"waster" poems
Look at the failure, stood over there,
The world his oyster, yet his hands are bare.
Indecisive till the end but confident on the out,
Should've dropped the pride, ended the doubt.
Look at the waster, dwinding away,
Long grown hair, ***** face on display.
Could've been somebody important,
Helped the world out, what a shame he decided to fall stout.
Look at the, deadbeat, crouching, still,
Isn't he brill,
Lifewaster.
Hello, Mirror.
Feb 21, 2010
Feb 21, 2010 at 1:35 PM UTC
Idiot
stupid
stupid idiot
I'm just a ******* waster
such a ******* waster
greasy stoner girl
think you're special
think you're different
shut the **** up
you're not special
you're not different
you're ****
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
What failures
oh the failures of leaving home at seventeen
of living and thriving as a minority foreigner
of working and studying to post-grad levels
of maturing wonderfully and being up and decent
of loving and marrying and creating a good home
of no crime, no debts, not a drunk, not a player
of no stained reputation, no borrowing or theft
of being easy-going, nice and friendly, an all-rounder
what failures
the failure of being successful and capable in grace
the failure of doing so well a white neighbor burgled
the failure of saying that's not right, you're rotten thieves
the failure of standing up to bullying thieving mobs
the failure of being gangstalked and destroyed
the failure of being an educated professional black
the failure of being a solid, courageous, wholesome man
the failure of knowing you can't do wrong and get by
Ladies and Gentlemen
these are my failures
Its all there in black and white
its the failure of being a minority
In the british democracy of the Socialists
for it is greed to work hard and be successful
its a failure for blacks to aspire and do well when your white
neighbor is a drunken, welfare dependent waster and thief
And Blacks beware, for if you dare tell them to go change
you will be stalked, hounded, smeared, defamed, humiliated
harassed, bullied, slandered, sabotaged, and basically driven to
suicide or a breakdown
They manufacture Failures to reflect their own failures
They call it Trading Places and dish it out to 'Uppity' Blacks
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 7:40 AM UTC
A leitmotif of your average smug **** is a proverb here and there.
Spouting them off like the receptor has no care.
Their evidential naivety is blatant and almost impossible to bear.
As an audience member you can do nothing but hide your malevolence and stare.
******* in maxims that are apparently laced with benevolence and care.
You know the kind of oxygen waster I’m referring to.
The type of person that watches BBC 4 and likes tofu.
The kind that does the Financial Times So-fucking-Do-Ku.
Look I’m just saying that clichés annoy me.
I’m not asking you to love me, give me a reach around or employ me.
In fact you don’t even have to enjoy me as I tell you of things that matter not.
Suture yourself hypothetically to a geographically different mind. That mind being mine, oh that maverick-esque mischievous mind of mine, looking at this from my perspective.
In my transcendental endeavours to rid the clichéd ridden world of the afore mentioned adjective.
In the opposite of anachronistic times, we might successfully, surreptitiously rid the world of moral coated rhymes.
We can do this; all it takes is a few. One of which needs to be you.
Break out from being solipsistic, even the blind, the meek, the autistic, those that besmirch the edge of coffee cups with their lipstick.
Yes, I mean you. Here is what to do…
The next time someone spouts off a cliché, punish them, make them listen to an album by “Hearsay.”
If someone says “An Apple a day keeps the doctor away.” Then simply say, Steve Jobs had thousands and the here’s the definite answer, that consumerism inducer still died of cancer.
If a woman says “When I say jump. You say how high!” Don’t even cogitate to pardon her.
If the grass is always greener on the other side – shoot your ******* gardener.
Aug 24, 2012
Aug 24, 2012 at 8:03 PM UTC
What upset you?
That He chose Her over You?
No.
What upset you is
That He will never have to chose between Her and You
Because
You
are
so
Ugly
Stupid
Repulsive
Annoying
Pointless
Worthless
Unwanted
Unnecessary
Space waster
Good for nothing
Disgrace of humanity
That no one would every chose you
Especially not when given an option
as amazing as Her
And no one half as brilliant as
He is would ever look at you
twice
Him being nice to you means nothing - he is a kind person
You being there for Him means nothing - you were the only one online
Her being with Him means everything - he really likes her
So what upset you?
