"autopilot" poems
You seeing me rapping will never happen
Before that I’ll start cappin
Walk off like nothing happened
Since I’ve mastered this art of war
I tend to take things too far
Don’t give a **** who you think you are
Your rap handle doesn’t exist anymore
My rhythms galore, your rhythms manure
Best left in a bag
On your steps
At your front door
Hottest your rap crap will ever get
I’m so polished this is a blemish not a scrimmage
I treat you little *******
Like a teacher’s pet
Up against a Vietnam war vet
Giving you your first shoots
Flipping the script
Double barrel twelve gauge extended clip
Special grip pressed against your lip
Having a hard time talking ****
A pistol whip left your tooth chipped
Fake rappers rapping hard
No street creed; they ain’t legit
This wack imitation ****
Got me ****** off
Don’t get me started
you rip offs should get lost at all cost
dealing with a real boss I can handle a loss
Testing me lyrically, you must be previously ********
Now you are dearly departed
I’m styling on you I’m wilding
Bloodline of Goliath
So go ahead start a riot
With my mic on autopilot
You can get chewed like trident
Eating wack MC’s
essential part of my diet
this ain’t even a battle verse
it’s a gift and a curse
running its course
on my high horse
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
the sounds are there, they come through walls
right around the corner
they're not visual, they're miserable and in need
they're equal opportunity exhibitionists
lovers of a family get together, taking everything in
parasitic and aware, destitute and stuck
but they're also there at the wrong time
the wrong time for the person who's alone
the wrong time for a person who's disconnected
because they want to be enjoying peace and quiet
alone
by themselves in an old house
with summer outside making its noises, crickets
trees rustling under a jeweled sky, the pinnacle of up high
breathing in the home air of cannibus, lotion and food
being disturbed is far from a thought, but unavoidable
simultaneously
because the house has a strange history
the basement floods, and the machinery kicks in
the mind ponders as the constellations wander
the nights grow and shrink, the body is dry, bone dry
the shower is turned on, soap, shampoo
lost in the mind on autopilot
until the spine stiffens
its without a doubt that I'm not alone now
a minute ago i was the master of this house
a minute ago I was naked in the hallway, smoking a cigar
now I've been usurped and I just want to barricade myself
in this house that I've live in for 15 years, now i beg for permission
to stay just one more night
I beg because how could I possibly fight
It's my conscious or the pontius pilate
I hope it's the former, because if not, blowout the pilot light
There's little hope for re-ignition or stellar recognition
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 2:30 PM UTC
I've never been able to get good sleep.
My eyes darker than black holes, I spiral down.
I try to clamber up, but I'm in way too deep.
Daydreaming at night.
The loss of myself, but very aware of my state of mind.
Release is only found within the sunrise.
Every night I stumble on the moon.
I jump star to meteor, hoping gravity pulls me into the space between. Maybe then I can get some real good sleep.
History book worthy battles, I wonder who will be the victor.
Love or loath; a sword drawn to my heart.
Arms apart, head thrown back.
I'm not even entirely sure what part of me I'm killing, I'm just praying for relief, I just want some sleep.
I was sick of the suffering, autopilot is my new definition of personality.
Memories have turned into sadistic nightmares.
Let me free myself from this close eyed, open mind torture.
I cant even stand to walk around my own mind, silence is full of beasts I have yet to slay.
I'd rather hide in the wounded parts of me, call myself a survivor.
A survivor of nothing out of the ordinary.
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
I remember the feeling of waking up for nothing
The empty, gray taste everything had
How I'd stare off
Out windows
Or across streets
I remember walking to the river
And the grass not bending beneath my feet
The current wouldn't change nor stop for me
And I imagined it would always be this.
Having everything I had always wanted right in front of me and it not matter
I remember being stuck in the rain and not getting wet
Watching
Quietly accepting what was, and simultaneously not acknowledging what it meant.
It was comfortable, but now I want control.
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 11:27 PM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keep the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Dec 1, 2011
Dec 1, 2011 at 11:45 PM UTC
How many times can I check facebook, check facebook check facebook?
Glance, browse stalk, stalk harder.
How many times can I watch a show on my computer?
