"schizo" poems
Why the hell ... do they do it … ???
They run blacks like ... " Fluid " ... !!!
Well ... THE TRUTH is ...
Most Coppers ... Keep Proving ...
... They're ... STUPID ... !!!!!
Harassment ... INDEED ... !!!!
is why ... some of them ... BLEED ... !!!!!
But ... Let me ... Proceed ...
cos' ... I will ... NOT Concede ... !!!!!
that ... ANY ... Police Force ...
is .... " RACISM FREE " ... !!!!!!!!!
" This Morn' " ...
It was ... ME ...
who they wanted ... " To be " ...
ANOTHER ... Young Black ...
in .... " Police Custody " ....
“Excuse me sir,
your car is registered,
to a national bank ?”
“THAT’S BECAUSE THE CAR’S LEASED,
I’M PAYING A FEE,
SO THE CAR IS THE BANKS ….
IT DON’T, BELONG TO ME … !!!…”
“Okay Okay !!!
but, can we have,
your name please ?”
“LET’S GO TO MY WORKPLACE,
IT’S OVER THERE, SEE !”
See .....
That's when ... their faces ...
Disguised their ... TRUE HATRED ... !!!!!
of ... seeing a black ...
Who Ain't ... " Selling Crack " ... !!!!!
The car that I drive ...
is ... " LEGIT " ...
That's a .... FACT .... !!!!!
While ... RACIST OLD BILL ...
NEVER SEEM ... to get ... " SACKED " … !?! …
When ...
" Their Nature's " ... EXPOSED ... !!!!!
They Quickly ... ” DECOMPOSE ” ... !!!
and then ... just .... RESORT ...
to ... ******* ... Up Their Nose ... !!!
Which ...
Just goes to ... SHOW ...
It's NOT ... " Only Blacks " ...
who take drugs ... when they're low ...
It's ... White People ... TOO ... !!!!!
who shove ... Coc' ... Up Their Nose ...
But whose ... " Cashing In " ... ???
is what ... I want to ... KNOW ... !!!!!!!
because i'm ... Getting Sick ...
of ...... " ALL TELL " ......
and ... " NO SHOW " ... !!!!!
They ... KEEP ON HARASSING ... !!!
Then ... KEEP ON SUGGESTING ...
"Blacks being mis-treated,
is NOT a Race Thing !"
But …. ???? ….
These ... "hidden-cam" ... shows
Now Show ... how things' go ...
It's ... NOT JUST ... undercovers' ...
Who ... " Sniff Out " ... THE TRUTH ... !!!
Now ... Journalists too ...
have ... " Suddenly Learned " ... !?!
That .....
" White Men " ... under cover ...
Show Racism's ... TRUE ... !!!!!!!!!!
NOT ...
A figment in ... Black peoples' ...
****** …. Brain Tool ... !!!?!!! …
Now ...
Those are not words ...
I believe to be ... True ... !!!
I’m just ... " THE BLACK ” ...
.... Sherlock Holmes .... !!!! ....
Giving people ... " Some Clues " ...
as to ... WHY ... " Some " ... Black Men ...
feel the way that ... I DO ... !!!
Harassment ... is ... REAL ... !!!
But ...
Here is ... THE DEAL ... !!!
" Some " ... Black people STEAL ...
and DO ... move in ... "The Dark' ...
Like ... "Covert" ... Navy Seals ... !!!!!
But ......
THIS ... Does Not mean ...
that ... EVERY ... Black Person ...
is into ... " THAT SCENE " ... !!!!!!!!
and that ... Money they've made ...
Really NEEDS ... A Good Clean ...
in a .... " Laundry Machine " .... ?!?
It's Policemen ... to me ...
who work in ... " ***** TEAMS " ...
and then in ... " Their Dreams " ...
Make ... Black People ... SCREAM ... !!!!!!
Just check through ... THE NEWS ...
You'll SEE ... what I mean ...
Well .....
My day's getting ... better ....
now i've ... " Typed " ...
These few ... " Letters " ...
But it's .....
Time to ... STOP TAPPING ...
cos' this poem i've written ...
has allowed me to ... VENT ... !!!
My View ...
