You hate waking up in the morning
If sitting behind the computer makes you puke
If you prefer drinking over eating
If you are alone
If you are alone
if you are alone
if you hate standing in line
if you rather huff paint than work
if you take too long on the john
if you refer to the toilet as the ‘john’
if you think you’re god
then everyone should listen to you
And do what you do.
I’m not an anarchist, I like the law
I don’t mind being told what to do
but I hate to dish-out rules
I think I’d be a terrible parent…
I think they have a little too much a say
in what we do these days, they can keep track of us
and it will get worse.
in the past there were some levay, is what I’m saying
Maybe I’m alone in this, I wasn’t programmed for society
For greed, and the need to become part of something
greater than myself.
I am plenty.
The elbow of my shirt broke and I was very sad.
It was my favorite one and I got a lot of compliments because of it.
I also have some t-shirts that are basically rags
nobody have seen those
but I keep them
odd socks too
but not underwear.
Don’t want my cock falling out, suddenly.
Other than the underwear, I don’t really care much
at least I’d like to think that I don’t
still, when it get noticeable, I guess I do.
he looked glumly into his mug
there’s music playing
and a skimpy dressed maid
– whose breasts popped out of her cleavage –
hands him a beverage.
Lit candles rests on every table
and men scurry outside.
Their armour clattered as they ran
and their weapons bonked on the the armour.
There were calls from the wall and
a projectile whined across the sky
exploding nearby.
Fire erupted and people rush out with buckets.
He pours the ale down his throat
in spirit of their struggle.
The bar is fine.
Another explosion
not far from the first
people died.
He drinks
and the maid looks awfully
worried.
The church tower crumbled
and people are crying.
the colored windows shattered
and the fire spreads to the buildings nearby.
The fire reaches the bar
and his nose get scorched
and the glass he was holding blackened
as they put out the fire
across the table
other than that,
he was fine.
Lo! we cursed by the pen
Is it relief that you seek?
Are your hands weary?
the pen feel like a iron?
Here’s another weary soul
who seeks the tender comfort
of the voices in the void.
The void can be warm to you
as long as you don’t look her in the face.
She’ll be kind to you and
She’ll reveal her secrets
that nobody knew
-that everybody knows
-that’s too scary to believe
and is the source of
all the good words put together
in a decent sentence.
Am I the only one who needs to twist my dick upside down
in order to not piss on my shoes
or am I the only one who’s fucked up?
Am I the only one who thinks
about camping but
never does it?
Am I the only who can’t stand
my apartment
but is too afraid to get rid of it?
Am I the only one who takes two hours
to drink a pint
but 2 minutes to slurp down a mixed drink?
Am I the only one who can’t live without
people but still thinks everyone is
a fucking moron?
Am I the only one who give zero fucks what
anyone else thinks but still find pleasure
if strangers like me?
Am I the only one who rather starve
than go to the gym?
Am I the only one who enjoys cold dreary
nights
instead of sunshine?
I’m not but I felt like the question should be asked, just in case.
I’m up to my ear with my own bullshit.
Ideas are like floods, unrelenting
you can’t get out of them
no matter how hard you try
A stream of thoughts, on the other hand
is easier.
And feelings… they need to come out violently
like vomit on a page.
that’s how it’s supposed to be.
the sickness is always
more
powerful than
the thought.
and they don’t care
Dogs might find it endearing or take it as a challenge
like a human would
If it’s a woman they’d think you’re creepy
But birds don’t care
they let us watch them
observe them
Not everyone
is sinister
some of us just like
to watch
look at the curves
the smiles
the frowns
or a sideways glance
guys out here
this
afternoon.
Their faces buried
in their phone
I felt smug
because even though I was both lonely and sad
I was reading a book
and I was better than them
and there’s nothing more to it than that
In books I learn
In writing I disappear…
I wonder why I feel the
need to disappear in the first place?
why is existing so terrible?
Perhaps it’s dull?
or maybe because we
feel the need to strive, to fight, to create?
I didn’t have any expectations
growing up
Though, there were
a lot of promises
made
I find that children are the best
escape artists
because they disappear
all the time
even though they
are the ones that see the world
through an explorers eyes
perhaps living has always been
dull?
Look around the corner,
What could it be?
that’s interesting,
not what it actually is
We got tired of that shit at age 3
The Horrors of Writing 