy **** like this.
Let my imagination, though dark it may be, run for a bit.
Heres the truth.
We all have a bit of this side in us.
We all have those thoughts.
Those whispers.
And i resist them, yes.
Because truth is,
its my inner brilliance
The fact that i let myself ease in to the darkness,
But refuse to let it controll me...
Its a true gift.
And i hide it
Behind a thin veil of happieness.
Because in the end,
Only a true lover can make these thoughts mend.
(Wait what the ****!?! Is this a **** love poem)
Ha!
Nope.
Well maybe a bit
Its just me
An average guy
Telling you,
Im lonely
Depressed
Insecure.
And i hope there is someone
To come with me
To be with me
To love me
To hold me
To make me feel whole again.
*do you believe someone could love such a wreched person like me?

I know I should most likely be
Doing something else...
However, I can't help myself
This  is* what I want to do right now.
Wait. What was I talking about?
****. I don't even know.  
Should we be talking about you?
Because I just feel so selfish for
Hogging the conversation,
Disrupting the silence
With nonsense.
With random facts I read somewhere
With the weather reports that are. . .
. . . . . . .
****. I'm doing it again.
I'm sorry. . . . . . . .
Was I staring off just now?
I couldn't help but think about
How the pattern on that gentleman's shirt
Looked just like my grandmother's couch!
I wonder if it also smells like moth *****...?
Um, yeah. Salad sounds great for lunch,
How is your dog doing?