Watched, finished, next episode next episode next episode-caught up
How many times can I get distracted, get distracted check emails—no new messages
Entertain me, distract me, disconnect
I want to be turned on standby, autopilot, you can think for me
Keeps the walls of paper from burying me, suffocating me
Intellectually flat-line, a mental goodbye
Lose consciousness, fake my awake
Get lost, then found then actually find my way back to my workload
Attempt the task that terrifies
Look it in the eye,
Unafraid eager and tackle it down to the ground
One subject two three,
But the pile it looms over me, consumes me
I bit off more than I can chew
Teeth that don’t release, don’t retract
All I think of is how I should act
Attack, straight on? That’s the best bet
Nothing was ever accomplished by sitting down in fret
The stakes are just too high to try
A failed attempt changes impressions
Self-Conceptions
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 3:45 PM UTC
hey, hi, hello
—this is your life,
the view is vaguely familiar
out of the passenger seat window,
two years of autopilot
isn't generally recommended—
the mind can time travel or so it thinks
unannounced comings and goings,
quiet reintroductions occur daily
as to alarm no one of your departure
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 12:44 PM UTC
I fly through life on autopilot
Do you think they'd ever realize?
I arrive and depart on time
The ground greets me no differently
With no knowledge of my vacancy
Calculation is a constant and lifeline
To connect me with my kind
Kind only in anatomy, general size,
The way we obey parallel lines.
Ground control, do you read me?
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 2:48 AM UTC
Please come and find me.
Playful whispers in the dark.
Who am I calling?
I suppose...
My baby,
Can I call you baby?
O sweet lullabyes in the night,
Hold me in mild constriction.
Squeeze a little bit tighter, love.
I don't know how much time I have left.
Delusional!
Alone on the vacuum.
Scratching at air for any oxygen my depraved lungs can find,
Suffocating on your love,
Choking on your divinity.
Oh darling,
My sweet crimson lover
Dancing on the bridge of death at the break of dawn,
You swing me in your arms,
Tight tongue behind your violent grin,
Your hair grows stars, and your arms bend time,
my fatal partner in a tango to the edge of the earth.
Heartless as you torture me,
Wrench my soul playfully,
Foolishly and ignorantly,
Pulling my strings.
Enacting
autopilot daydreams
Painting mindless patterns
On an inky black sky,
Orange slices on existential beach
Sparkling warm coast,
The cosmos like a bright sunny day above.
Bitter ashes mix and churn with the sand,
I'm sinking,
Quickly,
Help me!
But you just watch.
And I sink until I hit the bottom
And there I lie,
Falling asleep to as my grief fills the ocean.
The zodiac locked fate,
Fish and Virgins! Fish and Virgins!
Poets and failures,
Academics and frauds,
Spring and summer to autumn and madness,
My eternal indigo diary,
My blueberry lipstick,
My lavender kiss.
Leaving light stains on my love-lorn letters,
Mailed to you on Sunday,
Delivered along the Milky Way.
Waiting emptily,
In an empty white asylum,
With an empty mind,
Waiting for you,
My answer,
My meaning,
My red and blue jumper.
Not standing up to stretch,
But sitting still,
Letting my bones grow stiff,
To creak under my weight,
Like an old back porch,
Made for a pair of old lovers,
Desolate,
Withered by neglect,
Empty.
A pointless pray for solace,
In hope you will come,
My prince of waves,
My fifth science,
My escape from this never ending sporadic spiral down into the murky, dusty, purple fog of asinine and inane.
My peace of mind.
My baby.
Can I call you baby?
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:51 PM UTC
I was a child filled with wonder
filled with love and curiosity.
I was a child who loved questions
and to wander without anxiety.
Not even a year old
had my heart turned cold.
As a child,
I was relied on,
depended on,
beaten on.
As a child,
I only knew pain,
heartache
and how life
truly was.
Life wasn't fair
not even to a child.
Not to a child's heart
without a care.
Only a few rays of light
shed through the cracks
in the wall of my heart.
Not even an adult
had my eyes become
so old . . .so alone.
The only thought that remained
"Become stronger. Stronger.
No limitations, no excuses."
I had to be stronger for her.
So she wouldn't crumble.
I have become stronger
but I have become a stranger.
