"doped" poems
It doesn't **** you...
But It makes you forgetful & dumb
It can be addicting even when you say it don't.
I can't even talk to you when you're all doped up. It makes me sad that you'd just turn to drugs.
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 1:03 AM UTC
I feel like I am neurologically deficient
That a lot of my brain cells are missing
Like a punch drunk doped up punk boxer
A pimply muscle bound ***** on steroids
Hanging out at my old high school locker
No shocker that I am no medical doctor
But I always thought I’d be just a bit better
I guess on average I am a little bit smarter
But the bar is set so low that it requires
Very little to grow and go over it, you know
In comparison to the other young men
I may be grandstanding and one upping them
But when it comes to grand scheme of things
When compared to past people
Who shared my glorious dreams
Like Percy Shelley and John Keats
Like Ginsburg and the other Beats
I think I am drifting of course just a bit
Lest we all forget the **** cut the crap to fit in it
Maybe I’m okay few travel this way anyways
So who’s to say if I’m doing it the wrong or the right way
But I still feel like my brain needs a chemical treatment
A diet with more nutrients and sufficient Supplements
Because I’m feeling neurologically deficient
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
He thwack no metronome to kick oneself
Thwack his **** sucker
With his monolithic flaccid trunk rubber
Me and my Dalek doped
And my excrement unsweetened
Copulate in the open without my jockstrap
You shat encrusted to what you deflowered
So at arm’s length ****** from all that we excreted in the wind’s eye
And I bounce a bedevilled backwash
My incredibles are shafted
I’ll **** **** to Arab
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
I **** **** to myself
I ****** you powerfully
The body beautiful’s not enough to go round
You enjoy spanking and I wallow in *********
And ***** is like a tobacco teabag
And I’m a bijou **** coming the corsets in custody
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** posterior to her
And I **** **** to…
Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab, Arab
I **** **** to…
I **** **** to…
We only jabbered hasta la vista amongst homophones
I croaked a hundredweight arsonists
You **** **** to her
And I **** **** to Arab
Mar 26, 2010
Mar 26, 2010 at 4:34 PM UTC
2 men,
that's it.
2 men
have known me,
inside, they fit.
Doped out
of my mind;
it's hard to recall.
Bits and pieces,
flashes of memory.
I was a living rag doll.
Barely breathing,
he takes me from behind.
Pulls my hair,
and says,
"I'm gonna make you mine!"
I think it happened
three times,
but who really knows?
When your brain's
as high as mine goes.
I can't call it ****
I was a willing participant.
Numb to the bones,
so with it I went.
When it all fell apart;
my secrets exposed,
he wrote me something
that was no longer prose.
His words were razor blades,
slicing the skin with ease.
I kept myself in my own prison;
over, my heart began to freeze.
"A willing **** victim",
is what he called me.
Sick to my stomach
for allowing him in,
I lay my head on the pillow
to cry for a 5 year old sin.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
First date just ended
and quickly after I left
as the headache set in
barely catching my breath
it feeds off my feelings
I can feel it creeping its way in
A case of the lovebug
Has got me again
Coughing up sweet words
Going faint from the comfort
This is how it always begins
It stole all of my thoughts
And gently erased them
Sweetly crawling around in my brain
Rearranging, rewiring, they all work the same
I was too doped up to realize
That this case is so serious, my sanity died
And now it’s too late
All I can think about
Is your hand in mine
Your face
Your eyes
****** delusions and lies
And still I’m rather quite hopeless
Desperate, caught in the moment
Helpless to stop it
But why would I want to?
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 10:12 PM UTC
American Democracy
is setting a trend:
American Democracy
is a Sitcom, or perhaps a Game Show
of demagogic, narcissistic sociopaths
tricking and manipulating the Public
via various sources in a highly consolidated Media industry
into thinking they vote for a particular flavor of Tyranny
when in reality Today's flavor of Tyranny is all decided for you
because the burden of Choice is far too stressful
for the Moderner without proper medication,
and the power of Choice may require some sort of educated critical Thinking,
some sort of re-edification
which is far too much for us to handle
in this socially sanctioned doped-up state
and with such an intentionally failing Education system
from K through 12 and beyond.
With American Democracy,
We have a grand Illusion of Choice.
It's so convincing that many believe the Illusion is True.
(Sort of like hew we think of Reality, but with Choice of Government!)
For American Democracy,
They don't want mass Education.