The fact that you're not worth so much as knowing your name,
let alone choosing over someone
else.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Deck of Cards.
The deck of cards tumbled,
The wind cruelly snatched them from the gamblers hand,
Twisted his hand,
In an evil twist of fate,
Stolen from the gambling man,
Ripped the Waster off,
All he ever had,
All worldly possessions gone,
His wife has given up,
For he loves the queen of hearts instead,
She teased him,
Stole all his goods and chattels,
In total disrespect,
He has nothing left,
Stole all his money all extracted with satin strings,
Satisfied casino owners greed,
It’s a racket,
Greed is fed,
While he feeds his money out,
He’s always lusting more,
Casino owner’s provocation bleeding those he caught in his deceitful web of promises,
Down at the ***** tonk bar,
Money does not go very far,
Tragic victim goes off to the bank to score another score,
For another jinxed fix,
Lady luck never loves him back,
Can’t look him in the eye,
A soul of sorrow,
Caught in a land of underground lies,
Insulting his name,
Crushing his honour,
As he kisses his money goodbye,
Yet again!
Copyright Olivia Kent 2013
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 2:49 AM UTC
I, Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Grand Lands
that Sink Every Time there is a Flood;
I, Lord of the Queen of The All Basins that Deliver
Rich Harvests and Rice and Lentils and that rules
the Nether Rooms in the Mansions;
I, Pharaoh and Lord of All Kingdoms
that ever existed before my Time on this Wretched Earth;
I, Lord of the Rich Lands and Lord of Wood and Metal
and Lord of a Thousand Such Designations;
I, King, Emperor, Pharaoh, Son of Heaven
and Descended of Stars;
I do solemnly swear and declare
you a Nincompoop for reading this, wasting your time idly
looking at lines not worth the space they inhabit;
You, waster of time reading lines of second-rate verse
rather than feeding the poor
or offering your hours at the House of the Wretched;
You, waster of time reading poems and verse
not worth the alphabet the language inhabits –
You, I declare a Nincompoop
and may you waste your hours in the Underworld
translating the lives of Ants into clay tablets of verse
that disappear after each line you carve;
and may you, nincompoop who wastes such time reading such empty verse,
may you so waste eternity
And thus have I spoken and thus is it recorded on this wall,
the Solemn Words (no laughing or sneering there!)
Of Kinmgo Kaput, Lord of the Three Basins
That have been left Unwashed
by the Queen who lords over Home
Oct 2, 2010
Oct 2, 2010 at 2:57 AM UTC
the lyrics intimate, me inside recognized,
and I find it hard to believe,
not to recall my chest actual
aching from a lost love, a busted
heart,that my family physician told
me not a thing to be done, and time
the only known cure and that was
only twenty five years,
a just short “long time ago”
but there is no such a thing as time
when the wounded heart is pierced fierce, there is no round the bend visible to tell
you, love will come again; and you’re so
cautious, won’t trust, to open, but irony it’s
the only way to find it one mo’ time, to
give yourself up in whole, not just parts,
and you “discover” writing poetry helps,
and a new life long habit is forming that is a kind of meds that you disburse to oneself
later be
this song below, Bonnie Raitt
makes you ache with her rendition
keeping no secret she’s been there truly
used to look to ascribe fault, but learned,
t’was a time waster, more accurate, each
of us had our own fault lines, dormant,
till not, and when the lines touched and connect, it was an earthquake off the scale,
and the tremors just keep on coming
but the chest ache was so intense, close
my eyes, and relive it, and makes me
feel kinder, more human, less angry? more forgiving cause there is no mark of Cain
on someone’s forehead to indicate that
one is suffering the aftermath, the aftershocks, of this loss, so be patient
when encountering a human who sighs
out loud often, as often as as
every breath
listen to the song, it will untie your chords,
maybe making some memories resurface,
for better as it is part of writing
only love poetry
Dec 8, 2024
Dec 8, 2024 at 9:33 AM UTC
by Arcassin B & Wolfspirit
AB :Trying to pull myself out of this hole
of a downward prosperity,
confide in me or confine me,
I'm dead inside either way,
don't know how much I can take if I stay,
Down the drain,
down the drain,
down the drain,
down in it I go , from the story that was never told,
locking me away for money, this isn't charity,
lie to them , speak your mind to me,
I'm dead inside either way,
I just keep sinking more and more,
Down the drain,
down the drain,
down the drain.
