"killjoy" poems
Catapault me into chaos,
I wish to get a little closer.
Your tainted eyes speak to me.
I wish to get to know you,
just a little bit better.
If I can handle it,
I'll stick around and play.
Too much pain is a killjoy.
If it burns too much,
I'll blow out the fire someday.
Criss-crossdresser,
I'm seduced into your submission.
My identity remains in shambles,
I'll see you on the otherside,
as I walk through this transition.
A possible phase,
or a permanent reside?
I am lost in mindless self indulgence.
If I dance in the rain,
I'll no longer have to hide.
An eternal blue flame,
made of youth and spirit.
Love could only feed the madness.
To remain the same,
is something my mind could never inhabit.
So dance, and dance,
and sing the tunes of duality.
I experiment with composure.
And once I find balance,
my dream will be that much closer
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
Little speckled bird,
quirky nerd, owl eyes-
gleaming behind the glasses,
often you zoom inwards
and land in that never never land
beyond the reach of most,
yet I am in love with your
ingeniousness that defies words.
bit strange it may sound
but I am one who explores
the hidden spaces beyond
my desired comfort zones.
they warn me saying a nerd
is a killjoy, nothing else
Swimming against the tide
I hear your excited chirps inside
making me restless with anticipation,
my intellectual slant
received your approval,
many times,I am hopeful
growing my beard long
I'll wait here, till you return
completing your mission.
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 1:50 PM UTC
the earth shakes beneath tectonic plates
a misery of mistakes weaved from the same rope that will hang the united states
as empires fall we withdraw
compassion for killjoy a complete and utter moral cleanse
dictators or dollars it doesn't make a difference
retrograde deviants persuing misanthropic leaniance
together as one bleeding out of every orface
the love of god flickers as the sign for hope is resurfaced
Feb 15, 2013
Feb 15, 2013 at 5:11 PM UTC
The crowd watches, crying silently.
Three figures gather around a black coffin with a red trim.
They all lay a gentle hand on top the shining surface.
Tears fall down their faces, not for the first time.
They all move to their rightful places on the stage, the fallen brother in the center.
They start playing a set, dedicated to the Killjoy the world though would never die.
As the first note to “Welcome to the Black Parade” is heard, people begin to break down.
They play the cheerful songs as well, though they aren’t as much.
They’re crying as the memories of life with him swim through their heads.
“NaNaNa,” plays in a slower way.
More of a painful cry for the moment.
They struggle on, through the songs, each remembering how it felt to play together as a family.
Each feeling that it’s different now, it’s not whole.
And as the last song came to be played, they all remembered their band’s last concert.
People became hysterical, as “Famous Last Words” plays on.
Citizens across the globe cry, as they say goodbye to their hero.
And as they all watch the casket being lifted and carried down the aisle and to the hearse, they all, united as one being, whisper quietly, “…so long and goodnight…so long…and goodnight…”
And as people all around hug each other in a desperate attempt to comfort and be comforted,
One person smiles.
He’s there, though they cannot see.
He wipes their tears away, though they cannot feel.
He tells them, “It’ll be okay,” “He’s here,” and “They’ll see him soon.”
They do not hear.
But deep inside they know he’s there,
Smiling bitter-sweetly as he wipes their tears,
Hugging them, as he whispers words of comfort,
Because they all secretly know,
That a Killjoy Never Really Dies.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 5:34 PM UTC
He took issue with the small gestures in life. The birthday message from a friend not seen in a decade, the idol chit chat that filled the cafe's, cinema's and other such places, proclaiming them fraudulent unthinking habit, a motion with no true sentiment and in return the followers of such social constructs took issue with him - or worse, pitied him.
He despised most human interaction because of this. Often being told that he 'rubbed people up the wrong way' or was 'too antagonistic' He just saw this as another excuse to expel him from the group (whatever that group was) All because he didn't partake in the usual social etiquette and fakery of the masses- this view only led to him being mocked further and neatly labelled as a stroppy, teenage rebel. His thoughts and voice cut down with replies of "Aaah stop feeling sorry for yourself!" "Stop going on about it!" " You're soo negative!" Because in all honesty nobody wants to be around a down in the dumps, killjoy, party pooper right?