On These ... PIGS ... !!!!!
Who ...... THRIVE ON ......
……… ” HARASSMENT ” ………. !!! ? !!!
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 5:49 PM UTC
I last saw her in Santiago
******* drunkenly in a Sub urban taverna
parading conceited pride in a twisted union
with that ******** heinous maniacal harlequin
each in vainglorious throes of their imagined septic mindfuck
Debauch celebration of collaboration of succubus and incubus
Some days she is saying Haloa in Hawaii
adorned as Sainti Maria the ***** now as Madonna
spewing words like a dove acting like a Nun in a Convent
the fiendess with two faces hiding her ****** like the ace in lace
the malignant serpent crawling in the duality of her neurosis
I last saw her in Santiago
In a sanctity of the poisoned insecures with exiguous minds
consumed with flaming fears she begs acceptance for inclusion
******* for percieved reflected glory from her fathers' jailers
The subjugated souls of chai wallah lives on in grandchildren
So when Santi Maria flirts from honey to beehive
Ready to ***** and part thighs and brain for minor pointing gun
Feel sorry for a damaged child devoid of a prime core never made
only obeisance to past rulers whose discarded cast-offs she wears
Her poems enchants but its virulent tools she takes in her body
I last saw her in Santiago
A slaved two-faced pretender who sings like a nightingale
In sub urban dives she postrates to friendly pats and gropes
Melting creeps and hot tigers begging subs for a heady drink
Brilliant yet blindsided to **** on knees as her children will too
Copyright@LaurenceA20thSept2018Allrightsreserved.
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 9:03 PM UTC
My darling,
upon the mountain's caress.
My schizo-friendly mess
in a pineapple dress.
I couldn't love less
or less of you.
Young explorer,
drifting from world to world.
A huckleberry eye
that shifts from trembling duress,
with my hands onto her back.
Why can't life cut you any slack?
The chair is going out under
as the skies are mumbling thunder.
My violin underneath the sin,
sounding from within
"...I love you."
Broken water
bounce from cheek to chest.
Your breathing sounds the best.
With my words onto your lips,
and how the saliva drowns and drips.
I grip around your hips,
with the world releasing a boulder,
that drops upon your shoulder,
and I shake you senselessly,
why can't god set you free?
I can feel from you to me.
Blood, down, to ever and let go,
with your body in the snow.
My river-drowned girl,
engulfed by the swirl.
Love, oh no, from year to year.
Your words so everclear,
"I love you, too."
Silver-shiner,
moon-kissed and ever so,
your feet on the bathroom floor,
the kills from the handled snore.
What I wouldn't give to drink
from your fountain.
What I wouldn't give to die
on your mountain.
My darling, from colored-t.v.,
with a kiss and a motel fee,
I could know what the known couldn't,
with my fingertips where they shouldn't.
Turn down the volume and say
that you'll stay another day
or three.
Feb 28, 2015
Feb 28, 2015 at 1:43 AM UTC
I am not / a Schizophrenic
Feeling myself / Like Someone Else
Today it / Is Writing
Must End /My thoughts
Entirely
I - A
am - ******
not - phrenic;
feeling - Like
my-someone
self - else
Today - is
it - writing
must - My
end - thoughts
Entirely - Entirely
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 7:43 AM UTC
Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith
Deadlock stubbornly cracked
Divide intensified with fact so backed
****** is truth, lost memory's wraith
"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith
Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty
To nothing has my life compared
And as most humans, no heartache spared
No limits to its reverence and constancy
As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty
Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High
Omnipotent theories to query
Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri
Reasonably these to view before bye-bye
Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:14 PM UTC
tired of hearing "potential" in reference to me
cause i only hear it when i'm being squeezed
into a box by those who think they know whats best for me
its a wonder i haven't gone ****** from all the pressure
writer, lawyer, realtor, travel agent, hair dresser
i don't know yet, i don't know! yes i do want better
but how am i supposed to plan a career when
i can't see as far as my hand in front of me
i love everything! how am i supposed to pick one passion?
is my passion divided among a hundred interests lesser in value
than someones passion focused on one point?