WS : got my survival kit built into this psyche
pulling myself up with each downward tumble
ain't gonna let no lifetaster heart waster
selfish bleedin' souls pull me down
too busy making the best of this go round
time to take up slack and draw a new direction
upward trajectory, merely seeking perfection
this constant self effacing doubt will surely **** me
no longer waiting time to let the world thrill me
i'm a lover..i ain't no killer
juts gonna have to be my own chiller, thriller,
AB : hopefully won't drive me to being a dealer,
coiling my toes,
keeping temptation away in every step,
when dirt from the ground arose,
filling us up to be the stringy ones,
up on desire as I crept,
downward I go to an endless cycle of falling,
making me so so so so so so sick of everything,
I can't keep screaming,
down the drain,
I filled the void for days just to feel a pain,
down the drain,
you needing confirmation just seems pretty lame,
WS : no time to waste on commiseration
i walk proud, upright, secure in my station
belie the pomp and circumstance
get on with the joy, to live for the dance
this thing called life, we need only the living
to share the warmth of caring and giving
let sleeping dogs lie just where they fall
drop the issues unimportant and heed the call
each one has a gift, something to offer
instead of selfishly filling their coffer
it's like this and like that, when we get down to it
it's like that and like this, so let's just do it.
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 12:55 AM UTC
I am a boiling rage inferno. So angry I had to go back over TEN TIMES to make this look 'right'. So angry my face turned red like Tinker Bell's and when someone touched me they burned themselves. I can't let the ******* anger out, I CAN'T LET IT SHOW. They will say calm down, and that's unnecessary. They'll never know how angry I am, was, and always will be. It lives inside me, ruining relations and saying things I wouldn't say. I hate it, and it makes me hate me. I wish I would ******* die. I don't want to hurt the ones I love but, that anger inside makes me lash out with harsh words, and a loud voice. So I hurt myself to punish myself. I hate my ******* self, I wish I could turn in on myself until what is impossible happens: I disappear. I want to crush these bones, and scar my skin. Please hit me with your car, and tear me limb from limb. When I beg do me no mercy, and leave me to your dogs. And when I started writing this I thought it would come out as a rage filled rant. Let me tell you something you already know, it came out as a self loathing run on sentence. But like I care, do you know me? No, and do I know you? No, and I really don't care to. **** me, **** you. Especially me, because I'm not worth anything. I'm a ******* waster of space. ******* **** me please.
Really though. All I want is a hug. And I don't want to die, I just feel like I should. I feel like I deserve to for what I've done. And I'm done, with everything, and everyone. I wouldn't mind dying, and I wouldn't mind living. I'm fine with either one. But I'm tired of dealing with all of this. And I wish I could erase everything that I didn't like and start over again. But I know that's not the way it is, and it's certainly not a good way for things to be. So I'm glad that it's not. But if only it could be like that for me.
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
When the walls are closing in on you
and you start to feel more than just a little blue
because you just don't know how you're going to feed them
on the crumpled limited notes in your hand
Or just how you're going to explain to them
That school might just be a time waster
because the economy is going to ***** them over anyways
and have them begging for piece jobs in the blistering sun,
Cry Mama.
Let out a high pitched wail at midnight
and let it be heard all the way from the capital
so they may be woken up from their silk- pampered sleep
Let your voice be a substitute for their conscience
let it keep them up at night.
Let your screams turn their milk sour
Let your cries make their heads ache
Let your weeping fill their tea with tears.
Like Macbeth, they murdered your sleep
So mama, let them know no sleep.
Let your sorrow be heard in your weeping
and your anger be heard in your screams.