They don't want mass Edification.
They don't want Critical Thinking;
Those things prevent a Control by few.
In American Democracy,
They intentionally destroy progresses made, like Rights,
They perpetuate stigmas about things like genders and the concept of "race" itself
They propagate Terror as their Sheeple scream from the sidelines for more
They defile the sanctity of Human Experience, of Reality itself
and chain us to a system that benefits only a few
while destroying everything else,
like Climate and Environment.
These Demagogues are Satan, if Satan is real:
They tempt us with the things we don't need,
filling us with Stress, Desires, Prejudices and Fears,
and ceaselessly wage war on institutions of Education,
all the while keeping us from finding the things we already have within each of us.
This System of American Democracy
has degraded into a corrupted fractal
of the ages-old ways of Tyranny and Terror:
Aristocracy, Plutocracy,
Patriarchy, Oligarchy,
Kleptocracy, Demagoguery,
Bankocracy, Corporatocracy,
Fascism;
Tell me,
What is the ******* difference?
I mean,
even Adolf ****** was elected democratically
under the pretense of "Change"
then, for weeks later, suspended civil rights indefinitely
after a likely false-flag 'attack' on the Reichstag in 1933,
(for which the Nazis blamed the communists.)
under the pretense of "Security":
Demagoguery runs Amok
Among disedified Minds.
They say "Freedom" and "Democracy"
as if it vindicates their Totalitarianism.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
why is it that whenever we–
women–
show the slightest sign of anger or strength
we are presented with one of two masks:
the ***** or better yet,
the Joke.
why can’t we demand anything
without being called fickle or foolish
while a man can do the same and be called
Boss?
why can’t we choose to look like the calla
and not be chastised for pettiness,
for wanting to feel pretty?
after telling us that we’re duped and doped by media,
we’re labeled with a laugh
or the scales of a serpent when we want
to to bite back.
you chuckle when i bare my teeth,
you tell me that i’m cute when I’m angry.
I dare you to tell me why.
i am not a *****
i am far from a Joke.
i have skin and bones
hands to work with
eyes to see and most importantly
i have guts.
i am human.
Apr 1, 2014
Apr 1, 2014 at 10:54 PM UTC
capsized beating purple algorithm
for a heart,
cross-nit aspirations
still taste dirt on my teeth,
the mission creep of eager eyed poets,
carry a briefcase with my levi's --
close cut cigarette encounters,
all brick shantytown of a friendship
them lovelies run on endless,
it's starting to get cold outside.
restless sprites circle our *****
exhaling greek mythopoeics
every sure footed step.
alcoholism echoes in my skin
a depth charge i cannot cut out,
we all have broken thoughts here,
all have blind spots in our stomachs,
they read like a preacher's insecurities:
burly things we warm ourselves with,
the winters sting bitter.
something is wrong with me,
sinkhole of ambition and honey kisses,
all the great thinkers **** themselves,
it's the staunch lack of spotlight,
way the earth drips lackadaisical-like
we just call it a perfect orbit.
shake my hand and feel a goldilocks pulse
anemic shards of a cornered animal,
we cut right
to the bone
here, or so we tell ourselves.
and love is always the answer?
that sure footed toothy angel
so beautiful, it couldn't just be our
churlish blood,
frothing and calming,
frothing and calming,
electrons rise and fall to create light,
they still circle an untapped atrocity
perfectly,
like this, like it must be
god
or something close. something
stopping them from running, free
from bonds ionic or otherwise,
bare feet
beating the pavement until there are
no more stones to throw.
firstborns of the universe,
each star is a setting sun,
blinks staggered,
still grew us up quicker than most,
there is no aphrodisiac like heliocentrism.
them bones cut good
doped up on oxytocin,
those empty thoughts still rattling,
dig sharp -- then nice and numb.
and we cutthroat and glossy,
sharper than ever.
walk outside
smoke a cigarette
know how much you love her,
look at the stars --
it's ******* beautiful isn't it
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 7:57 PM UTC
i.
Coming out of the state of anabiosis, mine form was ripped and torn, mine adorn was battered and burned, I went through Hades whilst the pit of death's kiss shattered me in agowilt;
ii.
I was dying, in Hell's kilt; once a shape, now ***** in a pit of unsatisfactory demon's; roped, doped, bleeding.
iii.
