flesh and phantasms

Nothing good to say,

today, or any day,

by the written words,

I type, type, type.

Effortless for me

to release the dark

within my mind.

To kill the joy,

and even the score

with flesh and phantasms.

 

 

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remains constant

A time ere present day

sparse              scattered

“fuck the world” thoughts.

Now,

time is present day,

constant       yet  chaotic

these thoughts remain.

 

 

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I was born before “mental illness” caught on;

so I lived every day through a song,

on the radio I would sing along,

with the bands and music; my heart belonged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

playing with words again

Scream no one can hear

Come undone no one can see

______________________________________

Dream screams; no one hears,

they’ve lost their ears.

Stab wounds, there is no blood,

no scars, no love.

_________________________________________

Why, why, why.

Do you think you

need to know why.

____________________________________________

Spread your arms, flap and run,

perhaps you will take flight, like a penguin.

_________________________________________________________

I am a balloon. I float above the town, a renegade.

_________________________________________________________

 

Beer, wine and a bottle of whiskey.

Marlboros, a joint, just you and me.

__________________________________________________________

TODAY-RIGHT NOW!

I HATE LIFE-

SORRY BUT IT’S THE TRUTH.

_____________________________________________________________

No smiles, just tears, no hope, just fears. No, no, no, no, no…

 

featured image by BLT

THE KEY

I WISH I COULD BLAME THE PAIN,

THE AIM OF THE GUN, AT MY BRAIN

BUT I CAN’T. IT’S ALL ME,

I’M THE ONE WHO HELD THE KEY,

TO THE DOORS TAGGED ONE, TWO AND THREE.

MY CHOICE TO MAKE, NO ONE DECIDED BUT ME.

 

THE DOOR I UNLOCKED WAS QUITE A DILLY,

THERE WAS NO JOY, AT NO TIME SILLY,

STRAIGHT AWAY IT OPENED TO TRAGEDY,

PAINTED WITH A TOUCH OF CALAMITY

HAND DRAWN SYMBOLS STILL WET FROM THE BLOOD

EACH SYMBOL REPRESENTING THE LOSS OF A LOVE.

Design photo by BLT

Anti-Love

Writing about love is difficult for me.

My relationships were not the best, you see.

I’m not sure if what we had was love;

looking back at it now, it was all push and shove,

all fighting and jealousy, and way to much drink,

Too much crying, hate spewed and it makes me think

the thing we called love was so far from it;

more like an anti-love with a cherry upon it.