Let your wails fly like a dove with a message
to tell them of a future they destroyed
a generation they disappointed
a land they disinherited
a nation they angered
and a mother whose heart they shattered.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 2:49 AM UTC
I don't take risks, I can't
I only have enough, for today
I know what losing costs,
Coins rolling away, no moss
a gathering, this or any way.
I walk at the fringe and look in
I see in the reflection, of the mirror,
my weakness, my resolve has stress-
fractures, my life a poorly played chess
match, if only, my head were clearer.
I need fresh air, let me out, of this box
so much refuse to trip on with shoes,
feet not mine that I hide with black socks,
the only hazard is me, you best take stock
and remember don't regret what you choose.
Pass me a glass
with a splash
of red, dry plum
fruit with peppered
notes, my nose so
tainted, I would
not be a taster
but a waster of
delights, ...
well maybe not,
of all delights.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
the english don't know how to drink *****
sorry...
they don't...
by the way?
the english artifact of saying sorry?
it doesn't actually mean an apology...
the apology always comes too late...
but english nightclubs?
the english? they don't know how to
serve *****
***** is never served on ice...
i'm losing followers? am i?
good...
i like my self-imposed
censorship...
i like weeding out the soft pockets...
of people with weak
stomachs...
for all the celebration of Darwinism?
peer into my eyes...
if you really want to serve *****
***** isn't whiskey isn't
red wine, served at room temp. being
allowed airing...
mind you... funny fact...
six cloves of garlic dumped into
a bottle of red wine, matured for 2 weeks...
3 x 25ml of the wine...
apparently curbs your appetite...
don't ask me whether that's inclusive
of a placebo effect...
but when you're drinking
***** proper?
you don't add ice...
and keep it at room temp.,
you freeze it...
to below -10°C...
vodka isn't whiskey!
i know what warm **** tastes like,
i once fused red wine,
and, having ****** into the holy grail,
and subsequently drank the concoction...
come to think of it...
******* the Vatican colored flag of
extraction into a sacrament?
you need ***** to be served below
the freezing point of water,
given that, 0°C is a baron of quality
differentiating water from *****
alcohol evaporates at around
70+°C...
p.s. interlude:
i was never fond of the imperial rubric
of Fahrenheit and ounces, pounds,
miles, inches...
and all that quirky "genius" of
measurements...
mathematically?
i'm aligned with French...
but you don't serve *****
at room temp. with ice cubes
and a mixer...
given that ***** has a lower
boiling point,
you serve it under the "niqab" of
waster becoming ice...
so you serve it...
as something, equivalent of
gomme syrup...
you drink ***** that appears
syrupy...
like any single malt
puritan when it comes to whiskey?
there are ***** puritans out there...
you don't drink ***** lukewarm,
or slightly chilled...
you drink it at a temp. of
a gomme syrup...
liquid -20°C...
thick...
with all the alcohol poisoning
bacterium dead...
appearing
excessively sugary,
but not really...
night clubs that serve
***** not stashed in refrigerators
like butcher's meat?
don't drink the *****
in those places...
if it doesn't have the smoothness
of a gomme syrup?
sliding down your throat
like a mollusk on amphetamines?
the epitome:
***** and orange juice?!
you ******** me or opening
a ******* parachute while
stranded to the the ******* ground?