My strength leaves me though,
when he holds me tightly.
His arms become my home.
and his heart is my life.
This was my answer,
she has also grown stronger.
I have been on autopilot all along.
I should have just known.
I am Strong on my own.
But I am Stronger
with the friends I have found.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 5:28 PM UTC
Your morning smile is precious.
It gives me happiness.
Smiling is indeed contagious.
Your smile puts me on “daily autopilot”.
You make me believe I can fly like a dove.
Is this the power of love?
Your smile is a catalyst to beauty not makeup.
To accolade your smile I trade a boffola for laughter.
Just to relax your muscle tension.
Oh yes, laughter restores the body’s natural energy.
I see the light through your crystal white teeth every morning.
It chases all nightmares like sunrise chasing the darkness.
A morning without you by my side is void.
I’m addicted to your morning smile.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 5:31 PM UTC
I'm running.
I'm running out of patience
I'm running out of time
I'm running from myself
And All I do is cry.
I'm running on empty
I'm on autopilot now
Breathing has become a labor
And I just don't know how.
This pressure is so suffocating
I can't seem to smile
I just want to run
To Get away for a while.
But these chains, they bind me here
I can't let them down
But I can't save myself
I need you now.
This emptiness is killing me
I don't know where to turn
And so I'll run into the sun
And Away my soul will burn.
Feb 26, 2022
Feb 26, 2022 at 4:40 PM UTC
Four days. Shadows now begin to lurk at the edges of my vision, my sunken eyes in a conundrum of expressions, my mind now only a fraction of that of the tiniest animal. Do you know that animals are polite? Yes. What’s your name? Yes. For four days my heart has had the stalking company of silence. It’s a nice day today. Yes. It’s almost like meditation. Would you like coffee or tea? Beer. What would I make of this peace? There’s no beer. ...Beer.
The evening darkness gives off a relaxing daze in the -ber months. That’s a doze off for everyone else. The beer runs endless here, its smooth chill on my stress-parched throat quenches my spirit, with spirits. The shadows look, they are envious. I offer them a bottle. Dude, you’re alright? Huh? I was here just a minute ago. ARE YOU ALRIGHT!?
My friend has been very nice. I called him to ask if I could go over to his place to drink. No, I can’t. We ended up drinking anyway. Beer-Yes.
Whoever says that cola bottles are **** has not seen a beer’s. Or they might not have yet the right tips. Day one: Statistics class: What is the scale of measurement for levels of aggression? If you seek, you are already lost. If you don’t, you will never find.
I have a feeling I’m later going to go on autopilot again. It’s surprising how the body can remember places the mind had lost to drinking. It’s a nice evening, yes? Yes. Day two: Day three: Huh? For a certain amount, alcohol would be pleased to accompany anyone. The shadows do like their drinks; their perpetual longing for things clutched to moments almost mirrors mine. I tire of beer, bring some hard ones. They like their tips. Yes-Yes, …Beer.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 12:22 AM UTC
Regrets (Going Home)
I’m sitting at the stop light waiting for the light to turn green
Traffic is bad and I’m waiting for an hour it seems
The song on the radio is playing one from Red
And thoughts keep spinning ‘round, like a carousel in my head
I’m living like I’m driving: always moving but not taking time
To be in the moment or to read the signs
Going through the motions on autopilot every day
What more is there to life? Is there a better way?
What have I been missing that is hiding in plain sight?