He could find no solace in the little things nor understanding in the greater questions of life, so he drifted along. Bitter onlooker to a species so separate from his own. Desperate to somehow integrate into their ranks but convincing himself that such thoughts were mere acts of desperation.
And he was a desperate young man, desperate and despairing at his separation from the world and all others in it. Yet admittance to such feeling would rarely depart his form. No, he would mock and ogle at them from afar.
He would rather be Outcast than Cast Out.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 11:39 PM UTC
Boy meets girl.
Girl marries boy.
Baby comes nine months later
— blessed little killjoy.
Boy neglects girl.
Girl henpecks boy.
There'll be hell to pay
for slighting Helen of Troy.
Such an elegant fear,
this alliance, and yet,
when it's held in selfish hands
it merrily dissolves,
turning as tedious
and drab as Shakespeare.
Boy annoys girl.
Girl leaves boy.
It takes a special kind of madness
in building to simply then destroy.
Turn the other cheek
and Judas will kiss that one too,
reduce the bairn's fever
by visiting daddy's igloo.
Weekends are pay toilets
and happy meals,
frustration is a word all too real.
When did antipathy begin to rule?
About the time diplomacy was forced
into playing the fool.
The good times no one catalogues,
this life has gone straight to the dogs.
The Iditarod Trail extends
from Seward to Nome.
Run the race and make believe
the kids are tucked in safe at home.
According to Dorothy
there's no place like it.
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 6:50 AM UTC
Pretty boy
Never liked his toy
Pretty boy
Was a killjoy
Pretty boy
Wore pants of corduroy
Pretty boy
Never played coy
Pretty boy
Took away her joy
Ugly girl
Never liked her hair curled
Ugly girl
Chewed on a pearl
Ugly girl
Had her mind in a swirl
Ugly girl
Fell when she would twirl
Ugly girl
Thought she could be
A pretty boy
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
party pooper hijacked the heart throb,
the party progressively got rotten-
till the day break.
Jan 14, 2012
Jan 14, 2012 at 1:15 PM UTC
Set the mood
So the setting
Sits well
Magnificence
Magnified
By the affection you've displayed
Imagine
If this magic we've witness
Could be the norm
Take off with me
As we cruise beneath the storm
Worry free
Hurrily
Through the gates of paradise
Before the end of life
Hold tight
As we ride
On the waves
Good byes
Wicked highs
As we set sail
Coast across
This endless sea
While islands stand idle
Sandy beaches touch
The tide
And your foot
Prints faint memories
On the shore
Your heart soars
And
Your heart sores
Blood paints tragedy
Across halls
Of a beach house
A spouse
Is found unloved
Barely living life merry
The wife carries guilt
And it hurts to birth sadness
Just to grow up
To be a killjoy
Madness
Clashes with a smile
It drops
Crashes in the pile
Of lost laughter
How tragic
The fastest route
To self-doubt
Was tooken
Scenic pictures
Seemed obscene
To your dark eyes
Images shooken
And unfocused
Under a dim light
One for both of us
Our past was so bright
But the future fades to black...
Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 12:16 AM UTC
DaLing, DaLing, DaLing, DaLing
As I lay out on the warm wooden dock
Old Saint Joes crows fabricate a path of emotions upwelling
Sun’s rays prance along my shoulders in tune with the killjoy clock
The Fox whispers wisdom through the wooden panels that separate the two bodies
Little did I know, on that September day, there was little to be learned from this outrageously priced text with pages yet to be broken in, when compared to experience and growing up that year.
All my past, present, and future troubles and tears, flaws and fears, aspirations and anxieties
The Clock knew them all. The Fox knew them all, but to me unclear.
Somewhere between orientation and my final final exam of freshman year, through my social-butterfly-syndrome and college boys, the parties and the beer--
I, a lost sheep, was found on that dock in De Pere.