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Be yourself one of the light
Be yourself one of the night
Begger or demander of the stars
Worker or waster of the hours
Difference is not when comes the end
The time of last is your judgment
All parts earth are mortal and will weary
The shepherds will turn restless to madness
Saddening the wise and smiling the devil
Slayers of kin they turn and find only loss
Bells will forever toll for the coming fire
The fire that will rain from the angry heavens
When the world halts in its fully aged shadow
All things earthly depleted for toxic luxury
Humans ceaselessly living in their dark arts
Winds from silent howl to rage do they roar
The ground thunders in nature's quake
Oceans and rivers of fire smother all to ruin
No more sinners thrive in power
As they flee like insects from the swatter
Their kin's blood stained on their souls
The world's blood spilt on their account
The sun's light shuts off and sight is only black
Almighty horror emerges out of the sun's corpse
Beyond the clouds of lightning is a portal
The gates to nothingness have been opened
The world has heard its call for the end
Into the void will creation be undone
And the fallen angels too will descend
Fearing the arrival of the Master Himself
All that has been has ended
But those that be with evil live
For they shall face the last judgment
Out of the endless void He comes
His voice utters terror inside the demons
And leaves them to rot in eternal naught
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
There is nobody there for you, and now, there never will be. I don’t have a goodbye for you. I tried to find one, I searched really hard, but shifting through the **** made me sick. I’m well again now. I don’t have anything for you. Once I had everything. All my words were wonders and they leapt out of the sun, smiling, but you shot them down with a blood-encrusted gun. They flopped around mewling, trying to hide behind injured wings, as you sought them out and stepped on them, laughing. Dream-cruncher, word-waster, selling your sad, sick song. You specialize in nasty tastes, brutal boy, and you won’t care. Narcissist. Ego King. I don’t think you have ever loved. You would love this poem.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 12:17 PM UTC
You know there's always that one person - who no matter how hard you try,
Not to, can so easily bring tears to your eye.
That same person who normally dries your tears and helps confront your fears, now how it hurts to know their arrow sears
Right through your heart
Though you're faulty from the very start.
Conscience isn't the one to blame,
Digging up the past, and building the shame.
But questioning thin ice, knowing the answer,
Intimidating whilst fully aware...like the effect of a cancer.
Rage and fury building up inside,
Exploding, stating with nothing to hide.
The incentive, the issue, the vibe given off,
Having my breath caught in throat with a splutter and cough.
The mere poison - attacking my brain, who knew simple words could cause so much pain?
However, they can't be retrieved from where they've been lain.
The message, so clearly set in stone,
Made me instantly press delete on the phone.
So I'm a liar, user, waster
It's gone way too far from a taster.
And now I've been hated, resented and cast aside,
You're no longer there for me in which to confide,
Now you have chosen Your side....just because I might've lied.
23:41 11/4/13
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:42 AM UTC
I am just a name, a number in the files, another hopeless dreamer, a ****** guitarist, a time waster, procrastinator, another beating heart, a music lover, punk rocker, another corrupted by rock. I am just another face fighting through the crowd, a confused teen, a homebound fighter, another gear in a broken clock.
I am a lover and a hater.
Who am I?
Who am I to judge?
Who am I to say what's right and what's wrong? Who am I to love? Who am I to hate? Who am I to live without actually living? Who am I to define what's music and what's not?
Who am I to believe,
who I am is truly who I am?
I am not just
a name or
a number in
that box of files.
I am me and you are you...
I am a music ****** so I finish with...
"Death inspires me, like a dog inspires a rabbit"
~ Tyler Joseph |-/
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 3:51 PM UTC
Gloss to be left out to shimmer up any dim viewing of the world.
natzis stiching up your crookid smile so you can seem perfectly fine in the society we live in.
That homeless lady thats so broken with out pieces to put back togethor.
We say lets have world peace but when it comes down to it we look the other way in disgust,
global warming may be going on; but I'd sure say it's a cold cold world.
A marvelous fixer upper with potential.
But we all don't live that life,
so for now lets go on with our day driving our car that we worked for or take that bus and remiss the image of the cracked out teen turning in can's..
Can we not face the reality our kids and future generations will continue to stumble.
knowing that it's not going to change? has the world really lost all of it's top dog romodels of peaceful perpouse ? like..
We do only have this life to make a difference and leave an imprint on the world.
And we all can.
Land of the lost where we can flip burgers and get paid minimum wage and swipe plastic through a robot.
Why did we stop looking to the sky for answers? And now instead we look into a tricking time waster we can't leave the house without.
To give love is to know peace.
to learn love is to make new.
Create better for people who need it. Give with only accepting understanding of you're doing but nothing in return.
Shine strength on a weekining world.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:40 AM UTC
I live on borrowed time
I waste it
I wait around for the end
I don't seek it
Why me?
Why am I alive?
