#disclaimer
Prescribed drugs
Sipped with liquor
A lethal cocktail
Jun 10, 2019
Jun 10, 2019 at 10:17 PM UTC
i'm content and happy - i don't need him
disclaimer:
it doesn't mean i don't miss you.
your all i think about, all i dream about.
when your ready, i will allow you back.
i might not need you, but doesn't mean i don't want you.
time will heal all
disclaimer:
a **** ton
but don't worry it will happen
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 7:39 AM UTC
Before I start this
Thank you,
I used to be so helpful
I need to call my momma
I think I need a girlfriend
Time to talk to papa
I used be so different
Now I know the problem
Maybe I should love her
But where's the issue
Maybe I should bleed
But I am not a cutter
I love the pleasure sensation
But not the feeling of slicing my skin like butter
On a summer day
A wonderful day
Through my skin with an iron dagger like a tragic story
I need to get my ****
All together probably
I need to stop my procrastination
Well maybe I'll start tomorrow
Where are all my virtues
Behind the sins I follow
This is not the issue even the though rhe consequence follows in sequential order
Bordered on my persons if the action do more than my conciousness can fathom i shall falter with this ******* world
That's why papa said my **** is int he dirt
But I do not like cabbage
Maybe a couch potatoe
why does it even matter
Before you go to the next step
Please read the disclaimer
In this day and age of digital things
I got everything I really should need????
Feb 22, 2019
Feb 22, 2019 at 1:08 PM UTC
2.26.18
How beautiful it is to live,
our sentences no longer abridged by disclaimers,
our tongues not tied by fear -
our hearts not interjected with warning labels
for fear of our existence weighing too much
on the minds of others,
too heavy to comprehend;
Give me the heaviness in your soul
(it's alright, I can carry it),
speak freely with me;
do not censor the depth of your existence.
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 11:24 PM UTC
You cannot ask
The great poets of the past
The secret meanings of their words:
No murm’rings can escape dead lips.
Just as the poets are silent,
So am I – do not ask.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 1:06 AM UTC
This is a disclaimer
Despite the fact
That I wish they would attack
To bite your fat ***
In zeal cause you might
Taste like veil
Zombies are not real
This is a disclaimer
Contrary to your belief
And desire to find relief
Angels do not exist
The spirit does not persist
And you waste much energy
In the pursuit of this
Fear of death
This is a disclaimer
Cause it’s lamer
By todays standard
To stand hard
Against the ignorance
And superstition
Than it is to sit around fishing
For fantasies
To comfort ourselves
This is a disclaimer
It would be far vainer
For me to say
That I know it all
I may
I have been wrong
All along
But I highly doubt it
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 2:35 PM UTC
I am sorry for the way
I can’t look at you when I say
That I am sorry,
And I can’t give you anything back.
You built me up like
Your childhood diorama.
All cardboard, glitter
And clay figurines.
When you saw just how quickly
I could tear it all down,
When you realized
Just how crazy I could be -
I’m sorry.
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 11:49 PM UTC
It's easy to write a poem.
It's hard, however, to write a piece of originality : something where you don't fear people are reading it thinking "Where have I seen this before?".
No clichés, no copying, no integrating bits of your work and bits of others, always give credit where credit is due. Etcetera.
But that's not really what poetry is about.
I guess, in my own words and understanding of it, it's just about expression and ideas and spilling words onto pages that you could never say aloud.
I guess it comes from the abyss within yourself.
Where, in your heart, letters swim in pools of emotions waiting to be saved and salvaged.
And in your mind, they are forming in an orderly line waiting to be made sense of.
Maybe none of this makes any sense.
Or maybe it does.
I once heard the expression : "Nothing of me is original. I am the combined effort of everyone I've ever known."
And that's the **** truth.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 8:52 PM UTC
For one hundred days, we set sail without as much as one distraction.
But the skies open up,
the waves begin to groan.
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound,
and a wave broke over the railing.
The lost ship would not float again,
with tattered sails and opening seams,
and deck bestrewn with falling beams,
in the deep ocean it will remain.
I feel your fear and despair.
I was much farther out than you thought.
I scream but nothing, nothing will come out.
You’ve gone too far…..
Another nameless sailor’s ghost lost to the sea.
As the tide just sweeps and sways,
When will I find my way home?
Where is the shore-line?
Will this open water become my tomb?
Whoever told the sun to wake?
And whoever told the moon to clutch the sea?
Alone, yes alone, I may not survive.
The water’s getting so hard to tread
with these waves crashing over my head.
Just a hug could make me feel like I was never alone.
Light rain-drops fall and wrinkle the sea.
I should have known the tides were getting higher.
I will fall asleep,
to close my eyes is to be at sea,
and live eternally, immortally.
There was never any way of going back to the old world with any sort of victory,
or good tidings of new discovery.
At sea I sail in the bellowing gale,
on my way to the end.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:04 AM UTC