i can't help but think so. and it discourages me even more
and its not just a career, job, and school
pulled in all different direction i'm everybodys fool
i have to be a different me for just about every person i see
selecting aspects of my personality to fit the scene
its not fake its not phony. its reality.
i have friends in all circles, family in a whole separate ring
i can't share all the aspects of me or i'd spend my time
defending my thoughts, beliefs, and interests.
i am so tolerant, why can't people afford me the same luxury?
the worst thing is the fake smile and polite subject change
whenever a parent of a friend asks what i've been up to
when i can SEE it in their eyes, they are all thinking the same
that i've thrown my life away, that i'm not a good influence
anymore. nevermind that they've known me for years,
that i've set dinner tables with them, celebrated birthdays,
and survived puberty alongside their kid, my best friends.
all they can see is another college-dropout who is going nowhere fast
i lied... the worst thing. what hurts most is that they are right
i AM going nowhere fast and it kills me everyday.
and its more salt right in the wound that i know my parents
have the same conversations when they run into neighbors,
friends, family, and the "how are the kids" comes up
how did a 3.7 G.P.A. and a 1410 S.A.T. turn into a
20 year old with a P.O. and a record.
i know they love me all the same but i can't help but feel ashamed
i know they wanted, i know they expected... better
i've been decorating the same mistakes in different frames
so i can pretend they're not the same
but who's the fool when its you fooling you
and me hurting me by playing fast and loose
with common sense
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 3:07 PM UTC
Is this a cure I'm seeking
Or someone to diagnose me?
Stuck in my own ballad,
Can't seem to set myself free,
Can't seem to set myself free...
Schizophrenia is killing me,
It makes me act so inhumane
Because I am an 'unknown' ******
Living "life" is a real pain
I'm totally convinced that its driving me more insane
I need a change
I lost enough, let me gain.
Is this revenge I'm seeking
Or someone to advenge me?
Stuck in my own paradox
I wanna set myself free,
I wanna set my free..
Justification killing me,
But killing isn't justified!
What is happening to me, I am feeling so terrified
What do I do with all the hurt and pain?
Them, I just hide
Most times I cry
But I lock them all up inside.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 4:29 PM UTC
Its hard not to listen
When its part of his ears
The voices dont listen
They just instill fears
Its like he is two
And can't figure which is true
He watch to just choose
A repulsive song was sung
With the black and sour tongues
It puts him in a trance
And they make him do a dance
Stuck in the same motion
They keep feeding him this potion
Its fuel for the machine
Powered by grey matter
But the fuel isn't clean
Soon blood will splatter
On the face of the innocent
She just wanted to help
But all her coins are spent
She just wants to help.
Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 11:39 AM UTC
Difficult to say it is a crisis of faith
Deadlock stubbornly cracked
Divide intensified with fact so backed
****** is truth, lost memory's wraith
"Who's to blame?" as so often "they" saith
Forget this daft idyllic hope, loyalty
To nothing has my life compared
And as most humans, no heartache spared
No limits to its reverence and constancy
As God shapeshifted, any form but royalty
Kings of Kings, my Makers, Lords on High
Omnipotent theories to query
Over verses I've traveled, all but Kashmiri
Reasonably these to view before bye-bye
Off I am to Pir Panjal, where I shall quake and die
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 9:06 AM UTC
"Manic depression..." you sing and I can't bear the idea of you not being happy. I would give my life for you to keep smiling and one day I hope you can realize how much I think I loved you. You made me want to be a better person and I'll happily commit myself to a God if you told me there was something in it I haven't seen. But I know you wouldn't, I know you would look forward to me making my own decisions. That's what makes you lovely. You would support me and my idiotic ideas, saying we could conquer the world after breakfast. "I know what I want, but i just don't know..." I could climb the highest mountain if you told me you would still be here when I came down. Thank you so much, thank you for understanding my ****** train of thought. "Manic depression is catching my soul..."
