An unbearable soliloquy
The war trumpets sound and bloodshed begins
A battle with myself
Void to what’s around me, void to any feeling except uneasiness
Everything is void except for this argument with my enemy
called self conscious
He always draws his weapon first, getting off
the first shot
Most of the time it’s a miss
but in the end I always
die
I’ve been cursed in this war,
always coming back to life
reliving the tragedy of war for
eternity
They call me the veteran of insanity.
You can’t drown if you can swim
We stare at each other
Words not spoken
Pessimism surrounds me and
I choke
I gasp
for oxygen
and just before
the drowning begins
I see the surface of the water
So I kick my feet
Move my arms and
before I know it
I’m breathing again
and I’ve never felt so alive
Heroine
Sweet heroine, where’d you go? It’s been way
too long since I’ve felt that rush.
Please, oh please, enter my veins, any which way
you want.
Just induce me with that euphoric feeling and take me away.
I want you,
no,
I need you.
Sweet heroine, where’d you go?
Life, love, and serenity.
If you’re afraid of change, know that
the world
you live on changes everyday.
Learn to accept these changes,
I promise
Life will run it’s course.
Things change for the bad,
the good
and even the neutral.
Some changes are insignificant,
some important,
so just live with it.
Each change you encounter could be
the change
that makes you see
Life, love, and serenity.
Dr. Lang
Sometimes you wake up feeling like shit. You just think about every god awful thing
and it kills you. A knife slices my achilles tendon
and I stop moving.
There’s nothing time and a doctor can’t fix, so I wait it out and visit Dr. Lang,
he’ll know what to do. So I wait, and I think, soon
I’ll be walking again.
I walk into the doctors office, throw small talk back and forth like he and I are
playing catch. Then I take the ball, ignite it, and
throw it at his face.
I don’t need your help Dr. Lang. I’m going home to think, poison myself with
the devils nectar, and by 3:00 I’ll have thought it
out, wrote a shitty poem, and
solved this idiotic
depression.
Ignorance
The crow fell out of the nest and died;
nobody ever knew,
nobody ever cared.
Death is a scary thing,
but only when it’s relevant the individual.
We live, and we die,
but we never cry when we never know.
Ignorance is bliss.
Waterfall blues
Rapids; water moving vigorously.
Pain flying off the edge of this
waterfall.
Birds sing their happy tunes,
the fish sing the blues.
No legs, and no lungs
just a crystal-clear waterfall.
Fish just want to fly away; soar to something new.
Some fish lack a vertebrae,
no spine, and no bones.
Like the body, the conscious is like jelly.
This fish has no bones, and a fin with faults;
swimming is difficult.
This fish just wants to fly away, but he knows
he can’t.
I am that fish.
NYC
Sitting in a room with the New York city skyline at bay,
you can barely even bask in its beauty;
you’re distracted by another beauty.
Bones like jello,
eyes that read each word slowly
to a lady at 4 in the morning
just to help her sleep.
The beauty of being
able to help someone
that you care about.
Surrounded by beautiful sights,
I can only focus on the words I say,
trying to reiterate each poem
perfectly.
I imagine you all think
that I’m in love with this
lady, but
I’m just happy to have found
somebody to care
about.
So here I sit at four in the
morning, basking in the beauty
of the moment.
The New York skyline,
solitude,
caffeine,
nicotine,
and a pretty lady.
Get some sleep.
Don’t you think it’s hilarious how we say one thing, contradict ourselves
Then act superior?
It’s 7:30 in the morning and a girl just apologized to me for almost taking my seat,
And I became upset.
I became upset because she said sorry, and I don’t even know why.
I’m growing cynical, and angry at such little things. I’m so ignorant
That I didn’t even account
For the fact I haven’t slept in a day while writing this.
This stranger was never at fault, and I’m no cynic.
Rest your eyes my friends.
Cynicism
To see how things change and how people grow old,
it drives me fucking mad.
Once a saint, now a whore, once a thriving economy,
now the great depression.
The ignorance, the dead children of today
aren’t even kids.
The media mosquito’s have stripped them
of everything I once was.
Playing in the woods, imagining monsters,
being afraid, crying, laughing like
a hyena, just being
a fucking kid.
Now I look around, nobody writes,
nobody dances, nobody sings,
nobody gives a shit.
Perhaps I’m a bit cynical,
but I know you can tell,
and if you can’t then take this poem,
and burn it to the ground.
Then throw yourself in the fire,
because you’re just like
these kids that this damned nation
has ruined.
Sanity
Creativity is ripped out of my hands, just like
how a boy in Auschwitz got stripped of his
freedom.
My life is good right now, and my only complaints
are that I still can’t sleep, and I can’t write
clearly.
When things are going awry, I seem to know how to
write much more passionately, but I can’t today, I’m too
content.
Knowing this about myself, I question my sanity;
who wants to be depressed just so their writing is
better?
Who cares, fuck sanity.
Nonchalant
I’ve just woken up in hell.
The last time I ate was over 28 hours ago,
and I feel like I’m dying.
Trapped in a place without a true connection
to a single person,
I’m lost,
anxious and,
freaking out.
Some might think
you’d see these expressions
pouring over my face just like
a baby who’d just been born;
screaming,
crying and,
freaking out.
None of you can see this expression
though, none of you know how I feel.
The only way into my head is through
my voice, and my poetry
but, I won’t tell people this,
I’ll just write it nonchalantly
hoping nobody judges me.
The funny thing is that
I want somebody to judge me,
and hurt me, just so I have one small excuse
to let my anger out,
to watch that crimson roll down the corner of your feeble eye
for upsetting me.
Nonchalantly I write,
violently I think.
Let the blood bath begin.