There is more in this world outside my personal plight
You know I’m thinking about you now
And I sit here wondering how
You are doing and everything I’m missing
I had so many chances and here I am wishing
Hoping I could go back and do it all over again
To be there for you to be there for my best friend
I lost sight of what was truly important in pursuit of personal gain
I have all this money but the fact still remains:
I have no family now and money simply cannot fix
This emptiness inside the sadness from all this
I want you to know I’m sorry and I was so wrong
I never realized how much I had until all of it was gone
Please know I pray for you and for the kids whenever I can
I know I could’ve been better, been a Godlier man
I could’ve gone to church on Sundays, prayed a little more
I could’ve stood up for our family: a thing worth fighting for
If only I had been aware before all that I now know
I might have done things differently if so
I have come to understand a little a purpose far greater than me
Life is more than just a job, money, or nice things I believe
It is family, it is love, it is a something that you feel
In your heart, in your soul, and it is very real
Helping others, taking care of yourself, being there, showing love
These are all things that matters most if push comes down to shove
Then again it’s not too late to try to reconcile
I’ll take responsibility for consequences and go the extra mile
The only thing I would ask is to keep me in your prayers
And that you know wherever you go someone really cares
The song changes, the light turns and I continue heading home
To a place I can go back to no matter how far away I might roam
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 11:30 PM UTC
My heart was buried with you that day
I was left numb
Holding the weight of the emptiness
That space were you were not
That space where joy had left
I walked around on autopilot
A faint outline of me
Just visible on the surface
With a burning, crippling pit inside
I was beyond the muddy puddle
I was face down
At the bottom of the murky river
Cold
Stuck
Surrounded by darkness
Slowly sinking into the mud
With the weight of my tears
Like a fallen tree holding me down
I was not trying to get up
Because I had no strength to
No will power
No heart
If I never came back up
I would only see you sooner
And that
Was the only comfort I could see
And then
You spoke to me
Clear as day
And you used that serious voice
Only used for serious things
And you said
And I will never forget
You said
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare. There are good things to come.”
And like a bolt of lightening
Shot into my chest
I pushed my head out of the water
With a breath of life
And you offered me back the empty jar that was my heart
Oct 12, 2019
Oct 12, 2019 at 8:27 AM UTC
You don't have to remind me to listen to three AM school-night words that come out in the soft whispers you've been waiting to share with me in an attempt to shield it from the rest of the world
I'll remember the things you didn't say like engraved textbook lessons
when my skin starts to dampen and stick to my body like a raincoat
my head hits the wood desk so loud everyone stops pretending to pay attention
and i have to write
"he doesn't love me anymore" one hundred times on the chalkboard
and bang the parts of my past i wake up forgetting together
watching the chalk dust from the day my mother told me; they almost lost you fall to the floor
Every negative hallway interaction bubbles over in an abandonment issue chemical reaction
and I had to drop chemistry because I found none of the connections and formulas could fix the imbalance I carry around with me like i shouldn't be failing Psychology 101.
Maybe I'm clueless because I can't tell you why weather changes or square roots of negatives
But I can recite the lisence plate of the car my dad has never visited me in
and my sisters contact information for the 4 minute and 57 second call i can pay $6.43 to make to sit on the floor and learn about juvenile detention while history notes offer me cold faux-sympathy
Maybe I'm clueless because id rather memorize the way your hand moves down my back than the quadratic formula
and give up on poetry mid sentence
and change "moves" to "moved" because it's all in past-tense and the difference between present and present perfect and banging erasers and not sleeping and
forgetting how to function off of autopilot mode
and
there are lessons I will remember that won't come from staring at a projector screen
when to stop talking
how to look like you weren't just sobbing in the bathroom
the unwritten "give a stranger a ****** if they ask" rule
I'll remember every word you tell me like the test is next period and I'll study every syllable and drown in iambic pentameter
and I'll still fail
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.
Putting myself on autopilot,
Just so I can survive.
Separating from reality,
Because simply living
Is all I’ve got this time.
I wish you could
See me in the state
That I’m in now
Broken, bruised,
So critical.
It’s absolutely pitiful.
I’m tired of feeling low,
But I keep dragging myself
Down,
Sinking and
Caught in the undertow.
Someone wake
Me from this
Mental charade
Because I’m tired
Of all the games,
And the iron bars that
Keep holding me down.
It’s hard to thrive,
When I can’t figure
Out how to figure
Myself out.
Happy anniversary,
Trauma, guilt and
Doubt.
The past is very
Critical and I
Just want out.
I keep waiting
For an answer, but
I know I’m the only
One who lets myself
Down one more time.
I hate to admit
That dissociation
Is a friend of mine.
And I’m sorry,
If I disconnect
Sometimes.
Please don’t give
Up on me now
I just need someone
To make me feel alive
One last time.
Sep 19, 2023
Sep 19, 2023 at 4:07 AM UTC
I’m thinking about the doctor's hands shaking as she
struggles to intubate a cat.