The scaled creature's bit me, the ceiling's muck dripped me, whilst at mine ending breath's, a light shined forthward, a Filipino empress.
iv.
I was nothingness: a mess, molested, infected, by the realm of raven's nest's. That's when she thundered in, in Baro’t saya wonder; twas me who on the sea, on her lip's i swirled up-with Satan down under, mine tears hadst fluttered by like butterfly's; mine ghost awoke with Jane;
v.
Twas, she was
Heaven on
Mine side;
She took me
For a ride,
Back to
Life
Again!!!
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedicated ( Filipino rose)
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
Stress so bad
It's got you puking
And now you're losing your hair
What's this?
Didn't know stress could do that
Oh, now you're puking in the toilet again
Got another fever
What's this?
It feels like appendicitis
Didn't know stress could do that
How did you get yourself in this mess
You can't believe this
Should I spell it out for you
Because if I tell you what it is
You going to go insane
Because you know it's true
This doesn't happen to you
This isn't happening to you
What's this?
Crying and laughing at the same time
Turning around breaking things in anger
Falling on you're knees
Alone in your room
Curling up into a ball
Tearing up all day and night
Why are you laughing
You don't know why
You feel like you're brain is fried
Oh, now you're crying again
You don't sleep any more
You know this isn't right
What makes you think you should go against your gut this time
You promised you'd always listen
No exceptions
You're blind
You love him too much
It doesn't matter that he's been your friend for years too
You know this ain't right
You ******* know it
Now you're in denial
You've made every excuse for him
You answer his every whim
He's got you controlled in fear
You're afraid to lose him
So you listen to every crazy whim
Not doing yourself any favors
You ain't doing him any either
Children need to be taught
Wrong and right
No matter how old they are
Should you be ashamed?
Think you like it
In some twisted sense
You think you deserve it
Now you're doped up on Xanax
You had some wine too
So desperate
It's all you had
Want to be knocked out
Because it stops the thinking
To take away all the stress
You could barely breathe
Drinking with your meds
That aren't even yours
But now you need them
Because now you feel like fainting
When you think
Didn't know stress could do that
You think you like it
Hell no
You don't like it
But you convinced yourself otherwise
But in the end
That's still an excuse to protect him
What are you doing
So lost in those rare moments
Of what he used to be
Still is
Behind it all
That's him
Not this
It's a broken record
Same two songs over and over
It's a game for how long each side lasts
Pretty soon he'll hit you
You know this
You know it
That's why you just had a mental breakdown
'Cause you know what's next
Cause you're blind
You know the truth
You just don't want to look at it
I just want my sanity back
But I won't leave
Not without you
Oct 16, 2015
Oct 16, 2015 at 11:57 PM UTC
Poem
I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence
and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe
Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox?
Now clambering onto the icy porch
I open the door into
smells of brass polish, wood polish
pots full of bones.
Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in
I must make marmalade with Seville oranges
with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like
a little sweetness of the blossom
worn on bridal veils will come back
as the flesh boils soggy with pips
and Demerara’s sweetness pummels
and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full
of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying
to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars
My house will be dressed
of stiff forsythia branches, blooming
while I pull on stupoods of wool
socks, and wax my boards
I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing
on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling
separating mills and boon from reality.
If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar
And whispered ancient simple words
And as spring soars from
the dirt he would say agapa me
and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve
which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter
O my mighty easel, you are not like nature
though you are like a highway
of roots, clamped with straps
Supported or shaded, you reveal
all that I am.
The light begins to drop out of ticking stars
onto the snow bank behind the studio
the place where crimson and ochre mate.
I am really a painter
and my brushes are words
which glaze accidentally across
vellum, spurning censure.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
As soon as you're born, they make you feel small
by givin' you no time instead of it all,
'til the pain is so great you feel nothing at all;
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
They hurt you at home and they hit you at school,
they hate you if you're cleaver, and they despise a fool,
'til you're so ******* crazy, you can't follow their rules;
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
When they've tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
then they expect you to pick a career
when you can't really function, you're so full of fear;
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
Keep ya doped with religion, *** and T.V.
and you think you're so clever and classless and free
but you're still ******* peasants as far as I can see;
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
There's room at the top, they are tellin' you still,
but first you must learn how to smile while you ****
if you want to be like the folks on the hill;
A working class hero is something to be
A working class hero is something to be
If you wanna be a Hero, well, just follow me.