If one day you can realize all the light you gave to my world, I hope you could let me know regardless whether I was in heaven or hell.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 10:31 PM UTC
"Errant on the initial perception we sought to lessen misconceptions to none."
but put upon by reason, i call the kings on treason and smash them all for fun.
dodge the waves of lightning though they stand and say i'm lying.
i see how far they'll go to make this death defying. so i
calculate probability of actuality to infinity
incredulity crawls close to profanity
spiraling seems to be
looming inevitably
undone
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
greater than the sun and the moon
and the stars.. all combinationed as
amorphous telepathic diamond in
muttering schizo-cave... is the dirt
underneath a slippy fingernail. an
aching finger working overtime to
function the body as day-to-day
existence laughs itself back into
shape after universal disaster. when
it was younger, the finger began to
pick at silly things like dusty piles of
trash, heaps of dirt, and flyswatter dog
**** it later grew up to finger a girls wet
***** and tease her with the juice on two
-finger-three-finger in mouth as ********
shoved itself up and inside, natures tractor
beam - - - God's Great Throbbing Death Star(e)
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 4:13 PM UTC
I’m psychosexual
But somehow
A hyper-intellectual
It’s like a festival
All up in my mind
Fueled by love, lust, rage, maybe hate
Lysergic acid
Diethylamide
Hopeless dreams and psilocybe
I would entice you
To look inside
But I’d fear for your sanity
It’s no place for the blind
I once thought of ending it
Closing the blinds
On a cold winters eve
In the dead of night
The bottle in my hand
I broke the glass
No liquid came out
I was drunk off my ***
This was how I was
Or perhaps how I am
I question everyday
If this was part of the plan
Cuts all up my arm
I’ve always said self-harm
Was for the weak and twisted
With their minds tangled like yarn
But now I see truth
I’m an agnostic
All I need was proof
I’m a concrete home with no roof
I’m a writer, a brother
A musician and a lover
I’m a man and a boy
An old soul that never knew joy
She was momma’s little angel
Starry eyed with her dreams
Turned **********
******* randoms for the fiend
A hopeless romantic
His heart sealed up hermetically
He strung himself up when she spat out
“You’re pathetic”, apathetically
What a broken society
It’s the norm to suffer
It’s a personality flaw
To give a **** about another
This is why I’m insane
You see why I’m a ******* ******
Always getting caught up screaming
“I’m just trying to do the right thing, you know?”
A semi-schizo voice
I’m perpetually trying to shut up
Showing compassion for others
Only made me an altruistic ******
So now you see
What happens when you read in-between
These are my minds insides
I hope they made you scream
But I only brought you to the doorstep
Would you dare to step in?
All I can tell you is
I never made it out
There are true monsters within
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 4:12 PM UTC
i found two things bewildering,
alzheimer's attacks the pronoun
category, and other forms of it too,
but modern psychiatry
having abolished asylums for
a humane revision of its practice
has become a branch of medicine
that over-prescribes nouns,
and by such over-prescription
invents noun jargon,
it cut open an ancient greek word,
used the prefix (overly) and added a suffix (sufficiently)
to make no sense whatsoever,
it prescribes neonouns like it prescribes
pills that don't work... or if working
then in a negative way... anti-psychotics
can make you **** yourself in your bed
when sleeping, i've been drinking for some
time, and my bladder is arnold schwarzenegger,
when i used to be on anti-psychotics for
no adequate reason (living in a post-colonial
society does that to you, you can come from
lithuania or poland and be treated like a
would-be coloniser to extract the fastest
sprinters for a new country, without the "doctors"
treating you adequately),
so as i said: alzheimer's attacks the pronouns,
the iron core of the earth that's an individual
thus dislodging all the adequate orientations
of categorisations of words... like psychiatry
abuses the noun category: schizoid, schizo-affective,
plain dumb schizophrenic... bi-polar, uni-polar,
plain dumb depressed... psychiatry has long
established a monopoly on nouns...
i just use their terminology to excavate a new
grammatical categorisation of words,
from poetry, among nouns adjectives pronouns
and conjunctions... you'll find psychiatry nicely suited
and booted as a word categorisation: metaphor:
all psychiatric diagnostics should be categorised as
metaphorical... 'cos they name it... but have no idea
as to how to behave behind it: it's not like they
say cancer and you're expected to die...
you're expected to live in their terminology
of treating you for a ******* pay-cheque:
you won't even commit a crime, but they'll
treat you like a criminal... so long suckers...
i mean western europeans, i rather live in (as the
americans say) i-raq... and shoot a bunch of you
protected by what i see as the final solution
you thought was once church v. state...
how about segregating democracy (the church)
from bureaucracy (the state)... but of course
the two are mutually dependent.