May 5, 2011
May 5, 2011 at 5:14 PM UTC
adrenaline palpitating
hands shaking
mind racing
so mad I can't even speak
when you talk about how my mother was a killjoy
or when that boy says im beautiful
texting because talking about us is too truthful
realign my smile into a numb glare
fixated on who doesn't even ******* care
my anger issues are obviously becoming a problem
with you lecturing me about how I get very aggressive
and that my life has fallen.
well guess what, I grew up and I can't change
i get it from my killjoy mother who likes to tell me I'm strange
and you wonder why I get irritated
but our generations just too overrated
life's just overwhelming
in this day in age us adolescent hot heads
can't even play sports if we have died hair or dreads
so don't sit there and tell me I have issues, when you're the one with the problem.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 7:53 PM UTC
Santa has pulled the pin
on all the kids down South
he won't be making
his Christmas run
due to the heat
in the ****** Australian sun
the jolly old fellow
won't be delivering any cheer
there will be no tinsel wrapped presents
he's going to Yorkshire
where the weather is more pleasant
I've been asked to pass the message on
though the news is glum
take heart kids
you know how Santa
dislikes being a killjoy
in the Yule Tide Season of fun
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 7:13 PM UTC
God is no God that seeth only in
The day but gropeth about at night
God is no God that giveth goats
But collecteth comely cows as tithe
God is no God that is unwise
A sort of sucker, stooge and *****
God is no God that knoweth not wrong
From rigth regardless of what's done
God is no God that simply scorneth
And scoffeth at a sinful fall
God is no God that despiseth
A croaky voice or a hollering call
God is no God that doth not help
That succoureth nay in sorrow
God is no God that doth not care
That expresseth no empathy over a woe
God is no God that's carried up and
Down like Dagon, like a dumb toy
God is no God that taketh away
Manhood to become a killjoy
Feb 22, 2014
Feb 22, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
Quote: "when I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say: I used everything you gave me"
Only in my dreams
Do I encounter
Branches with real pearls
Rolling down
In a spring breeze
From the depth
Of my gut
I wish to make it real
To build it up
From whatever meets
My expectation
But then I wonder
If I make this
How real will it be?
It was not created
By the vast evolution
We have been subjected to
or was it
perhaps the fact that I'm creating it, is evolution in it's own right
Overthinking my creative process
Killjoy.
I could draw it
And I did.
It was beautiful
Exactly like in my dream
I could build it from
A real branch
Attach pearls to it
But then would it not be
Totally kitch
Bah- kitch!
I could make it from clay
Yeah. No.
I could sing it's perfection
Maybe it sounds like
A high note
Or the piano...
Can't play the piano.
Can sing though...
Maybe!
I could wait for spring
And take a picture
Of raindrops on tree branches
But it's not the same!
Putting away my Nikon.
Maybe
I'll write a poem
About having
all the talent in the world
And not being able
To express my own imagination.
Cruel irony.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
Don't Rain on my Parade,
You are not gonna rob my joy,
So, just get on out of my way,
Since you want to be a Killjoy.
I am Here to have a good time,
Not moping around looking all Sad,
I want some EXCITEMENT, now THRILL ME!!!
SHOW ME GREATEST TIME I HAVE EVER HAD!!!
I am having SUCH A BLAST,
the most FUN IS CLEARLY SHOWN,
If you didn't want to HANG THEN,
You should have stayed yourself at HOME!!!
You are so DULL and so BORING,
I am having a Grand Time, SO SORRY!!!
I'm not letting you bring me down,
Don't want to join, then see you Around!!!!
I won't stop having a good time,
or the fact that you are annoyed,
I will keep enjoying myself, and
You are not robbing me of my joy!!
I will keep on with my HAPPINESS,
Here I come, I am on my WAY!!!
Whether you like it or not, are you in or out,
YOU ARE NOT RAINING MY PARADE!!!!!
B.R.