I’m thinking about the technician's hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage,
pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than
practitioners are with humans—
hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,
the sternum sore.
Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was
opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.
After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and
walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week.
Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue
after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.
The flip of the coin. The thin line. The blessing or the curse.
The absolute darkness of a body bag. The cold chill of absolute zero.
The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the
light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the
brain shoots off minutes before death.
The eleventh hour,
isn’t that what it’s called?
We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.
We have to, but it won’t register.
After a loss, after a trauma,
we are on autopilot.
I think of my mother,
six feet beneath frozen soil in
a pink padded casket and think:
I don’t want that.
I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out
next to her in an above ground crypt and think:
I don’t want that.
Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.
Putrefied flesh. Bones visible. Muscles eaten. Tissues disintegrated.
We don’t talk about it.
We try to think the opposite. The positive vs the negative.
(But that’s not always possible or healthy.)
I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking
blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes
on a clipboard in the back of the room.
I couldn’t do these things.
My hands tend to break what they touch.
The glass bowl in the pet store.
The clay project in art class.
The succulents, the basil, the orchid.
I’m good at things I don’t have to think about:
good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,
good at trauma.
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 2:47 AM UTC
I've become quite
the actor.
Going through the motions
of the days I have to endure
without you like I'm on autopilot.
or drugs.
Oct 5, 2012
Oct 5, 2012 at 9:36 AM UTC
Swirling colors
paint the market square,
shrimp lie heaped
next to the
bananas & chilis,
there's lemonade,
tires with rubber patches,
a sense of community
hangs in the air.
Deals are made
in hard currency
or in trade.
A natural flow exists,
as if everyone
is on autopilot.
And behind the scenes,
just under the surface,
one feels the depression,
pain is palpable.
You can see it in
the eyes of the dogs,
rib-poking-skinny,
hairless, manged & skittish.
They hang with the limbless ones,
half-humans,
legless & starved,
dragging themselves
on cobbled streets
through ***** matter & *****
wallowing in the mire,
begging for peanuts & money.
It ain't funny.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
There is something living in me,
an anonymous being devouring my dreams
and driving me out of my mind.
I have stepped down from my position to
operate this machine,
and the creature has turned autopilot.
I wake up suddenly when I have not been sleeping.
I forget my lines.
My smile has gone into hiding.
The dark crescent moons waxing below my eyes
are swallowing my face like the night sky.
The skin that shelters these two residents
has become more and more translucent,
and still I cannot see who has moved in with me.
How can you defeat an invisible enemy?
One who always knows your strategy,
whose voice and footsteps sound like yours,
who leaves on lights and opens doors,
who gets to breathe every time you inhale,
I am failing constantly
and through this, it prevails.
If you spend enough time with demons,
they soon become your friends.
A part of you to love and defend.
But careful that you do remember,
how easily your heart dismembers.
Do not trust the darkness inside,
who feeds on your doubts and batters your pride.
The parasite feels no remorse
when it feasts on its final course.
I know it is hard to find the light
with wool pulled over your eyes.
You are the sheep, but deep asleep
a lion is ready to rise.
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
on autopilot all day
then the moment the sun goes down
the lights go off
the eyelids shut
the pilot finally takes control
and starts a long, vicious nosedive
into the icy cold ocean of thoughts
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
I'm employed
But not enjoyed
They're annoyed
Until I'm destroyed
Then they fill that void
With another humanoid
I'm a hollow coil
From lots of toil
Like hot oil
I'm not royal
I just boil
Underneath the soil
I say howdy
Loudly
To the rowdy
That doubt me
And out me
As mouthy
This mistake
Fish tank
I drank
Stank
So rank
My mind went blank
I cannot fight it
My mind on autopilot
The roof I tile it
To style it
Violet
While lit
I am a changeling
That is aging
From waging
A war raging
Against those caging
The rat who's racing
The pain is inner
As a fidget spinner
A ****** sinner
Ate for dinner
For he's the winner
Of the money printer
And my mind of cinder
They broke me
No joking
Just poking
The nope king
While hoping
Society starts sloping
Towards communal coping
Jul 30, 2018
Jul 30, 2018 at 2:34 AM UTC