Tuesday, March 29, 2016

back in the bed

i lie
down and stare
at the ceiling
in my head
operating on
my feelings
light bleeds
from the windows
tracing figures on the walls
how the fuck
how the fuck
did i end up
back in this bed again
i'm sinking
in the duvet
it welcomes me
like a predator
every night
so i lie
so i die
to be born
again and again
every morning
i love it
i fucking love it (so much)
i'm choking
laughing, joking
but i can't just fucking quit

sleep? fuck sleep!


Monday, March 14, 2016


These words are cuticles
That I rip from the side
Of my fingernails
It hurts in micro
Such a tiny pin prick of pain
That i can't even endure it
And I can't even complain
This is how we get used to
The larger pains of life
Then one day you wake up
And chop your finger with a knife
Cuz fuck ripping out cuticles
I'd rather go the whole hog
Fuck finding my way out
I'd stay lost in this fog


i see the beauty in this world
but my mouth is filled with dirt
i chew, i swallow, it fills up again
i scream from the window whenever it rains

it sure is a nice, sunny day outside
but my head is full of demons
they crawl over each other to be heard
a puree of worms swirling in my brain

look at these beautiful rays of the sun
i'm staring at walls instead of having fun
if i look away, the wall clowns will eat me
truth is truth, even if it sounds funny

it's a glorious fucking day, my friend
but i've got to stay inside and chew dirt
my memories of the outside world are fading
i like the taste of dirt, and it no longer hurts

Saturday, March 12, 2016

From the Vaults -- I Slept Through It All


This is a pretty old poem. What was I thinking when I wrote this. I guess I was just frustrated with how the love life was going. I am not a man known for making rational, well calculated decisions, and even if i did, what's the fun of life without any frustration? right. Anyway, go read.

This blog has ample archives and I think every now and then I'll post links to old poems. Just to keep things fresh here. Old for freshness, figure that out huh. 

Thursday, March 10, 2016

Styrofoam Heart

One funny afternoon
One sunny afternoon
I was just taking a walk
Going my way, thinking
When I saw that thing on the road
All crunched up and broken
A styrofoam heart just lying alone
At least I think it was a heart
(Hard to tell with its condition) 
I almost picked it up
Without asking permission
Was something missing this heart
Was it stolen?
Was some android human 
Going around this city 
Without empathy or emotion or feelings?
Should I file a missing heart report
Maybe listen to the radio 
Where a stupid RJ might
Ask if someone has seen a styrofoam heart
Lying on some street somewhere
And if someone could return that heart
To its rightful owner
But that might not happen
Not a chance
So I picked up the heart and tried to mend it
I propped its piece and smoothed the creases
But it withered away 
In my hands
Now my fingers are slick 
With styrofoam dust
And the black hole in my chest is howling at the moon

This poem could have been longer, because the narrator spent a lot of time just looking at the piece of styrofoam in his hands. 

ghost train

the ghost train is coming
filled with skulls and dark dreams
prepare to scream
prepare to fucking sing

the train hasn't stopped in
like, forever (969 years, actually)
one look and you're a part of it
tell me you are feeling clever

you can close your eyes
but you'll still here it arrive
the sound hypnotic, a trance
when the engine screams, will you survive?

the ghost train is almost here
the railroads are thrumming
what are you going to wear
when you hear the train a'comin

I think I wrote this because I am listening to Airbourne. No Guts, No Glory was one fuck of an album.

Wednesday, March 9, 2016

scratching names in the walls of my cell

there is no dirt under these fingernails
i fucking chew them all the time
i sharpen the nails to tiny points
i lick away all the grime

the grime from scratching the walls
of the cell that I am trapped in
i've mixed the paint with blood now, honey
i'm nose deep in sin

the sin that i am so in love with
would i have it any other way?
if i did would i know this
would i know everything i'd have missed

but i missed that, i still miss that
that one chance at burning alive
oh, i'd have enjoyed the flames
i'd have burned bright for nights

now nights are all i have
drenching me in dark thoughts
i'm still alone in my head
even my monsters have left me alone

so alone i live and alone i'll die
surrounded by everyone else
if i leave maybe they'll find
names scratched in walls of my cell

Why, oh why am I dreaming of alien graffiti again. This one is about how you're always alone in your mind, and no matter how close people get to you, only you know what's there in your head. Am i right or am i wrong?

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

sucking the bones dry

there are amazing days
then there are days like this
that suck the marrow from your bones
till you're fired, tired and retired
but even then it does not end
as you lie awake in bed
thinking of things that are
and things that could have been
thinking of things you've done
and things you've seen
everything beautiful
everything unseen
from the sacred to filthy
from the dirty to divine
it all bubbles inside your blood
for it's all in your mind
the beast of memories
is a hungry motherfucker
it needs to feed
and feed and feed
and then feed some more
till it's sleepy but it keeps on sucking
on the bones of your mind
till, with its teeth dug in deep
you lie wide awake as it sleeps
This is post #500 on this blog.
Maybe it's the 500th poem that I've written, maybe it's not, it probably is, i think. I've been here for a long time.
As always, thanks for reading. 

Monday, March 7, 2016

lost mornings

it was many years ago
but i remember it clearly
like it was just this morning
that i woke up at 5 AM
still groggy, half asleep
i wore my shoes
took my bike out
when the streets
were still empty
without the sun looking down
at me
me and my bike
we went out of town
cycling like a demon possessed
to see how far we could go
before tiredness wore out
legs and arms and back and brain
while out there
we raced milkmen and trucks
explored dry riverbeds
fields as far as the eye could see
abandoned houses
with broken windows that stared at us like eyes
we skipped stones on the lake
filled shoes with dirt for no reason
then washed down parched throats
with water from a handpump on the side of the road
it was all so good then
so good
gone are those times
i can only write poems about them
that don't even rhyme

Sunday, March 6, 2016

supernova second

hate is never a one man job
it takes a village to hate
to hate with a passion, properly
to hate, religiously
hate is never a burst of static
it's the slow seepage that eats through concrete
drop by drop, dripping constantly
doing its dirty deeds behind the scenes
then one day you discover
the drapes have covered it all
the rot has sunk its deadly teeth in
the world is sinking
the world is shrinking
around the edges
it's a soft blur
a trick of light
was that a frown or a smile?
i'm not smart enough to tell
but if the world has to die
if nothing else ever survives
i'll lie to myself in that supernova second
that when you looked at me
you smiled
It's funny how this one started and how it ended. 

Saturday, March 5, 2016

scorpion in a jar

how did it get inside?
that's a tiny mystery
could it get outside?
that's for you and me to see

do you dare take the jar my friend?
the lid is a little loose you see
maybe you can hold it tight to your chest?
and hope, pray, wish for the best

scorpions are not lethal, are they?
most don't sting, but this one may
it's a fucking polite bastard, you know?
so here, take this jar and go

hold the lid and run my dear
you won't make it if you give in to fear
the scorpion is more afraid than you are
to leave the safety of the jar

I heard the word scorpion in Anger Rising by jerry cantrell, and that gave birth to this poem. The song is amazing, give it a listen. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FGuJ3tvKgo8