Date: 11/26/2024
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 6:29 PM UTC
you know it needs the thumb, index, middle and ring fingers to clasp the eroticism of the neck for the geese to fly in man inverse to the hellish fires of emotion that have no sense of temperament?
even the existential french philosopher sartre was fooled
by what the common man conquered
deemed the end of rome...
but the conversion gave us the long standing
byzantines: saint who never warred
and so warring turned to sainthood,
but the man was rags to riches fraud,
as archaeology - that thing above history proves:
can't deny the papyrus came from india
when it was found in egypt by a real shepherd:
unless you're in it for the money...
and not the fact that pharisees would not have
thrived unto exdous for muscle the 2nd time,
so why such intellectual diversity and thriving
under roman rule... because there was no dislocation?
the conversion of constantine empowered 2nd rome,
byzantine fabrics of jewel of sainthood
than never took to taking an acorn for some reason...
western rome was overrun with orcs, northern folk
previously not conquered when julius caesar looked
and the women of gaul and said: easy **** soldiers...
easy **** brit girls easy too, but have to pierce
the membrane of fickleness that mediates man conquering
and man scheming (paedophiles).
of course women are worth the conquest...
but in a western society what wages "justifiable"
as war outside of itself... inside it there's a sexist war of pacifism
of one *** *** changes... you name it...
in a society that exports war and imports pacifism
you will only get angry women and confused men...
pacifistic war is far from the pacific,
it's horrid... woman gets all the weapons:
**** **** nakedness, ***** and *******
man gets confused with what war is actually for:
profit... so he earns his share...
honestly... even though he's not warring...
so woman lives longer... becomes entombed
with inheritance... gets ken barbie the 2nd
******* of flamboyant killjoy mansion investments...
and it's equal: the worst sexism is one
that demands a pacifism of one *** but not both;
and we're living in a time when masculine sexuality
is pacified, and where feminine sexuality
is warring... easily duped by womanising wolves
that would reincarnate the third ***** somewhere
far from germany... like syria.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 8:16 PM UTC
calf’s eyes sparkle
it’s mothers are dull
repetition kills joy
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 2:45 PM UTC
It's not like you always imagined
And it's certainly not better.
When they ask you to talk about it,
if they ever do,
you'll have nothing nice to say.
Maybe that's your fault,
you little killjoy,
Or maybe,
he shouldn't have treated you
like the pile of happy tissues
that pile up beneath his bed.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 10:26 PM UTC
Thought you'd be the cynosure of this story
The protagonist, given all the glory
Instead you felt merely equal
To an extra in an unwatched sequel.
Imagined it to be Cinematic & song-like
Eons before that killjoy took the mic
Now certain sensations that you come by
engenders the exhale, of a melancholic sigh
Contrary to the rhapsody, in your mind
life is left indefinite & undefined
Until the mayhem ends in dysphoria
to the fool who long- awaited euphoria.
Are you a believer or sycophant to god?
-intentions of fulfilling desires, rather odd
So comes the unsolicited truth; the kalopsia
That triggers the many nights of insomnia
Jul 3, 2021
Jul 3, 2021 at 9:31 AM UTC
At times my PC
Can certainly be a killjoy.
Having placed it on a
Pedestal (speaking well
Of it), somehow, it
Falls from the precipice.
It dwindles my spirit.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
Now come one, come all to this tragic affair
That is My Chemical Romance
Who taught me to raise my voice every time they try and shut me up
They’re the ones that’s there for me through thick and thin
The ones that are killjoys out in the zones
That went to The Black Parade and said “we’ll carry on”
The ones that I named myself after
The ones that gave me courage to say “I am not afraid to keep on living” “I am not to walk this world alone”
The ones who I feel like understand me when they say “I’m Not Okay”
The ones who told me to “Give ‘Em Hell” and “Hang ‘Em High”
The ones who inspired the Sheriff Of Emo Town Tess Stevens to write the album Patient 139
The ones who if I was a killjoy would think “The Only Hope For Me Is You”
The ones whose lead singer proved that he loves and supports all of the fans regardless
The ones who told me to “Look Alive Sunshine ”
The ones who inspire me to write this poem about them
The ones who said “so long and goodnight”
So that is what My Chemical Romance is to me
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 8:56 AM UTC