Prepare yourself,
this gets interesting












Have you ever imagined how a hanging body sways.
Back and forth
A human pendulum
The physics between each swing.
The noose,
The body
potential to kinetic energy
Over
And over
And over.
welcome
To the dark side of my brain,
The dark side of my art we call poetry.
This is the side not many see.
Because this side of me craves a bullet between my eyes,
My delicate blood to be splattered as artwork.
This is the raw side of me.
That i dont show people
This is terrible you could be thinking
Or...
You could be thinking
ive heard worse
And maybe so
But nothing is worse to me than wishing for ******* death,
Rather than looking at a ******* abuser one last ****** time!
ive had enough
And
I know im crazy.
But every human snaps...
Kind of like the time he snapped my arm
a slight pop
And
Ouch
A world of pain.
But stop,
And you could be thinking...
now what the actual **** am i reading
Allow me.
You are reading a lonely 15 year old boy's crazy side.
A side he can easily hide,
But has decided not too.
This is the thought of letting my inner self free just once
Letting my suicide revolver speak only in poetry just once
No,
If you actually care
Dont worry about me.
Im fine.
Im not gonna guzzle bleach
Pop a bullet
Or go for a physics lesson.
Nope im gonna keep living
And writing crazy **** like this.
Let my imagination, though dark it may be, run for a bit.
Heres the truth.
We all have a bit of this side in us.
We all have those thoughts.
Those whispers.
And i resist them, yes.
Because truth is,
its my inner brilliance
The fact that i let myself ease in to the darkness,
But refuse to let it controll me...
Its a true gift.
And i hide it
Behind a thin veil of happieness.
Because in the end,
Only a true lover can make these thoughts mend.
(Wait what the ****!?! Is this a **** love poem)
Ha!
Nope.
Well maybe a bit
Its just me
An average guy
Telling you,
Im lonely
Depressed
Insecure.
And i hope there is someone
To come with me
To be with me
To love me
To hold me
To make me feel whole again.
*do you believe someone could love such a wreched person like me?

I know I should most likely be
Doing something else...
However, I can't help myself
This  is* what I want to do right now.
Wait. What was I talking about?
****. I don't even know.  
Should we be talking about you?
Because I just feel so selfish for
Hogging the conversation,
Disrupting the silence
With nonsense.
With random facts I read somewhere
With the weather reports that are. . .
. . . . . . .
****. I'm doing it again.
I'm sorry. . . . . . . .
Was I staring off just now?
I couldn't help but think about
How the pattern on that gentleman's shirt
Looked just like my grandmother's couch!
I wonder if it also smells like moth *****...?
Um, yeah. Salad sounds great for lunch,
How is your dog doing?

I don't know where
I'm going
I'm lost in despair
I can't find my way
Through the path of the wind
When I do it just
Blows me to sin
So how to get through to
the path of the wind
Nobody knows

As if she stays.
Ever ever stays.
A written word's waste.
Her good grace,
and mordant touch.
An adagio distance,
with askance persistence.
Craves to never have had,
never had been.

Count the doubles,
and minus the count.
Split the difference,
forget the amount.

It does hold.
hold hold on.
In silence's wordless way.
A slight trace,
my mindful crutch.
A cadence of defeat,
age of the time complete.
A Wish to have forever,
that which was never.

Count the doubles,
and minus the count.
Split the difference,
forget the amount.

Just sitting here,
on a summers day.
With my imaginary girlfriend.
You may see empty space,
but to me it's a beautiful face.
With long glimmering
hair of every colour.

A mind of endless adventure;
she whispers ideas,
offers advice,
and  I listen.
She never needs
to speak twice.

Just sitting here,
on a summers day.
Listening to her;
“ you can write a poem about
me and it will say;”

Just sitting here,
on a summers day....

Words wings clipped,
By a shadows sharp edge.
falling down
to meet history's drowning dregs ,
swim and struggle in the
unseen stream.
Dying alone unheard.
Goodbye; dear word.

I honestly enjoy my head space
Even though me and my demons come face to face
So often it has become mundane
I am rather fond of my brain
Though I know all I do is overthink
So often it puts me on the brink
I've come to appreciate the extremes
And for that matter my daydreams
I fall in and out of reality
Without the slightest feeling of abnormality
Yes I am indeed quite odd
I'm broken, I'm ****** up, I'm flawed
Every day is a discovery
No I'm no in need of recovery

I see things..
Far from beauty
But instead, souls.
Souls that remain with darkened faces,
And ragged shattered cloth.
Just like their hearts,
And their eyes?
I can’t bare them,
I can’t see them
Not because they’re not there.
But because I'm not there.
-
Shifting through the corners,
Standing behind my back,
Why are they watching?
Why are they listening?
I know they’re not there.
But they are there.
-
Curse these wooden floors,
Curse these twisted minds
Curse these broken bones
Curse these stricken eyes
But one thing that I shall not curse
Is their hopeless hearts,
For they have no heart.

Wax hammers melting under a suspicious sun,
bubbling on the soft tarmac road unspun.
Sarcastic grass struts in impotent arrogance,
at the rustling of a billion pointless paper bags.
As sparkling sin, trusts a single pointless poem.