I'm a scummy slimy stupid scuzzy ******
waster
Sep 23, 2013
Sep 23, 2013 at 7:33 PM UTC
i used to drink your ********
until i realized
i got the same effect
by chugging whiskey
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 6:24 PM UTC
Fall in love with the way
air encases you in this embrace
of "I'll keep you alive".
Fall in love with the way
nicotine stains your tongue
Fall in love with the way
alcohol makes you numb.
Fallin love with the way
that you have to risk
everything to be happy.
Because if you aren't
on the verge of death, you
don't fall in love.
If You aren't on the
verge of death, you
don't feel alive.
If you don't see
"the light" you feel
like you're blind.
Fall in love with
heart break.
Fall in love with
your rumbling stomach
fallin love with
thunder clouds.
Fall in love with
danger and heart
attacks, fall in love
with pain.
Fall in love with the
way you waster your
sanity for the sake
of living.
Fall in love with
the wind.
Fall in love
with the grass.
Fall in love with
the sun,
and the snow.
Fall in love with
a terrible artist
fall in love with
a terrible person
and fall in love
with the way
their love burns.
Fall in love with
the way everything
is awkward
and nothing makes
sense.
Fall in love with
stupidity fall in
love with intelligence.
Fall in love with
the things you
hate.
Fall in love with
really stupid sappy
poems that writes
block has written.
Fall in
love with this poem.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
On lecture’s desk I slowly fall asleep
And gently push my troubles out to sea,
Then head to where my dreams will earn their keep –
An island with a population me.
A sunny, shoaly Caribbean beach
With Caribbean sands and carefree waves.
A place where there’s no need to learn or teach.
Imagination drowns the deep sea caves
In this glorious inspiration land,
Absorbing up the goodness all in one,
The rest remains abandoned in the sand
As both bake slowly, softly in the sun.
But now the time has come for me to wake –
On lecture’s end my friend gives me a shake.
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
Mary's father is sitting
in the lounge reading
a newspaper before dinner
Mary comes into the room
and sits in the armchair
by the window
and peers out
her father lowers
the newspaper
there's talk of you
from the nuns
he says
she turns and looks at him
is there
good I hope
she says
no it's not
he says
o well there you are Da
you can't please all
of the people
all of the time
never the time
with you it seems
with the nuns
he says
he shakes out
the newspaper
making noise
what's it this time?
she says
sitting back
in the armchair
letting her backside comfy
words you've said
he says
raising the paper
and peering over the top
what words?
I speak civil
and I answer
the **** questions
about God
and the religion
and maths etc.
what word is this?
she says
he sighs
wishes she were
a young little girl still
not some 14 year old
know it all
with a mouth on her
he lowers the paper
and takes out a letter
from his waistcoat pocket
(slightly ******* up)
and offers it to her
here read it yourself
he says
she leans out of the chair
and takes the letter
from his hand
and sits back down again
and unfolds the letter
and reads
he lifts the newspaper
and reads a sports page
I never did
Mary says
never in my precious
to Christ life have I said that
she reads on
staring at the page
as if it had criticized her
(which it did)
they're like
the fecking Gestapo
she mutters
I was not kissing Magdalene
I was whispering
something to her
Mary mutters to the page
(and her father
if he was listening)
and I never did
call Sister Clare
a ****** waster
Mary muttered on
then she refolds the letter
and puts it
on the arm of the chair
and gazes at her father
well?
he says
what have you to say
for yourself?
she gazes at him
once he'd have
tanned her behind
and sent to bed without dinner
but he'd gone soft
on her since
she'd grown ****
and tried negotiation instead
what's for dinner?
she says
wait and see
he says
so what about the contents
of the good nun's letter?
he says
it was one of those days
she says
womanly things
gets to me
her father lifts
the newspaper
and says tiredly
I see.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 2:49 AM UTC
My least favorite thing to do,
Is to hang out with a time-waster like you.
I want to go out and to eat,
But then we'd have to have a defeat.
You hurt my brain and lose my patience,
And then I can't have a life thats spacious.
You take up all my time and energy,
Which makes me feel a tiny bit edgy.
Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 6:35 PM UTC