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
If it's not the **** they keep emailing me
the police that keep tailing me
the system that's failing me
what is it then?
what can I see?
The absolute ******** they spread on the TV,
shows like Dallas or Dynasty
and god forbid it be
Jeremy Kyle because he'll be the
******* finish of me,
what is it I see?
There's a blind spot from blind Pew,
get one of those in your hand and
you're *******
On the radio where I go on
a slow night
it's all *****
Nothing new, **** all to do
minimum wage,
no wonder I'm blue.
The postman a third dan, some
judo, plays ludo with gusto and
I want to **** him for bringing me
bad news, black spots from
blind Pews of which there are many.
It'll go in the end or send me quite ******
if they stop with the **** mail and
the police tail and
let me fail
on my own.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 8:39 PM UTC
I wanna reach somewhere else,
For I do not belong here,
Listen to the silence of my panic.
I scream at the top of my voice,
Still, no one listens there,
Maybe I'm an alien here by choice.
I need a panacea for my ills,
A cure for my SADness,
Maybe then I won't get chills.
Schizo-Affective Disorder,
Its SADness destroys me,
Maybe I lack love in my life.
I really need a loving wife,
Who values me enough,
Maybe such a Naari is imaginary.
I am very hopeless in life,
SAD, but not suicidal,
Maybe I have a bigger destiny.
I carry the burden of my past,
Still, I need some love,
Maybe happiness seeks me too.
I am unaware of a true lover,
Who can love me more,
Maybe she exists only in my desires.
I hear that everybody deserves joy,
But I don't know why, but
Maybe my Karma is a bad accountant.
Apr 12, 2021
Apr 12, 2021 at 6:29 AM UTC
you think you’re crazy
don’t worry,
god’s crazy,
god made the demons in his head ,
made beings to carry the monsters seething from his omnipotent,
gave you a brain beating to the chemical cocktail
blood and ****
pain and instinctive lust
gain to gorge,
you’re just the issues god takes his prescriptions for,
stop asking
pleading,
groping why,
clutch that 20,000 leagues deep self esteem
and cuddle the cockroaches slithering about your skull line,
cash the cracked aspirations
and scar barren flashbacks of childhood and fleeting “innocence”,
you’re of it
made for it
just another it in the frontal lobe of the big mans ****** ******
bludgeon the reasoning,
the self serving
“why me?”
“why this?”
“why good?”
“why evil”
why not just accept cause and effect,
things break,
things fix,
things die,
things live,
there’s no
westernized
white bread
european cast deity judging these play toys
on a singular ignorant perspective
known as “morals”
of which we as american christians know by birth
even though perspective’s just a shaped system
clay formed by surroundings and conditioning,
meaning is a lie we manifest to make living comfortable,
accept and live,
die and ascend,
be bliss
coddle the drug,
and take your place as gods little chemical embalance
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
Cameras in the walls.
Voices in my head.
Static or feedback?
LSD in water bottles.
Poison in my food.
No harm, no foul?
Blue Typing Gibberish on Digital TV.
Blurry Radio Frequency.
Communication breakdown?
Narcs wearing rainbow flags.
Cops dressed as man's best friend.
Do you see how they draw you in?
Whispers, stares and secrets.
Friends, liars, friars.
Who is really there?
Noises in the basement.
Sadistic faces in the windows.
Where is my knife?
Laughing hyenas
Spineless Lizards
Aren't they so pretty?
Misplaced belongings.
A key that looks copied.
Can we move to outer space?
Bad cell phone reception
Suspicious men in suits
Am I guilty of something?
Trauma-based mind control.
****** hell in a bottle.
What's the formula?
Reach out Reach out
Help Help
"Would you like a Noose?"
Paranoia, Ignorance
Gnosis, Bliss
Curse or blessing?
Burn a bridge
Burn a bridge
Burn a bridge?
