If I killed myself today,
I'd have said what I have to say,

Life is pointless and you know,
In the end, we all have to go.

some things in life
are about as meaningful
as a pencil without lead.

- v.m

I can't seem to understand
What could be done to soothe this ache
Ripped from a broken rib cage
Measure up all my mistakes

Coloring the glass
Staining all my liquor red
Leave me buried in the past
Spent every last second

Draining the last drops
Strained through broken teeth
Working for the sound of
Something that's worth healing

Finally myself if
Only for the moment
My truth is that I'm lost
In this current, vacant motion

How'd I lose my way

There's nothing like running
your fingers through wheat
as you take a footpath
through the farmer's field
especially in the dead of night
when the silence speaks volumes

Though I wouldn't know
'*** I'm a city boy
I always say
a life better lived on
the road less travelled
clearly wasn't for me

Cloudy days and
cloudy apple cider
go hand in hand
with hand rolled cigarettes
and unread messages
and a qwerty keyboard

Things are gon' get better
things better get gone
have I neglected my writing
or has my writing neglected me

Thoughts are just electricity
surging through your brain
tiny little electrical impulses
molecules and whooshy stuff
I could do with some of that

an anarchist, just
a person who wants to de-
-stroy the government.

there's a difference be-
- tween letting the world burn and
setting it aflame.

its not a good sign when
you stop writing your words
for those that may be willing to lend an ear;
its not a good sign when
your computer doesn't recognize the hello poetry url
that used to be so deeply embedded into its system;
its not a good sign when
you feel your poems no longer have meaning
it is pointless to write anonymously to no one
its not a good sign when
you have to fluff your scripture
to make it more believable to readers,
or maybe yourself.

Yes, math is important.
No, I’m not denying that.
Yet, you, my teacher,
My instructor, guide, mentor
Do not need to act this way.
You say that if I can’t do this math,
I will never be successful in any career.
You said that if I can’t understand
Something as “simple” as this,
I will never make it in the real world.
Don’t deny that you said those words,
Because the whole class heard you.
What about my English, my writing,
The things I will never, in a million years,
Work with math for?
Are you telling me I’m going to fail in that?
It’s just an B- in your class, it’s not
The end of the world.
Maybe I don’t learn the way you’re teaching,
Maybe I need to do things differently,
Maybe I’m struggling with things at home.
Maybe I could say that your math is as
Pointless as you say my writing is.

who am i?
what am i?
Do I really exist?
What form of life Do I have here?
Is my identity really determined by my actions?
If so, that makes me someone who'd rather write than live.
But is that all i am?

I am creative and self-destructive
naturally skilled and unproductive.
I am fragile yet tough as a man,
struggle thru life with no real plan.

As each day passes I can feel it,
I'm slowly losing a part of my identity.

My friends are all screaming;
"who are you!?!"
"is your mask anything like you!?!"

My head is hurting,
I don’t know how it’s still on.
I'm still aching,
After all the breaking that has been done.



© Copyright Tyler Atherton