If you want to be a Hero, well, just follow me.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 8:27 AM UTC
Poem
I watched a truck churning under a wire convergence
and the sky above doped entrails coming from Europe
Where had the turtle gone, the one puffed in the curve of the fox?
Now clambering onto the icy porch
I open the door into
smells of brass polish, wood polish
pots full of bones.
Winter’s wind rattling time holds me in
I must make marmalade with Seville oranges
with their thick rutted craters, sadly moon-like
a little sweetness of the blossom
worn on bridal veils will come back
as the flesh boils soggy with pips
and Demerara’s sweetness pummels
and I’ll be beaming ear to ear, beaming, full
of a sugar high, then fall. I don’t think I’ll be flying
to Jamaica, but at least I have a box of jars
My house will be dressed
of stiff forsythia branches, blooming
while I pull on stupoods of wool
socks, and wax my boards
I watched whirling snow collapse, loshing
on my face, signs of a dream, unsettling
separating mills and boon from reality.
If I had cast a spell stirring boiling sugar
And whispered ancient simple words
And as spring soars from
the dirt he would say agapa me
and my house full of worms, fat as fingers would dissolve
which is why I must plant, for butterflies to flutter
O my mighty easel, you are not like nature
though you are like a highway
of roots, clamped with straps
Supported or shaded, you reveal
all that I am.
The light begins to drop out of ticking stars
onto the snow bank behind the studio
the place where crimson and ochre mate.
I am really a painter
and my brushes are words
which glaze accidentally across
vellum, spurning censure.
Feb 15, 2012
Feb 15, 2012 at 6:02 AM UTC
Astonishingly! This poetry analogy is partially of a prodigy poet! It is of his endearment and endeavorment in our great Government that desecrated, medicated, sedated and segregated him. Doped! Desperately copping and hoping he made it! To add, no dad! An artistically rad-lad through the bad, the glad, the sad and mad. This destiny of a poet is also of apologies, felonies, formalities, legalities and theories.
Furthermore it’s of mournful and scornful-laughter! Capture and rapture, dreamingly and seemingly, chapter after chapter... Pondering and wondering is there a happily ever after? This destiny of a poet is heavenly, randomly and religiously, tellingly of lots of many thoughts! Some adventuresome, awesome, burdensome, fearsome and gruesome! Some loathsome, lonesome and wholesome!
Some of dreams, schemes and many themes! Some deemed and seemed differently, discriminately, indecently or racially true, from some views. Some askew and blue! Some of clues, of Jews, of taboo, tattoos and voodoo! This destiny of a poet; stunningly who could’ve and would’ve thought once, twice or thrice of this price? Of the cheers and peers, the jeers, the leers,
the tears and weary years... Therefore I say, some artist’s
clever art may create, dictate, relate and translate similar-thriller craftsmanship with negative, positive or relative penmanship. However, typically some probably will publicly criticize as a travesty. Some will harmonize, some will publicize or socialize, some will disrespect as imperfect, some will neglect, some will respect as perfect! Hark! I remark; brethren, children and women keep and upkeep that
creative spark! For in the dark or as you embark. Literally, morality and reality is in my poetry and story. Expect excellent, brilliant, decadent, resilient talent and testaments! Basically on final note! I positively devote, quote and wrote these eccentrically optimistic, rhetoric and theoretic poetically lyrical rhyming notes. Finally and bluntly, do not negatively amend, bend, pretend or transcend this end. Amen...
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
you walked out as easy as you came in.. i dont know you but you make me smile and grin.. like a little child getting ready to go for a spin.. i didnt want to intrude cause i know that it's a sin.. i try to throw these words in the bin.. but no matter what i do, these thoughts of you keep seeping in.. but you left without notice.. you make me lose focus.. as mesmerizing as a lotus.. you can create art just by using parts of the smarts that depart your mind and heart.. i try to keep you close, trying to find the spark.. trying to beat the shark you left in my ark.. running from this dark room.. waiting for your witty remark.. but i dont hear it.. you must have embarked for the park to plant another shark.. maybe ive lost a part of me.. but i dont need your sympathy.. all i wanted was to get to know you, really.. but all i am to you is silly.. as silly as ***** singin rockabilly.. but now you've disappeared, my mind grows weary, my eyes get teary, and my heart gets dreary.. maybe im dreaming.. maybe theres a way to wake up from the screaming.. to escape this seemingly gleaming scheme.. but things arent always what they seem.. this stream of dreams is what's keeping me in between.. so i look for a machine that can clean what ive seen.. to erase these memories.. so i can find my new queen.. i dont need someone from a magazine.. i just need you to intervene with my routine.. nothing obscene.. you just make me feel like im eighteen doped up with morphine.. youre a trip.. a high.. making me lose my grip.. feeling like im being cracked by the tip of a whip.. you make me lose my censorship, making my hip flip till i slip from this trip.. but youre gone now.. so i offer you a page from the stage of my mind.. hoping it's me you find.. not acting blind.. so lets just rewind.. i just want to get to know your mind.. and make us feel entwined..
