I'm sorry
I don't care
if it;s prejudiced
or presumptive,


if you're younger than 18,
and haven't worked

or produced sweat under your pit
whilst
splashing grease on your arm
and handing a bag
to an old lady,

and driving a broken down car
which you have to jump every morning,

and wearing old black rags
that don't fit the *** well,


I don't care what you have to say.

all your work will be 'love'
and or issues with 'society'
and how it's done you wrong.


you need to die a little
before you can expect to write
something of substance.

so start now

I've seem to have fallen again
Recalling the present
Who knows if or when
I'll come to
Or if I'll get back up again
Wither Daydreaming
Or having nightmares, I'm taunted
For this is all that I've ever wanted.. But now I'm here and both seem the same .
Lost right now
  Feeling as if Everything's
cold and
black ...
As I curl up alone ..
Unknowing only what's to come
Stuck falling further into my pillow. Afraid now's too late to return.. as I fall deeper through my nightmare


© Jenn Linh

Lack of emotion
Like life and nothing more
Walking up and down
Having no feeling, no ambition
Music in the background, no meaning

They say I'm living but no being understands

Wake up, no hope
The dark a hopeless glimmer

I
Walk
Endlessly
Directly
To
My
Death

I stood
in that parking lot
the one that overlooked
the lake
and remembered the time
that I shared a cigarette with
you.
And you said,
"This is the first
time I have had nicotine
in a while."

Part of me
felt bad
that I had reintroduced
you to the beast
of addiction
but then again
I was addicted
to you
and your words
and your smile
so maybe it wasnt all that bad
and we were young
so whats the worst that could happen?
I quit smoking
because it feels good
to self-destruct
and I know cigarettes
taste better when
pondering the days
that have blown
away like toxic
smoke
and I have too many
of those
and spend too much
time thinking
about the immutable
past that I
myself
would inevitably become ash.

Wouldn't it be neat,
If i died in my sleep.
//thoughts//

you were so very pretty
the first time i saw you
it was spring
and you were a dream
soft and longing
every smile
blossomed with fragile hope

then the chill in the air gave way to
warm summer breezes in june
and you became more real  
no longer shifting in and out of existence
more solid
more beautiful
i wanted to plant flowers
along the paths you took
so you could only walk on
a lovely road from now on

when june turns to july
and july melts into august
when the leaves fall in september
i'll still want to clear a way for you
you won't be a dream anymore
you won't be a hazy existence
with every step you take
you'll leave your footsteps
singing in the autumn leaves
it will be less painful, then

\ \

Your life knows no answer
When you spend your nights
By the sea- beaming your woes to the
Sympathetic waves of reality.

You try to ponder on the future
That was securely balanced on the
Wings of a fallen Angel. But her feathers have shedded black and she
Lives in an obsidian fable.

Do you remember? Under the November Luna which lit an ambience on those reckless lips;
Which still had the repelling aroma of beer and strong spirits.

But just for now- let's meld- become one with the Night Deity, banquet our fates and lost hopes on the false promises of our doomed reveries.

I'll gift you the white feather, the silver and striped pelts of your savagery. I'll pleasure you by saying nothing...

...but you can work out the rest. The demise of your damsels in distress.

So after you have finished feasting on the succulent hearts of your romantic, haughty slaves- you are no longer welcome to the tribe of the brave.

It is not a sin, nor a taint of reputation;
Oh, it is an act of naivity and damnation. I submit, I'll be your green-eyed monster.
But I cannot succumb to resent forever.

So my life knows no answer
But atleast I will thrive through the thick, smog of your lies and fallacious treasures.
Go back to your rakish zoo, your spirits, your hallucinations:
Sink back into your vast carelessness.

But as for me, I will be born back into the sanguine wilderness


And lurk in the umbra.