poetry
-
my problem is I love to be brokenhearted
Because it seems as if I search for it in everything I create and come in contact with. I know now it’s not for poetry but stems from the pain that dwells within me. Is this sad or life? I no longer seek anything outside of me other than the…
-
When will it get old?
The more days that pass it’s me that ages. I stuff myself in holes of immaturity and self doubt, buying my way into the fancies of life. When will it get old? Maybe in due time—maybe never. I don’t mind the fits of sadness and despair—craving, desire, and moments of…
-
Stream of Consciousness #2
this is a stream if consciousness one I was never good at streams of consciousness but conscious in the unconscious how could I have known? conscious but not conscious, conspicuous indeed. Soft layered flasks torching singling circling loving word bladder blabber dripping off noses of random words and skin this…
-
I’M BLOW TORCHING MY LIFE
AND IT’S ALL ON PURPOSE! Action. Real action; is all I crave. Why must I be like this? A poet? at best. An ARTIST of life; painting my days as the most beautiful gruesome scene there is. Art. HA! Something I know nothing of—-sure. And that is why while you’re…
-
Setting my life ablaze one day at a time
How dare I show my face here; how dare I show my face anywhere. Digging myself into a hole I may never get out of—voluntarily. My life has always been one of search and exploration; now it’s become one of craving and romanticism. I told my mom the other day…