"libary" poems
No Matter The Floor You Pass Out On
I awake as any other madman slash poet.
Apon the floor naked pizza box for pillow a members only jacket for a blanket.
yes the libary sure has changed over the years.
less and less people were reading buggets were cut meaning
libraryies were under staffed and rarely did anyone dare venture into
the stacks and thank good for that. Cause being i preffered free sleeping
it was probaly for the best.
but no matter the the floor you pass out on most all fine
american men wake up with are god given birth rite.
That which after a trip to the restroom like
that early morning madness that was christmas pressent openning
was over way to fast and was kinda disapointing.
Floors werent the best beds in the world in fact they
****** altogather but drinking and common sense dont even
belong in the same room togather.
Portsmouth Va was a strange world indeed a place where upscale colided with skidrow.
Me I preffer the company of a outdoor sleeper to that of a
spoiled spoon fed yuppie ****
the art school cranked out angst ridden buble people by the second.
They walked the street soaking in the pain of life.
there heads stuck so far up there ***** I always felt compeled to trip them as they walked by.
acting as though they were outsiders yerning to be mainstream
they'd **** there mothers on a mtv reality show as dad cried in the background.
Just for a taste of stardom.
True talent who needs that?
but no matter the floor you pass out on one
thing was clear.
In a world were you could have a bus load
of kids and get paid for it.
fame wasnt such a rare thing anymore.
The floor I passed out on was cold and cruel but surrounded
voices from the past.
the floor these hollow reallity show bottom feeders
passed out on. Had to besoft as there heads.
Otherwise there brains would splatter across the floor.
And some TV exect would have a brainstorm to have a show
were washed up celebrities would have a contest.
To see who could bore us the most with there sob story
Yes friends id rather have a pizza box for a pillow
than a reality show pillbox for a brain.
and the truth effectsus all form no matter
which floor so you do choose to pass out on.
Dec 11, 2009
Dec 11, 2009 at 7:12 AM UTC
I can put on a neon orange jumpsuite
And stake my self like a spike
Infront of all the busy cars
In this crowded parking lot
And still be invisible
I can throw every ecyclapedia
Out of this libary like a varsity
Pitcher who never lost
A game
And still be invisible.
I can walk into the lecture hall
On my head like a martion and
Speak astronomy without a
Glow of english
And still be invisible.
Twenty two years
Have made me
Disapear
I cant spend another year
Alone with my invisibility.
I cant hide from love anylonger.
Its time to repear and find
My self again before the dreaded
Forty four only has one candle
On a single cupcake. All alone when
It knows he turned the lites off. Hes the only
One who could of flickered the dusty
Plastic switch. There was not any mystery
Only a wind of failure he caused on himself
When he blew the candle out twenty two years from now.
Because he was invisible.
Sep 7, 2013
Sep 7, 2013 at 2:31 AM UTC
My tour ---left my feet to
Impersonate a college
dream.
There they all where
on the paths next to
The greenest grass
I will ever see.
These girls love to
Hear the sounds
Moving out of
Sheinbeck hall.
He presses down
two valves his trumpet waking up the crammed dormant minds
Of some carelessly young freshmen of philosophy.(they need rest)He made himself
Practice because he loves
The silvery tone escaping from his lips. (I the feeling)
The geology rocks know about his favorite jazz.
I saw one swing around the class through a clear unsmudged window.
Hes been hear and earned a sabaticle. But like me and
The girl whose skirts flowwith georgious leaves of ivy inside the
Libary will die before they budge to leave behind the old court yard bell melody. The sounds they read upon.
We all wish these days will never end.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 6:07 PM UTC
In 2006 I ventured into an old abandoned libary, being an urban explorer I wanted to see first hand the haunting tales of what occured inside one's of occultism, satanic rituals and the paranormal.
I don't remember much of the trip but I can recall I heard a scream that sounded very familiar.
The year is 2016 and I have decided to return. This place so beautiful on my first visit now appears like the tales I was told those years ago. I open the main door now screeching due to the rust that covered the metal.
I make my way through a darkened hall, dimmly lit bulbs blinking providing the limited light. Bleak and the sudden pungent smell of decay, the brick walls once filled with warmth are now wet and cold.
Something is here.
The overbearing smell of rot and death lingers in the already thin air. Gulping....I stop....then proceed forwards. I feel the warmth of a stagnant breath on my back and turn a quick 90 degrees.
Nothing
Turning back to the direction I was originally heading, goosebumps adorn my being. Shaking and saying to myself. GET THE **** OUT GET THE **** OUT GET. THE. **** OUT... I ignore my better judgement, I'm here to stay.
So I press on determined. I hear the buzzing of flies and I know I'm at the epicentre of the stench.
Bookshelves thrown askew, pentagrams and other ****** graffiti adorn the walls. I look around the room and then I see it...
A foot, I glide over to the foot and proceed from the blooded body stabbed in several places multiple times from the torso all the way to the face.
I stop...frozen in shock
I gasp...
It's not just any face
It is mine.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 7:21 PM UTC
_If you're looking for a reason not to **** yourself tonight, this can be it._
Sometimes, we feel as if nothing matters.
We all do.
So i made a list of a few of my own reasons,
13 Reasons Why
I'm still alive.
And hopefully you'll change your mind.
Those moments you feel happy, and nothing but lucky.
And you wish nothing will ever change.
I will try my best.
_Reason 5, Books_
Books, Sounds a little like the first one, poetry. but they are different. Because poems show you two sides of the story a book shows you your own. Ever walked into a book store and wished you won the lottery so you could buy them all? Walking home from the libary with a bag full of books. The old smell of paper. Did you ever got taken into a book so far people had to scream before you realised you should stop reading? Do you still remember that first time a book made you cry? Ever found back stories you wrote when you were six years old? Remember that feeling.
Mar 7, 2019
Mar 7, 2019 at 6:27 AM UTC
If life were a book it would be as big as the skies,
noting everything from this world and all of our lifes,
No place would it have on libary shelves
as into each and every category it would delve,
Chapters as big as the eye can see,
filled with information and extremely lengthly,
listing lessons to be learnt and lessons that taught,
Boasting the honest and disapproving liars that were caught,
The endless recording of progressing technology and
documented accounts of increasing geneology,
If life were a book no title would it hold
because its a neverending story ready to be told.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 3:13 AM UTC
It was long ago when we met you
Looked at me I looked back we smiled but I want to share the point of you this is what I thought you saw
I was in the libary looking for a good book I has finished my last one yesterday when a not walked in with Brown hair and hazel eyes I looked at him and made I contact I smiled and he did the same and soon we fell in love I dident know of he felt the same for me but I had to ask I felt a jolt of something it was indescribable
He said yes and we loved each other from then on
Oct 14, 2016
Oct 14, 2016 at 6:45 PM UTC