Nov 26, 2011
Nov 26, 2011 at 1:37 AM UTC
When I was 15, the world ended.
And it wasn't as spectacular as I thought it was going to be.
I had always imagined the sky tearing open and flames of fury would rain down upon us all,
But instead, it was my heart that was torn in half, and the fire only rained down on me.
It took 45 seconds for me to destroy everything that I knew,
and create an entirely different world,
Not only for me, but also for the people that knew me.
I was born again, bore the sin, more than anything horrible I ever felt, I was torn in ten.
Had I put a knife to my throat? Or fell in love?
What's the origin?
And nobody could ever understand it better than the horror itself that closed me in.
But she destroyed the bin,
With me in it and I was never ever sure again.
Like paper shredding under fluorescent tubes, my skin was thin.
Let demons in and they took shelter and then horrid soreness manifested within.
The eyes of the Lord looking down upon the men and women,
And all he could see was that my darkness had surfaced again.
I swore to Him I'd never resort to that sin,
But more than expected I was short of the win,
And lost myself with hopelessness,
My unfortunate friend.
Scorching torture forced me to pretend,
Over and over I retorted the fib with a grin;
Smiled as the lore spread like venom in skin.
The door to the end was open.
Therefore I went in,
And premonitions filled my core,
So I was forced to give in.
Over the course of a decade, the source of discourse caused me to see a red shade of anger.
For what felt like 4 million days I endured the rage,
Simple and plain I was psychotic, in danger,
ignoring the ways
To force myself to have a smile on my face.
It remains insane to me how the blade, when it penetrated,
Gave my skin goosebumps,
The doctor made me feel humiliated.
Sickness in my brain wants to put me in my grave,
OD was the second time I attempted the same.
But the fact of the matter is
The facts are a shame.
And the way that I felt this day,
Brought hope of finding a way,
To rid my head of the voices that haunt me,
Spewing disdain.
Third time's a charm I suppose,
Or at least that's what they say.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 11:27 AM UTC
*A Story of Scientology and the
Mental Health System Connection*
What you are about to read will shock you. Some may find it extremely disturbing. I will tell you from the outset, also, that i am quite "insane". According to the psychiatrists "Schizo-Affective". Manic-Depressive with Paranoid features.
I will freely admit that what you will read here will sound crazy. But please read on. It may be horrifying. It may be weird. It may seem extremely paranoid. But it still interests.
It is my desperate hope that you will read. And believe me. For, my "diagnosis" notwithstanding, I am as sane as the next "normal" person. *I AM NOT A LUNATIC!* What you are about to read really happened. *To ME*. It has plot twisting tension that could be put to the credit of Alfred Hitchcock. And a psychological horror that Steven King could emulate. How could I compare my writing to the genius of those great & talented men? I don't. Because, dear readers, I did not conceive of it. It was done to me. I merely convey the technology and techniques used to make any "normal person" appear a ****** Toon of 50 mile high proportions! It exists. And it is excruciatingly painful to be the subject of it.
So why would a girl from a comparatively small city, with no seeming accomplishments to commend her, and is actually quite unimportant, be the subject of such hateful torment? *What has she done?* I will convey ALL of the reasons. I did play a part in it. I had a tri-fold lawsuit against a once-high-profile video dating club, who wanted to prevent litigation by thoroughly discrediting me. And I had a very virulent and hateful foe...
The "Church" of SCIENTOLOGY.
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 8:56 PM UTC
She said
“Oh you’re such a ******* comedian”
and I laughed at her face
I believe the term is
more than kinda ****** off
did I ever tell you the one about the
cynical poet with a substance abuse problem?
I know I have a punchline somewhere
in between all these smudged lines of ink
and then she said,
“You over think too much. Just shut the **** up and live.”
and I didn’t say
I live to think of you just shutting up and letting me **** you
but instead I went with -
you are probably right. Let’s take a shot
it was a shot in the dark
no I shot the dark
for all the nights I spent barricading my closet door
because I am vindictive at times
and you are so full of vitriol at times
I call you little miss snake bite
and I’m allergic to antivenom
“again with the jokes. When was the last time
you said something actually real?”
when was the last time anybody said
absolutely anything?
