I'm bored.
I want to hit up
people I don't
care about
and go have a beer
and loads of cigarettes
hold each other's shoulders
in a group in some bar
and laugh like
we are real friends
even though
I've quit
that life.

I'm just bored
and that's
what bored man do.
They go out
and pretend that life
is better than it actually is
and we intoxicate
our selves with drink
and smoke
and plenty of other things.

But instead
I lay in bed
reading a book
I'm half way through
it's good
but it's not enough.
My feet stink
I refuse to get up
and shower
I'll just change socks,
my teeth feel off
from the coke I drank
and I haven't brushed them
since yesterday,
and my poems
hit like heavy hitters
would back in the day
where boxing wasn't
rigged
or ran by punks
with YouTube channels.

*******.
What boredom
makes a man do
in times of need.
Maybe
I should take
a walk
but I'll sit here
marinate on my own
fight against addiction
lack of connection
and poor hygiene.

I'll invite my dog up to bed
and let him lay on me
while he stares at the wall
and I'll stay bored
and write a poem
that won't hit like the rest
but as least
will serve
a purpose
as my girl
waxes her legs
and waits for me
to say something.

My Stupid heart okay ...
I love you everyday ...
I wanna hug alright ...
I miss you everyday ...

Stupid heart , it screams ...
It need some ice cream ....
But sitting all alone ...
Just waiting for phone ....

Alright .... **** it ... I miss last line

If you're lonely,
Start greeting strangers on the street,
A funny thing starts to happen,
When you stop to say 'Hello!'

If you're looking for a real remedy,
So you can feel real happy,
Always remember to smile,
Wherever you find yourself.

I'd bet a five dollar bill,
Strictly on your life filling up,
After you begin to say hey,
Whether it's a passerby, or a new friend.

it's hard for me to let you go,
you look like an angel
--a deviant against God,
beautiful and forbidden
--against impermanence

ever-lasting;
a taste of ambrosia
a touch of Midas; gold
--yet rarer than the birds
that seem to circle around
--your crown;
not of thorns,
but early morning dew

and the fruits you bear;
not of love,
but grief
--and indelible prints
pressed on your skin...

you make my heart beat,
for once it never moved,
until my shadow was seen.
it's hard for me to let you go.

One fellow once
gave me advice:
«Conduct a fèmale training!».
I chose a day, and sold the seats
And caught the money raining.

I came back home with pretty dame –
She was my clever student.
She often had been tricked by men,
Again she's getting through it.

A gun that can only be shooting with spoons,
A hammer of glass, a shelter for beetles,
A face cream with fragrance attracting raccoons.
A big cotton bag full of needles.

A triangle ball, a candle that stinks.
A timer that's constantly speeding,
A chessboard with figures just missing two kings,
A puzzle with function of heating.

A Queen of the Britain, and her diamond strings.
A spyglass distracting attention.
13 is the number of mentioned things
With no any good application.

Tuesday: **** was black and smelled of sulphur.

oh wait, this is my **** diary.

For those of you interested,
I'm indigested. Well, I suppose we're all indigested.

I'm off the water, on lemon and lime
and wouldn't you know it combined
with my strange state of internal affairs
to create a concoction that's up in flares.

They found undigested
gum and erasers
an unopened packet of quavers
several loose fillings
and an unopened pack of heavy duty nasal razors.

Alright I might be embellishing the truth a little
the situation's been fickle,
but my research mostly finds that
eating is the issue.

I'm a sadist, guilt and remorse evadist
put my dark twist, on the folk
down in their gravies
resurrect em, clambering
shackled remains,
liberate thee,
run free in my domain.
De lib er ately
gliding, I'm death's author
and the last note
in the cacophony slaughter.
I'm the angel of death
and as you draw your last breath
know that I'm trying my best
to compensate for this theft
with more thieving, your grieving's
making my eyes sting
no reprieve in
believing, I'm only deceiving
in the heart of your very own body and mind
an inner evil, its seething
you know you can't hide
so break down and surrender
call on your defenders
and when the heavens aren't parted
the party gets started
there's no angel, descending
smiting at will
just my corpses, feasting
I'll send you the bill.

Isn't it so funny
as soon as you get back with him
the truth bites you in the ***
again
isnt it so funny
as soon as hes gone you crawl right back to us
i wont let you hurt her again.
if my body is made of tiny broken stars
yours is filled with the trash discarded in the void of space.
isnt that funny f?

As