learning to love what's degraded down-
is heartbreaking because-
you simply feel as if-
there is nothing to love,
but something that isn't there,
and then you're left with an open chest,
full of love,
for something that will never come to you.
"Parkinson's is fun
I look like I have constant
jazz hands"- Thomas Prince
self deprecation, and for lack of context my name is Thomas Prince for those who care
My words don't Shake like William's,
nor, do they Frost like Robert's.
My words barely lead the Way like Ernest's,
nor, do they have Hughes like Langston's.
I don't know how much my Wordsworth like William's,
nor, do my words keep people ******* like Edward's.
My words are far from an Angel like Maya's,
and they are barely Lovecraft like Howard's.
Indeed I profess, my words cannot do those listed things, but, my words can be a great expression of me.
My brain toys with a thousand possibilities
Teasing my already uneasy mind
Logic pulls its best defense
But it’s too late
It’s all creeping in
Until I give future no chance
And ruin myself
I haven't been eating much.
My shaking hands beg for nourishment,
And only then I feed it.
I've been sleeping a lot,
but it's disturbed, restless.
I've been drinking more and more.
The red wine at night soothes my sadness.
It even makes Him feel farther away.
Just to wake up groggy, unclear, sad.
Here I am, punishing myself.
Unable to wrestle out of this cycle.
The wicked voice inside my head is back,
and She's louder than ever.
She likes it when I'm catatonic and vulnerable.
my own worst enemy
I wish I could make her toes curl like the end of fitted sheets
But i'll probably disappoint then like Fox's casting of Mystique
I wish I could command attention without saying a word
But to do that I'd have to have charisma, wait... what's that a bird?
No it's a trait that I don't possess.
I guess you can't correct a problem you don't know how to solve
The truth is i'm so easily worn out I don't know what to do at all
Not physically but socially, that batteries drained
I'd complain but my lack of confidence weighs enough on my brain
But let's get back on track with this train
I hope that I can make her squeal with a kiss and spill passion with a hug
But I'd actually have to be desirable, unlike, say a Chagas bug.
Hell the bug might have better luck than me
I guess that's why I have to express myself lyrically
Because my head goes one way and my mouth another
Just forget it I'd be hopeless as a lover...
my Bike does squeak.
Its rusted left-hand brake.
and repair the weak
Rusted left-hand brake.
of oil leak.
Its greasy left-hand brake.
Birds call back
through a mouth they lack
To my noisy left-hand brake.
Their vapid squawk
My Bike does mock,
With that rattling left-hand brake
and my life is depleting
Out that spoken left-hand brake.
My Bike calls forward
each sound, more onward
While the feathered ones call for love,
My Bike calls for distance,
And the Future,
And the Purpose,
And the Birds, my Bike is above.
First poem I ever really sat down to write with the idea in mind-
Got no soul to love
Parasite feeding in our skin
Don’t worry they do love something
That something is themselves
spiked their life bringer into a flaming can
watching the world from a cave.
sleeping with friends.
No benefits attached.
doesn’t care if you like them
actually delighted they’re messed up
How about you keep you’re mouth sewed shut
and tear out your larynx.
Words from that useless hole are hollow.
Manipulation your mistress
Depression your *****
Just chose one or the other you-
Stay quiet, behave.
do they even have a name?
It’s still beating in the trashcan, cold.
I am that Heartless *****
A little something I am finally posting after having finished it during my internship with The Atlas last summer. Enjoy!
they tell you it's a weakness to cry
advise you to keep your hurt inside
you foolishly believe their earnest claims
and fold in on yourself in vain
I've just been feeling some things :)