pauldeeeeee
15mar2011
Jul 23, 2011
Jul 23, 2011 at 6:05 PM UTC
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because my crippling expectations of romantic relationships
are consistently juxtaposed to the disappointment of swiping left
or right, double tapping, it’s a match!
and hoping to find a sharp needle in this **** of a haystack
only to find a blunt object blubbering
"are you masculine?"
because the chunk of flesh dangling between my thighs
or the beard on my chin
or the hair on my chest
isn’t an obvious dictation of
my status as identifying male,
because “masculinity” has now been decided by the masses
to be left to the chiseled neanderthals laden with testosterone
too doped up on their post-workout endorphins
to do anything about the internalized misogyny
that costs lives on the daily.
i used to piece together outfits like puzzles
hoping that when it’s solved, maybe,
possibly,
on the off chance “you’ve” nothing better to look at,
"you" might notice me.
because i was raised in a society that taught me
looking good would get “your” attention
so you might want to open up the box
and begin piecing together the real puzzle of why we
treat our brothers and sisters like **** for
not conforming to your black and white box of
"masculine" expectations
"you’re so cute! why are you single?"
because i will continue to express myself as i see fit.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 1:25 AM UTC
And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls
this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.
I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******
Give me another hit
buffer my pain.
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.
It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.
This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.
Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.
Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside
I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.
my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.
There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy
but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy fucks,
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--
But when you check out,
please donate.
Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.
Aug 7, 2012
Aug 7, 2012 at 8:07 PM UTC
When your life lies within the hands of crooked doctors and blood thirsty nurses. Who've made you too weak to speak out against the horrific experiments, they have conducted on you. "Professionals" That claim to be searching for a cure, to an already cured disease.
When friends and family can give you no comfort because, you're too doped up to understand any words of sympathy. Modern medicine can never help, the entire industry is infested with corporate criminals looking to make fast money so they have something to fornicate with later on this evening.
When the machines break down and you get trapped inside the mechanical afterlife. We will seek revenge against the mad men who did this. You will be found, no matter how far we have to travel through the circuit board. Your soul will be found before it is sent through the assembly line and manufactured into a techno logic ghost. You will escape the factory. I promise, you will never become one of them.
.
Mar 14, 2012
Mar 14, 2012 at 6:11 PM UTC
They had *** everywhere.
In the car,
Parked at Costco,
She teased him,
Bra-less under an unbuttoned shirt,
Her agile hand coated with a thin primer of Vaseline,
She stroked him slowly, precisely with a twist,
As somnolent sad faced suburban Sherpa,
Their neighbours and fellow citizens,
Hauled their apocalypse supplies
Across pristine acres of fresh asphalt,
Doped by fear,
Trapped inside the pixels of an infinite routine,
Unaware and
Unable to imagine life as a movie.
Out on the highway, as he drove,
She pulled up her skirt
And pulled down her tube top
Trucker’s horns roared their musical approval,
The benefits of a long haul driver were scant and skimpy,
Her ***** alive and anonymous,
Guilt free and aroused.
They ****** in washrooms,
Molested each other on escalators,
Texted friends while they copulated half clothed,
Shared their pride with angels dressed as ******
And counted their ******* like winnings at a casino,
Excited by the number and the game,
Their brains hot-wired,
Life a blur of alternating currents of sensation.
Death is constant state of ****** he told her,
When we leave this organic realm,
When we have finally turned the oceans into pudding,
And caged all of life,
When it is over,
We will enter into a cosmic stream of pleasure.
This is why the universe is expanding, he told her,
Pleasure is a colossal force,
The big bang was God’s ****** after all,
Her consequence the stars, the galaxies,
The dark palette of her entropy.
