Caramel Apples

I got my hard wrought words, I got my misunderstood words;

Maybe I’m a stupid person; I’ve long been chewing the fat

out of the words i last heard you speak to me; you so said

go be free’ here’s to the worlds stupidest person”

so here’s a stupid poem I wrote for you;

a test to prove how stupid;

my best friends and family are;

the ones who believe in me and say I’ll go far;

don’t even understand a metaphor.

 

This one is for you; this ones for shit girlfriends and husbands;

This ones for best friends and bad friends, this one – is for… no one.

If I write about you considerate it a fucking compliment;

Ill say what I want when I fucking vent’  if I can’t relent my feelings to

a wall of nothing; how do you expect me to be feeling when you judge it all?

you make my world fall;

you make me sick you make me topple

I want to eat your eye’s like soft boiled caramel apples…

I would’t mind  testing out what it means to be a cannibal;

I kinda admire Hannibal…

I admire my all to write a stick of shit that makes people twitch

and itch and scratch and wonder why they just like that which i just dispatched

verbally, like i kinda shit a bit when i peed, fragrantly in your direction….

sometimes words are like an erection, they only point in one direction…

my climax of mustered words is my own satisfaction…

even if I end up like a cold Custer served raw;

self sacrificing myself as if I were a candle;

when I fly off the handle my wits as quick as a wick burning;

everything I’m feeling and think turns into a yearning to

spit shit so legit I make people quit before they have a chance to digest

and read it….

so here’s a stupid poem I wrote for you;

a test to prove how stupid;

my best friends and family are;

the ones who believe in me and say I’ll go far;

don’t even understand a metaphor…

 

 

 

 

 

May I Have Your Shoe?

I rummage through memories of literature looking for mummies;

all the people in my life are zombies; please forgive me,

are you hungry? Let me bake and cook for you; I’m missing an ingredient!

May I have your shoe?

I write terrible stuff and people like it, people are terrible.

 

I write terrible stuff and people like it, people are terrible’

as I repeat the same circle, like bad poetry.,

like society has contrived too plot against me…

– and so I whisper slowly ” I’m not going to go insane”

 

I write terrible stuff and people like it, people are terrible…

I rummage through memories of literature looking for mummies

all the people in my life are zombies; please forgive me,

I write terrible stuff and people like it, people are terrible’;

 

I welcome you to my Ferris wheel, perhaps the ferret wheel;

we are all rodents here, some of us are rats, silent and flat;

I do not wish to eat that – maybe I’ll have cat instead;

who said Udon noodles couldn’t be coupled with poodle;

 

Here’s a side of tea whilst listening to the commentary of society -to – the – tee –

I write terrible poetry; it’s all about living reality as me;

this is a metaphor to not live life like a whore; I sold out too

my appetite cause I was poor; money has no flavor either,

So I, I…EYYYYYYYEEEEE!….

 

…Rummage through memories of my mommy like mummies;

all the people in my life are zombies; please for give me, I

Write terrible stuff and people like it; so  people are terrible;

as they repeat the same circle, like bad poetry…

 

like society has contrived too plot against me…

– and so I whisper slowly ” I’m not going to go insane”

Let me bake and cook for you; I’m missing an ingredient!

May I have your shoe?

 

Welcome to the Ferris wheel, perhaps the ferret wheel,

we’re all rodents here, meals cooked fast and tasty;

as long as people eat my poetry;

I’m satisfied as I slowly whisper “I’m not going insane”…

May I … have your… shoe?

 

 

 

Acidic Poems for the Soul

Acidic poems for the soul of the tainted;

for everyone who ever poured their hearts into something

and had to watch it fade into… nothing.

the pain in my heart disallows my head to breathe

I cannot think of anything

only the everything in my mind

burning my soul, driving me insane,

my body trying to remember what its like to feel whole

i cannot say anything

nice to anyone about anything…

My words were sealed in little coffins

of technology locked away from me.

 

Hello new world; hello this is my face.

I lost trace of the old me in the words I used to believe in.

Ghosts of the bitter days gone by; some how seem brighter than today.

I cannot win, even when I am winning

I some how forgot

there is a future to be planning for.

 

I forgot how to say things with a little mystery

I’ve forgot  how to write metaphorical poety;

It doesn’t seem like much; but the death of my words;

Is the death of me.

 

I’ve locked away pieces of my soul like little mummies;

to be resurrected one day’ upon opening that tomb of pain

leading to the gateway of the past in which I found myself;

No one likes looking upon fresh corpses; there is no beauty in the recently dead;

Yet my graveyard is filled with recent murders,

No good person should find.

 

I keep looking to the past

the master pieces in which I once lost myself.

Like a child trying to climb back into the womb

I struggle to breathe oxygen

like a normal person.

Someone help me breathe.

Someone help calm this anxiety;

so one day…

I may again; write beautiful poetry.

 

 

 

Pretty Flowers

I like to,

watch other things

grow…

death provides lovely flower’s

no matter what you stood for.

no matter what you lived for

no matter what you believed in

death will provide pretty flowers…

for you…

even if you were hated.

or failed at life…

here’s a token for your strife –

we’ll always remember you –

but no one ever said those memories have to be

pleasant ones…

and no…. one…. can ever …

take them away…..

I like to,

watch things

grow…