The same routine I sit and scheme My words will set me free. I have my mind I have my pen so nothing can silence me. Words are drawn on the page created one by one. They tell the story of a broken man. On a search for something different, something new. Day in and day out the same routine at hand. It's time for him to grow up It's time to be a man. Change is part of life and that's just how it goes. But when life doesn't change at all that's when he begins to question it all.
I am in a rut an awful rut that I don’t know how to get out of I find myself reaching for different things to bring me comfort I’m not even for sure what I need what I’m searching for It’s like I have gone numb It’s like I’m stuck in this current emotion and can’t get out I’m bored yet content but sad yet feeling okay I have felt on the verge of tears for the past few days and I don’t know why I don’t know what my body is waiting for It’s like I’m waiting for something to break me
When shall I get out of this rut? Counting down the hours until I can go Only five and a half now, but I'll be back next weekend, I know.
And only thirty dollar bills a day, for what? To get hit and kicked and yelled at I'd rather get payed for selling my body like a **** Or maybe I'll be a professional eater and become professionally fat.
Pure disgust is all I have to say Until next time, dreadful day.
7 cups of coffee, never been so tired. 7 hours 'til the weekend I'm a garbage human. Crawling on my belly through the ******* bars. Kick a couple empty cups and join the trashcan stars.
Monday morning, can't believe still at a job like this, I'm a ******* nematode behind a ******* desk. Got a mouth full of fangs and a vinegar gut Got my hands ******* got an empty wallet.
Empty out my guts on the concrete night, pour the contents of my chest on the headache morning. Chisel clear sight out of my crusted eyes just in time to read a bright orange low fuel warning.
**** these stupid weekends and this ******* space. **** my empty-heart excuses and my dishpit face. Clean the plate and wipe the slate clean. Leave this place. Maybe try and settle down. One more cup of coffee.
The nuts and the bolts of your automatic habits programmed scowls and slowing reflexes keep you matching wits with no one every night. And you keep slipping back into your 6-month rut with your cold sneer, hands in pockets, your shrinking bank account and swelling gut...
The Mountain Lines meander, you're just killing time and brain cells. Ashy days are tasting bland. Bus routes circle back on themselves like your footsteps every ******* night, this town will raise its hand, you'll retreat into familiar flight.
Cringe 'cuz it's so easy. Cringe at what you have become. Come back on your loop repeating. Potential's mocked. You're numb and deaf and dumb.
And you've never surrendered. But that's not the same as winning. Pinning hopes on snapping out of it and sleeping hearts on sleeves. Heavy footsteps every ******* night, a walking metronome passing cross-streets just to pass the time.
Your dull, aching eyes that you peer through every sunset-- programmed scowls squinting through preset acts-- keep your dulling wits all silent every night. And you'll keep walking through days like turnstile gates and send each night on down the line.
whisper upon whisper, grain upon grain. they pile up, until there is no space to breathe
not a pocket of air, only the damp black. hot. humid. cramping and stamping
and then. it crushes, you're trapped like a bee on a wing
life has you now. in its hold
god i just feel so stuck, so frozen in this state. there's nothing i can do about it except wait it out, see how everything pans out in the end. and everything i hate is waiting. is not doing. this is too much // too little
I can never write poetry when I'm happy what does that say about my personality? why do words evade me when I long to share my feelings of positivity? I don't want to only be known for my works on tragedy I am not always sad and lonely I smile and laugh and enjoy what life gives me and yet I can never convert that joy into poetry here I am, destined it seems, to always be a tragedy
tragically, this is also another poem about unhappiness
You linger like yesterdays coffee Staining the table My breath and teeth Leaking over onto my white shirt Ruining it For bleach isn't strong enough Tide falls short That faded white shirt Stained And despite the distortion I still wear you to bed.
lay back and relax go along with what the stream will give me sometimes fast sometimes slow a snag or two to keep me grounded watch the dappled shadows the canopy of leaves through closed eyes perfect state of being water drips with weird sound wakes me from my splendor turn my head come face to face with rutting buck that snorts across my mug the startled deer has startled me just glad to keep it upright stag turns and runs quiet restored left with vision of his eyes and the quickly narrowed pupils