He was ******* her on a balcony while watching the moon
And waving to the woman with binoculars
When she asked,
Why is it so difficult,
Why do so many ignite pain and cant despair,
How did the curl and cling of hate
Take such deep root, she asked.
We fear death too well, he said,
And
Within the quick boundary of this moment
As they searched their waft and scent for clues,
They heard a whisper.
Inside the swell,
On top of a crest of acid clear thought
And without regret,
They forgave destiny,
Only to fly to the ground and beyond.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur,
straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered
down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand,
a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you
that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both
roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more
than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands,
a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing
Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers,
milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear
of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite,
quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires,
17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror,
the road back home, detour, detour, going down south
by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief,
steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have
I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you,
it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of
norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine,
it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black,
but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin,
lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work,
babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons,
the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss?
Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard,
tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself,
earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle,
both roads lead to an affair with me.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
When he was born his father was drunk,
his mother was doped up.
He was born three months early with double pneumonia,
but he lived.
Growing up, his father would put down the bottle
only to hit him and his mother.
For some reason, he wasn't sure, his sister and brother were spared.
His father died when he was eleven.
His father killed himself with the same pistol he killed two Japanese men with. His mother remarried, with no job, experience, or even a drivers license, she had to remarry quick.
His stepfather put down the bottle only long enough to hit him and his mother. This time, his sister and brother were not spared.
Two weeks after his seventeenth birthday, he learned to play while my guitar gently weeps on a third hand guitar his stepfather had spent a fifth of his monthly salary buying.
He made money playing guitar. He wasn't the best, no Eddie Van Halen, no Eric Clapton. He did without the flashy showmanship. He had something called dependability. He was never late for an audition, he never ****** up an audition, he never fought with his band mates.
Driving home from a gig thirteen days after his twenty second birthday, a drunk teenager in a pickup truck plowed into him at an intersection.
He spent 5 weeks in the hospital. Doped up the whole time. When they let him leave, he left with a plate in his head and a monkey on his back.
For three years he lived on the streets. He'd play his guitar on the corner by the CBGBs for change. He'd take that change and buy ****** After three years, exactly three years of this, he realized he could play guitar better sober. He stopped using.
He got an associates degree in English, a concentration in teaching.
He taught English and Beginning Guitar at the same high school he hid his bruises at years earlier. He had favorite students, how could he not? They were always hiding bruises.
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 11:07 PM UTC
THE SHADOWS PALMS
STRETCHED IN THE EBONY ROADS
MUSING ON THE BLOCKS OF RUGGED STONE STEPS
GARNERED AND GATHERED BY CHAFED PALMS.
STRADDLING OVER THEM
THE DEEP FURROWS AND HEATED BROWS
NOW BROWN AND TANNED WEARING
A RUMMAGED MOUSTACHE OF CLIMBING VINES.
EVERY STEP AMUSES,
A MUSE THAT DOES NOT CEASE TO AMUSE,
IN THE HEAT OVERDOSES.
AND WHEN THE ARECA PALMS PALIPATING
IN ARRAY
HOIST ABOUT LIKE ROWS OF MEN DOPED
IN CEILED BANKS OF DISTRUST
A CYNICAL NILA CRIES ,
HER PLUNDERED SANDS.
NOW THE SUNKEN FERRIES ,
HAVE APPEARED AT HER BAY,
AND PAINFULLY CHAFE EACH OTHER.
A ***** FROM THE BOTTOM
STIRRING THE BELL FOR THE REQUIEM
PAY THE FERRYMEN.
FOR THE WAYFARERS WAFFLED WRITINGS
ARE ADDRESSED
TO THE MEN WHO PLASTERED HER WALLS ALONE
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:31 AM UTC
I got a dog likes to wander around
You might see him anywhere in town
In my neighbor’s yard or in his trash
Today, I don’t know where he’s been
He just came a-staggerin’ in
I think that my old dog has found a stash.
I got a doped up dog
Don’t know what to do
He’s layin’ in the yard, howling at the moon
He won’t feel so good
In the light of day
I don’t know what makes him act that way.
Friday night and I’m on the town
You can see me all around
Any place where I can get a belt
Made it in a half past three
My old dog just looked at me
I think he knew exactly how I felt.
Like a doped up dog
Don’t know what to do
I’m layin’ in the yard, howling at the moon
I won’t feel so good
In the light of day
I don’t know what makes me act that way.
