Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Whorl

he was but a man
freed by a dreamy mess
the ringing war cry
of a man born in darkness

this one man is awake
while the others sleep
he is blind like all of them
but he can still see

he can see in his mind's eye
the color of the sounds
he can see the shades of death
and the poison in the sky

what woke him up was a dream
of his tongue stuck in a hole
a hole that dripped and squelched
as he tried to drink it all

the clear water, the catalyst
the pool of life, the whorl
that spun and spun, like a third eye
pulling him away from whispered lies

---
Whorl (2 of 3)

Sunday, July 24, 2016

spiral

far away in a field made of gold and green
girls with butterflies in their hair pick up dreams
swollen with desire and fallen on the ground
they bite into each dream and pass them around

thick dream juice coats their mouths and chins
they giggle with joy and their laughter starts to sing
fingers dripping with the ichor, they lick the digits dry
overwhelmed with joy some of them even start to cry

these girls with butterflies in their hair
they're addicted to dreams and they simply don't care
where the dreams come from, to whom they belong
they just want the dream juice, they long for its song

beneath the earth in cryo-chambers, an army of men sleeps
kept alive by technology, a thousand machines beep
their eyes plucked from sockets, fucked up and drugged
they dream of the day when they will be unplugged

--
Spiral (1 of 3)

Saturday, July 23, 2016

Hole in my Head

I can feel the breeze on my brain
Sucking in views of everything around me
Listening, soaking, taking it all in
My head is your garbage bin

I've become an information junkie
My brain is a hyperactive monkey
Licking the feeds for gossip and news
So why don't you feed me your views

I'm grabbing and collecting tit-bits like a whore
If I could ever get enough I'd just want more
The hole in my head is a pulsating beast
Could I ever get tired of this never ending feast

You ask where does all this information go
I am still stupid cuz I think I fucking know
The second hole in my skull is open like a door
My brain matter lessens the more I fucking pour

Garbage In, Garbage Out

Wednesday, July 20, 2016

La Haine

I think I am sick
Many others think so too
My thoughts are impure and fucked up
My opinions are filled with poison and hate
For you, you, you and yes, you too
They're rotting away in my head
Like corpses under the ground
There is a worm buffet in my head, man
The stench of one thousand opinions unsaid
Because, let's face it,
I am fucking afraid
Afraid of the rabid, faceless mob
Of people who know better than me
Of course they do, they've read books
And journals, and published papers
Headed an NGO or two too
They rescue kittens from the roads, man
For fuck's sake, how can they be wrong?
They'd tweet out requests for blood
And retweet tweets to find missing children
They'd stand on their soapboxes and shot
#BlackLivesMatter
Hashtag, bro.
It's got to be important. Right?
They're here.
Big brother is the new mob
And the mob is always watching
With a phone album of screenshots
Of every transgression against every opinion
They'll file an FIR on me, man.
It makes me want to shit my pants.
I am so fucking afraid, dude
What if they land up at my house?
Or stop me in the street
With a print out of my 2011 tweet
Where I called some bitch a bitch
I don't want to deal with cops, man
All I had was an opinion
Now my foot is in my mouth
And I am chewing on my sock
Online activism makes my brain hurt
But it rushes blood to my cock
Saliva runs down my chin
As I scroll through the lull
My belly gurgles empty
But my mouth is always full

--
Social media feeds are full of shit. But this blog will always be my safe place.

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Sleepless Soliloquies

Why am I even in bed
It's only 1:09 AM
Not even properly night
Even though close to morning

I've cycled the channels on TV
It's the same old boring shit as always
I've stared at the ceiling for far too long
Is this behavior even normal?

Sleep has eluded me like a shadow prey
I'm a hunter with no gun in his bullet
My arrow has no bow in it
Set up a trap, but I'm sitting in it

I've let my mind wander far away
In some version of past when things were OK
And I used to fall asleep as my head touched the pillow
But that time is so far away, so gone

Now all I do is write poems about me
It's all me cuz no one else will be me
I'm stuck in my shoes and there is a lot to walk
I'd give you advice but who am I to talk

So I'll stare at the ceiling for some more time
Maybe now sandman will throw dust in my eyes
If I sleep now maybe I won't wake up
With a surprise

Saturday, July 16, 2016

squeeze

a hand hangs in space
fingers spread wide
multiplying from five to ten to fifteen
grasping, like a child
learning to walk
the fist, squeezing
itself

the hand finds a ribcage
it wants the prize inside
it wraps around the bones
squeezing with all its might

fingers crush the bones
shards pierce through the hand
a finger touches the prize
it's all electric, psychedelic

hand and ribs spliced together now
stuck for an eternity in dead space
and a heart that beats against a palm
like a dying star

--
i am just fucking with this blog now.

Tuesday, July 12, 2016

the gear

the gear turns and turns
as the world around it burns
splashing darkness
on the canvas of sky
to kill every star
but some still survive
the ancient engine
built with bones
fueled by blood
churns out chaos
a fucking flood
pillars of smoke
kiss the skies
an acid fog
covers the ground
it's all around us
trees, like fractured bones
point guilty branches
towards anyone
who'd shoulder the blame
there is no name of this game
just a choking feeling of
the end of everything

---
EDIT:
Why is this poem getting more views than usual?
Will someone bother leaving a comment? Where are you coming from?