Folded into crazy homes
Frozen behind windows
Staring out, eerie eyes
Hazy behind rasping gusts of breath
Before curtains close
To hide this poverty
Of mind
Poetry
DNA
Hanging on the curvature of every word
You never said
Missing in your message
Are the letters in my head
Making sense of all these mind warping bends
Cursive writing,within my blood
Dripping, spinning webs
Revealing the DNA beneath
The masquerade
Too late
Brimming underneath the sounds of ordinary
A loud humming silence is brewing up a storm
a thirst the world could never quench
disturbing dusted ground
Shimmering lights and the creaking of lips
Forced into smiles
But it’s too late to be okay.
Anger
Once swept aside
In anger
Anguish always follows.
I know this. But I’m an angry bastard anyway!
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Original
You think you’re the last groove
in the vinyl
the last song
to fill the void
The one and only
the final original specimen
here to soothe the cracks
of those designed ‘none organically’
Like you and your one and only kind
Train coach
He’s taken refuge
in an abandoned train coach
Off the grid, against the grain
People keep telling me he used to be sane
But I figure he’s saner than me
fer takin’ himself outta the game
Recycle
I’m leaving trails of forgotten intentions
haphazardly heading nowhere
Waiting to be empty again
so I can be filled
and recycle myself into someone else
Staccato
Thursday poetry a day late: Screw
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will haunt me still
Ricocheting around my skull
Till thought is null
With only oughts to do
But no drive to pull them through
Living inside a skull
Inside a mind, inside a brain
Royally fucking screwed
Not who I hoped
I am not the man I hoped to be
The boy who looks back doesn’t look up
To me
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