Well, Jake just looked me in the eye
And I said “Yea Boy, we can try
To straighten up and get on the right track
Then we won’t feel so rough
Messin’ ‘round with all that stuff
And you and me won’t ever have to act….
Like a doped up dog
Don’t know what to do
We’re layin’ in the yard, howling at the moon
We won’t feel so good
In the light of day
I don’t know what makes us act that way.
Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 3:00 PM UTC
I'm so hell bent on fixing him
When I haven't even fixed myself
Fixated on a boy who wants to get inside me
It hurts because he doesn't even seem to like me
He's pretty much my Novacaine
I mean the way he affects my brain
I'm all doped up on his ******** lies
Bet I couldn't get away from him even if I tried
But it's not like I've made an attempt
Some other girl owns his heart and I'm paying that ***** rent
At the same time it could be a hallucination
After all, he is my drug and I'm not to keen on imagination
He's gotta have a good enough reason
For why his feelings change with the seasons
Maybe I'm just driving myself crazy,
But as soon as we got close enough he left me and maybe,
That just means he's afraid and needs someone to save him
Or I'm making up ****** excuses so I can have a reason to crave him
Without feeling like a little kid running after someone like her dad
Someone who leaves me alone wondering and wanting what we had
The only peace I recieve is hiding beneath these tears and sheets
Because finding peace in a person just means it hurts more when they inevitably leave
But why do I care so much
I've always given too many *****
And a while back I promised myself I'd stop
Because I'm afraid of falling and life has too many unseen drops
Kind of like a rollercoaster but you can't see it when you get to the highest point
And on the way down you scream so loud you lose your voice
Then you don't know how or who to ask if you have the right to be ornary
Because he ignores you all day, then night comes and he's *****
Well **** I guess since I live down the street
I'm supposed to come easy like a nicely cooked piece of meat
In a restaurant for guys like you
But rather than take me on a date you'd have me shoo
I mean I guess I could leave you alone and go away
But then I'd just think about you all day
And wonder why you haven't called or texted
When I know for **** sure you have your phone but everyone says don't stress it
I dont know man
I've fallen so hard it's a struggle to stand
I guess I just refuse to see him for who he really is
A sheltered cold-hearted killer of girls who happen to like him
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:11 AM UTC
By Arcassin Burnham
Original Lyrics By Fleetwood Mac
Situational views with over determination ,
I don't need a judge or a saint , thanks for consideration,
Poked eyes don't see the evils that go on in this country,
Some people could hear them calling from hell , it must be comfy,
Plant life can't even really get a stance without people building buildings
Over them , there ain't a chance,
But nothing to a country boy that just works with his hands,
But not in a country so doped by wickedness , do you understand?
Listen As My Heart Grows,
Watch us all rise.
Running towards the Meadows,damn deciet,
**** your lies*
And if you don't love me now,
While your heart is dipped in sin,
*I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain",
(Never break the chain)
You've broke my soul somehow,
We can't just sit here and pretend,
*I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain",
(Never break the chain)
Listen As My Heart Grows,
Flowers all in sight.
Running In The Meadows,hide the dark,
Embrace the light,
Your Love is stricken,damn deciet,
**** your lies*,
And if you don't love me now,
While your heart is dipped in sin,
*I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain",
(Never break the chain)
You've broke my soul somehow,
We can't just sit here and pretend,
*I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain",
(Never break the chain)
And if you don't love me now,
While your heart is dipped in sin,
*I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain",
(Never break the chain)
Never break the chain,
Never break it with your family,
Never break the chain,
Never break it with your friends to be,
Let the link be stronger like protecters,
Keep your enemies,
Closer, in world full of broken hearts and a lot disclosure,
Is a lot to be saying for a kid that lives Florida,
We need closure for these posers that make greed a rare exposure,
Ain't no,
Signed sealed deliver **** when it hits the fan,
And nowadays being a man that dies is mostly a black man,
My opinions just stirs up so much conflict in comforting someone about the
Truth and it's allegiance,
Killings happen , it repeats and,
Don't let them open up the season.
Chains keep us together,
(Run into the shadows)
Chains keep us together,
(Run into the shadows)
Chains keep us together,
(Run into the shadows)
Chains keep us together,
(Run into the shadows)
Chains keep us together,
(Run into the shadows).
Jul 2, 2017
Jul 2, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC