I didn't do it last night
I couldn't do it last night
It's driving me crazy
I feel as if I need to do it
The urge is making me
want to do it deeper and deeper

I feel like a smoker who hasn't had a cigarette within hours
They need the nicotine, They need their new drug

A rubber band is not as good as a blade
It never has been
It never will be

A rubber band stings
it doesn't scar
it doesn't permanently leave a mark
it doesn't make you bleed like a blade would

What does a blade do?
A blade is something that you can really control
You control how deep you want it
You control where it'll strike next
You control how long it'll last

It's like a power
A bloody power that's very addictive
I feel as if i'll explode without it
As if i'll go mad without it
As if i'll die without it

I need it
I want it
I have to have it
~ G.P.O

I made this on June 19, 2017
I am happy to say that I no longer feel this way and I have improved
The moon calls my name
fate shivers in terror.
Is he now late
or is this a piece of horror?

Stormed by mind tapes
inscribed by good days.
Weights of shared affection and passion
are now buried in the sand of memories and imaginations.

The earth weeps,
as it is being whipped.
The world's greatest gift,
Is about to be enclosed in it.

Darkness embrace the earth,
Stings of viral sadness is felt.
Loved one's soaked in the river of tears,
My beloved Mom was drenched in the rain of fear.

As the earth opened it mouth,
Memories from good old days began to replay,
Of how we rushed home from school at the end of the day
to see your loving face.

Running back through time,
I recall how you answered many of our questions with just a stunning smile.
Turning back the wheels of the clock,
I am overwhelmed by the affection you showed your flocks.

Six feet down,
the heavens frown.
Hoping we meet again,
never to part again.

My tear filled soul can only say I MISS YOU.
Dedicated to the loving memories of my father Late Pastor Ejiro Sajini
 Feb 21 William A Poppen
bex
Darkness drapes the night
Cold and thin, with a clear sky
An advent of stars

Stars made from the dust
of bones left from the fabric
of the universe

Universe expands
Dry and brittle marrow falls
Winter pitiless
Like Jacob,
I too wrestled
with an angel

or God,
but not overnight,
but years down

the dark dawns
of depression,
not overcome

or undone,
but going over
the same ground

differently,
seeking the essence
not the glitzy show

or slight of hand
of money spinners
or the tall tales

of God-deniers,
but wrestling day in
day out with God or angel,

each night in dark depths
He comes,
no words exchanged,

but hand to hand,
arm to arm contesting,
then after combat done,

the time for resting.
how many poems are written about
love and hate
living life and welcoming death
happiness and sadness
the fearful and fearless
sanity and madness?

how many poems are written about
darkness and light
the sun and the moon
the stars and the galaxy
the universe and our planet?

how many poems are written about
the trees and the rivers
the mountains and the valleys
the animals and sea creatures
the oceans and the land
the sky and the clouds
nature and everything it provides?

how many poems are written about
anxiety and depression
suicide and living life to the fullest
music and silence
philosophy and art
incarceration and liberation
coffee and tea
booze and drugs
war and peace
politics and religion
sex and celibacy
masturbation and addiction
and those who use it
for recreation and those who
believe it’s an abomination?

how people are drunk?
drunk on alcohol
drunk on love
drunk on books
drunk on ideas
drunk with magic
happening all around them

how many poems does it take
to sing?

how many words do you need to
piece together to end this poem?

as many as it takes
until everything is
swallowed into the
abyss of nothing
The Holy show
is put on
year after year,
but it's not the same
now you're not here;
the whole performance
lacks a certain something,
my son.

We exchange gifts and cards,
put on the lights
and decorations,
stock up on things
for the Holy feast,
get ready for the big day,
but it's not the same
now you're away.

The big day comes,
the feast is cooked
and set,
table arrange
and places laid,
wine or beer,
crackers pulled,
but something is missing:
you're not here.
A father talks to his dead son
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