“Sarcastic remarks again, huh?”
you’re **** right smarty pants
Then we got drunk
a risky proposition I found myself facing
you swaying to music I couldn’t quite hear
THAT made me nervous
I’ve always been terrified of turning ******
then you said,
“What music?”
and that made me feel a little better
knowing you were possibly
a little ****** too
did you ever hear the one about the
probably in way over his head love struck
funny poetry guy?
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 9:36 AM UTC
They call me the Girl Down The Lane
And they say I'm a little insane.
They say that I seem a little tame
Until I poke dead things that were recently slain.
I like to dance in the rain,
And I like to mess with people's brains.
They call me ****** bipolar at times.
They don't understand this mind of mine.
They don't know that I can shine
If I wasn't so confined
In this society where I have to be kept in line
With Lithium and Loxapine.
They say that I'm a nutcase,
That I lost myself up in space.
I can't help that my thoughts race,
That my hallucinations are a replacement
Of others; I'm down at a basement level.
But they don't care.
So I'm that girl down the lane,
That will always, always remain
The same;
I'm forever insane.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 7:06 PM UTC
There is a rocking chair in your dreams croaking rhythm against the rotting front porch. No one is there, and then there is. This schizo-motion picture is an old lady, a young girl, a dying farmer, a corpse, a bouquet of flowers, and then you. But you refuse to look at yourself long. You leave as soon as the veins in your forearms surface.
The walls reek of mold as you step in, and all at once every board splinters out and implodes to a nickel-size spot just six inches in front of you Then it burns itself till the point of a charred cigarette.
“Hug me,” it says.
And you do.
“No, hug me like you actually mean it.”
And you do. You hug Death’s slow-burning dynamite so tight the paper rips off and you are in a desert, surrounded by tobacco. But you hear sheets of rain in the distance, and you can’t forgive yourself for not being where it’s at, and dancing while it washes off the stench of Hell from others. There is a woman guiding you.
She doesn’t exist. So you push her surrealism back into her mouth, and tell her to **** off.
Now you are sweating angst. And by God, or whoever—the fear is back.
************ and ************ to calm the beastly sensuality that eats rose buds for the jolly fun of it, that wants to miss work, and plug fleshy holes with credit. Why can’t Day and Night have a middle ground like Heaven and Hell? The Purgatory of regimented time, where guilt is legal, crosses are burned because they represent love, and people are murdered because it’s a religious experience.
And you end up in a box, drinking your favorite soda, and this is real—an odd thing to say to yourself, but it’s true.
Jun 7, 2013
Jun 7, 2013 at 2:03 AM UTC
See That Lady
On the corner Right There?
They would whisper as they walked by
She was married
they say
20 years ago
When She looks up
They go silent,
suddenly shy.
Once out of earshot
the story
gets told
About the Lady on the Corner
who was married
20 years ago
In the stories
They say
that She's crazy, insane!
****** or ******
or some disease
with no name
He didn't exist
Her imagination
ran wild
She was married
They say
20 years ago
He left for France
He said He'd
return
He'd meet her on
The Corner
Right There
This is how
the story
would go
Every time
we walked by
The Lady who was married 20 years ago
In the stories
They say
that She's crazy, insane!
****** or ******
or some disease
with no name
But if He was real
and He didn't come back
and She waited on the corner until she got hooked on crack
and 20 years
passed
and he still hadn't come
If He was real
and He left
and forgot
Then Her heart
must be breaking
Her mind must have rot
From the ache
and the pain
But worse from hope and from love
This is
Humanity.
All hope is lost.
Aug 12, 2012
Aug 12, 2012 at 11:18 PM UTC
I fall to the ground and sip back the poison
Whimpering while the voices scream at me
"You're worthless, you're fat,
you ***** you piece of ****
you're trapped, stuck here with them
you'll never leave your missery,
the years will pass and so will your life
your meaningless life filled with
unaccomplished dreams and failed promises"
I collapse in a pathetic heap
admitting my defeat to them
taking one last sip
as I reach for the gun to shut them up
once and for all
Feb 17, 2012
Feb 17, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC