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Another night I watch the sky and the moon and the stars dance for me over the used car lot as I smoke a pack of smokes and I’m choking because I did too much I went to too many place 2. Another morning Time withers away as I stare at the slashes in my veins I look at the razor marks follow the crevices in my arm as my eyes go wide 3. The sun rises over the parking lot Stars explode in the distance Millions and millions of years go by before the stars blink out Galaxies destroyed One down An infinite more to go 4. The night is bright with mischief The moon is full orange and glowing It looks kinda hairy with a sheen of silver A vapid façade wipes away the guilt I stare up at the sky The stars like fire burning up the dark I wait for this moment to end and another one to begin 5. I fall on my face The stairway never felt so rough The concrete even rougher I flirt with her at the back of the train She says goodbye I stagger down the lane Out the door I trip and tumble and skid to a stop So many times I rode that train Tonight it must be angry 6. I watch the cars rush to destinations Where are they all going It’s a sacred street I stand on awash with lights incandescent Slanted alleyways swagger between buildings I’m sitting on the corner watching the tough guys mingle 7. In the parking lot we share a bottle In the park we toss and tumble In the woods I get bit by a tick The next day my dad removes it with a dab of scotch 8. In the morning I feel soooo high like I’m standing in the sky looking down as the rivers of fire flow like lava Streetlights shine Carhorns howl I’m on the moon watching the manic commotion of a flaming city I feel the clouds They touch my skin like a soft blanket I pull it over my head The ground too is soft like sand I’m in the womb I let myself drift off to sleep……….
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I fester in the center of
an army of nerves running wild up and down my bitter spine My blood is like acid It eats through my skin leaving my bones bare and charred I got angry fungi growing behind my eyes It’s got me seeing red that grows like a rash across people’s faces My ears are picky They only hear the stuff that makes me sick I don’t know why this is living I’m swimming in a disease that drives me to hate I run from the shame Look for other options but my brain is sick with mold I stick to the solution Seek out other resolutions But I grew so disillusioned that my only answers seem to be lighting a misanthropic fuse The glittery night sky
falls to pieces where the street poet lies He’d fallen there amid a crowd of bystanders watching in awe The sirens bring color to the grayness shattering the city streets Mesmerized faces Tears dripping Children crying The streets bring a whole new edginess to the life of a poet A girl had asked him to write a poem about dancing fairies He turned around Stealthily popped a benny Went to work on the poem He had been working too hard Done too many drugs Drunk too much booze The world swirled and a tornado of colors washed over his vision He clutched his chest His eyes were red Rolled back in his head He started to shake The girl looked at her mommy “It’s just part of his craft,” her mommy said “He’s channeling the words from something higher than life” The girl smiled as the poet dropped to the ground rattled and shook his mouth spewing foam Her mommy clutched the girl’s hand and pulled her off into the oblivious mob Someone shouted: “He’s dead!” The earth stopped spinning No one knew why the poet had fallen to his death He was working too hard Hustling all night and day He had no home and this was what the poet did His golden typewriter gleamed beneath the full moon’s glow This is useless
Everything is useless Words are useless Ideas are useless Point of views are useless This poem is useless I don’t why I’m writing this because my current state of mind is useless Believe me, nothing matters except the gravestone that will become demolished when earth is knocked out of existence or when the state wants to build another Starbucks That is useless too Coffee is not your friend It’s a devil that will make you feel like your life is worth something Liquid cocaine But are you really awake? when you’re only partaking in useless rituals I drink a lot of caffeine and it’s useless because I can’t stop sleeping My thoughts are useless They only prepare me for a useless reality in which we bide our time to be hurled back into the useless maelstrom Religion is useless Time is useless It’s all so horrid like a lucid disguise A veil we wear to keep out the darkness that storms our minds Life is useless and so am I Tears dripping
on the inside of my heart that feels way too much guilt Sometimes the pressure of always having to be perfect is jagged as a knife. Blood smears my vision as I try and I try to do it right but all the time I end up wrong I got the pistol in my twitching hand and I hold it up to my aching head Only way to be perfect sometimes Only way to make things right Never be a burden Next time I’ll do things right But this time for me it’s GAME OVER I think about dying way too often for the average person but I can’t help these yearnings from blossoming into a black rose I watch each petal transcend from this life to another The thorns are dripping pink-eyed confusion I hurts me too much to be a delusion I’m so useless take me to the farthest point from this world I’ll disappear in craters of the moon I’ll find reprieve all alone on the run from the bondage the repression I feel when I’m tied up and scolded Fuck they burn my eyes feel like barbells my head feels like a crater and my mind is just a waste of space Do you remember
the days when nothing mattered It was so long ago But then I grew up as most of us do and that nihilistic freedom became to me an existential burden We view the world through a narrow lens. We only see what we are capable of seeing, or give ourselves permission to see. I sit here at this new hipster coffee shop in Burlington and I ordered the most expensive cup of coffee I had perhaps ever paid for and they had only one size and let’s just say it was not quite what I had expected for five dollar and I look around me and see people looking at screens or staring into their own imaginations while reading a novel or talking- - -yes, perhaps talking, to friends—this is what I see as I sit here and sip my drink. So I wonder: What do they see? I could ask someone but that would seem creepy. Hey, what are you looking at? I mean, who does that? I remember walking in my hometown when I was much younger and I passed some tough, angry older boy and I was spaced out and I must have been looking at him but I didn’t realize it and he turned to me and was like: The hell you lookin at? I snapped back to the presence, shook my head, and stumbled away. So I’m here at this new coffee shop called Vivid Coffee although the inside doesn’t look too vivid to me. More like a wide atrium with beat-up, wooden tables and chairs and the one worn couch I’m sitting on and the scruffy hardwood floor and the station in the middle where one can order their expensive coffees. People minding their own businesses. Hipster, I’d call them. Minding their own businesses. But I would like to mind someone else’s business and find out what it must be like. Like, the other day, a Facebook friend wrote: BEING A DUDE SUCKS. Two comments under said that, basically, it’s worse to be a woman. I wrote: BEING A LIVING, BREATHING HUMAN BEING SUCKS. And it does. Everyone has their own reasons to be depressed, their own struggles. Mine happens to be life—that’s my struggle: the fact that I hate being alive and growing older and blah blah blah, you know, the boring shit that most people do and take for granted, but for me, I can’t because I’m not that vapid. I think about these things. Like the kid who puts the block in the hole again and again, or the dog that hurries after the stick and brings it back to its caretaker and then scurries off to collect the stick again. I don’t really have too much of a routine but sometimes I feel like I’m flogging a dead horse. Trying to be something more, and I feel like every day it’s the same old same old. Wake up to a gray sky and scour the sheets for my e-cig and take a few drags and then work up the strength and energy to rise out of bed, already dressed for the day, and lumber over to my medication and take a dose and fall back into bed and pass out again. Every day it’s the same old same old. Once, I woke up in the passenger seat of my own car in the middle of nowhere, with no recollection of how I had gotten there or who had been driving my car—if it was even me. I hope not, for I must have been way beyond poisoned that night. I found out later that I did not in fact drive that night—well, not really- - -thank God. I got a call from some dude—the only thing I remember about him is that he had blond, shaggy hair—who I had met in jail or something and he asked me to come pick him up and let’s smoke some weed. I was so drunk when I got the call and I might have already taken some sleeping pills to go to sleep but I said hey, why not? He drove and I fell asleep and the next day I woke up on some strange side street, late for work. Of course, I don’t have mornings like that anymore. I’m just grateful that I don’t have to search for my own mind anymore after waking up and facing the ugly morning. Today I wake up and all I have to search for is my e-cig so I can suck nicotine into my lungs, and then I feel somewhat better. Have a coffee and feel even better. No messy face full of vomit, no heavy, nasty hangovers, no cold sweats or finding out my body had been ripped apart by barbed wire. So I guess it isn’t that bad. We all have our struggles. All day I sit in front of my computer and listen to my headphones and I hate my life because I’m still alive. Does that make sense? A few weeks ago my old best friend died of a drug overdose. I wish it could have been me. I was the one who had brought him his first line of cocaine. Maybe there’s a reason I’m still here. Remember my old girlfriend Samantha? I wonder if she’s still around. When she started drinking again, she was so suicidal. But we always fought every time we talked. Last encounter with her was her messaging me on Facebook after she first got an account because I kept showing up in her friend suggestions. I ignored her. She said she didn’t mean to message me; it was an accident. After Andrew had died, though, I searched for her Facebook page to let her know—because she might have cared, she might have wanted to know———but I couldn’t find her anywhere. Maybe she blocked me so she could move on. She once admitted to Facebook stalking me when we weren’t together for a period. Maybe it was too hard for her to see mine and Michelle’s life flourishing. We’re happy together, most the time, and maybe it was too difficult so she had to, essentially, hide my page from her so she’d stop seeing me in her friend suggestions. Or, maybe she’s dead.. That’s a possibility too, I’ll admit,,,, and it makes me very sad to think about it. Everyone dies as they get older, it’s inevitable. Some people die young, and others grow into it. But we all die in the end. It’s the only way one’s life can lead. So maybe I am an important person if I’ve outlived everyone. Maybe my story must be told. This is my story and it seems to be dragging on longer than it should have. I’ve expired. Cut the cord and let me go. Everyone feels like the star of their own story, we all have a different way of viewing things, and we are all our own protagonists. It’s why it kills me. I want to be in a different story. This one sucks and has gone on for much too long. That’s all from me now. Till the next time.
Haunted by words
Streams of germs Forsaken sperm What’s there left to learn Bring forth a challenge Modify and balance Falsify the ballots Hit me with your mallet Underlying guilt Another man killed Another blood is spilt Leave me alone in the field Loosely-based procedures Stuck inside the freezer Nothing left but teasers Everyone is listening to Weezer Life or death or indecisions Got nothing but ammunition Shoot me full of infringements Last lines are always so contingent Last night I went
to the local open-mike I knew a lot of the regular faces there One after the next poets read their hearts out upon the stage One after the next people were cheering clicking fingers clapping when the poem ended Then my turn came I was called up to the stage A silence deafening shot through the venue This was it This was my turn I stood up there thumbed through my book for the perfect poem Found it I read it as was rehearsed time & time again and then I came to the end No one clapped No one snapped No one cheered at all only their eyes were aghast jaws hanging A few beats passed The maddening tension pursued They were all so shocked Did I hit a nerve? Say something that resonated But then the laughter so loud the way it resounded from wall to wall boxing me in I felt confined by it Claustrophobic They were all pointing and laughing That’s when I noticed I was naked stark naked Like I was a kid again going to school only to realize I was naked in class in front of all my laughing peers But then I didn’t care anymore This was who I was If you didn’t like it, I didn’t care because this was me in my fullest This was what poetry meant to me Getting up there and revealing my deepest darkest self I closed the book and strolled through the volley of laughter For once I was satisfied For once I was okay with who I was For once I woke up and realized it was only a dream Starting fights
Spitting in their faces I thought I was the fun guy the life of the party always good for a crazy misadventure Throwing up on their brand-new sneakers Pissing on the floor of their parents’ basement I thought I was a riot a real running riot So I ask you: Why could anyone possibly be my friend I’m just a loser And then you say: Gee, you’re not a loser People like you because you’re always up for a crazy adventure Hit the gas We do donuts around our next-door neighbor’s house |
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