I wanted to write a poem about how I want to tear my eyes out and grind slat into the sockets, and scream until my lungs explode and my throat bleeds, but I can't really cause I don't have time... This evening was rather excruciating. Oh, and the scream is more like a primal bellow/roar than a chick in a horror movie who's just seen a zombie or some ugly green girl crawling out of a TV.

Sooo... just thought that in the wake of the death of such an influential and controversial public figure, I'd voice my comments. I don't particularly like Michael Jackson, but I do love a couple of his songs, and I'm generally sorry he's dead. I really wish that people would stop being so fucking insensitive and generally assholes...

I can laugh.
I can always laugh.

Sometimes it makes me hurt more, and sometimes it helps.

Rarely.

Sometimes I don't want to breathe, because that hurts...

but I always keep it up, because the alternative is far worse.

onthespot poetry at 2:41 AM not great, but it's fun to write...

sooo...
I wrote these poems this morning at about 4:00

Drowning Rain -- 22/6/2009

I realize that my lungs are full of fire.

Unable to stand the pain,

these flames unquenchable.

I exhale: that short gasping breath of desire.

I want to breathe air.

No more of this drowning rain.

Slowly, I find hope in fantasy, life in distraction,

But to believe that, I was a fool,

in this life so unfair.

I should have never expected satisfaction.

Shards of a Heart -- 22/6/2009

I tear myself open, hoping, expecting to find

Something normal, something whole.

But instead, as my blunt fingernails dig through

The skin, pry my ribs apart, I find

Only fragments of something wholly unfamiliar.

There's no use trying to put it back

Together, and it's not even worth it. I scoop the

Wreckage back into my chest, along with

The filth it has gathered during its inspection and

Attempts at recovery. It will continue to

Eat away at my breast, its shards driving deep.

Mist --22/6/2009

A silent creeping mist stalks across

The ground from tree to tree, pooling in

Hollows, fleeing from hummocks.

It steals under my eyelids, slips

Under my eyeballs into my welcoming

Brain. To the world at large I whisper,

"goodbye..."

I really don't want to go to bed

but at the same time I really want to sleep forever and ever... I want to write a song... but I'm not quite sure how... and overall... life kinda sucks... but hey... that's life, right?

thoughts I have about my song...

lyrical themes: fire, hypocrisy, judgment

sound: punk rock, minor eb tuning

first poem I'll put up...

one of my favorites...

Find Myself or Honesty – 13/7/2008
Broken, rent from my foundation, bleeding from deep wounds.
Lying riven and empty, vanquished by my own hand
As enjoined by my enemies. Conformed to their will
While abandoning mine I lie, tired and confused;
Ignored, spurned for my pains, attempts to please the crowd.
Hoping for their notice, pleading for their attention;
I gain neither, and am not myself, not one of them.
Stripped from my identity, my soul stricken, bled dry.
I’m deserted, left desolate with my empty thoughts.

Slowly recovering, trying to regain myself
From my self-inflicted void, that hole bored deep inside.
I still cower, afraid of others’ opinions,
Too cowardly to resist that stifling influence.
What I enjoy, they despise; what I do, they spurn,
I try to please them, but it rings hollow, mere pretense.
It stops now: the obeisance, the sacrifice of my
Soul on the altar, offered to the mocking crowd’s whim.
I’ll fight back, I’ll seize my life from untrustworthy hands.

Crusade for myself, leave no stone unturned in my search.
With no aid, flight from the mob is my only option.
No longer a faceless member of the pack, I must
Defend my thoughts, likes, actions: my very being.
I flee, and though they raise the hue and cry, I’ll escape,
Run to the stronghold and loving embraces of my
Long-neglected friends, the ones who were there through it all.
A new friend too, one who helped raise me from my stupor,
And reminds me of long-forgotten parts of myself.

How long will it take to repair what I’ve done?
Will it take months to heal my wounds? Years to regain my friends?
All I know is that I must return to how I was,
Recover my true self, not the fabricated one
Made to please others. I need help: mem’ries of what I
Used to be; visions of what I could possibly be.
But most of all I need a companion, one staunch friend.
A fellow human, who’s always willing to listen.
Find myself deep under the chaos of what I’ve been.