Closeted. Red.
Corrupt. Abrupt.
Jarring & Tarring.
Obsession. Infatuation.
Sweet confrontation.
Voiced. Unvoiced.
Heat. Discreet.
Prohibited discovery.
Trespassed precinct.
Animal instinct.
Sinful rust.
A burst of Lust.

My entire life I've had an interest in substances,
Psychedelics mainly.. and all it encompasses,
The idea of letting loose from this world,
and witnessing something truly absurd,
but my opinions on substances aren't always preferred.

I have always been a man of science,
A sceptic in every sense of the bias,
but there's a substances in the world called DMT.
Dimethyltryptamine to the science community,
It appears in every tested plant, mammal and tree,
and It's effects are a total MYSTERY,
I could spend hours trying to explain what it's like,
Like taking a tour of the another universe on the back of a bike,
Been guided through an uncomprehendable place,
With a character and culture of what seems like another race,
The standard laws of physics don't apply,
A tingling sensation, and off you go,
Leaving your ego to die.
coming out of it you laugh,
you cry,
totally lost for words,
again, “What's it like?” people ask,
but explaining it is an impossible task...

“Druggies” they say,
Tarring me with their cliché.
Judging me on this factor exclusively,
Foolishly, thinking that's what matters,
An image of a man with his life in tatters,
but delve a little deeper and hopefully that illusion shatters.

I'm just a stereotypical geek,
I love sci­fi, fantasy and Jonathan Creek,
Spend my week days programming and drinking tea,
moaning at how ******* footballers treat the referee,
or wondering if I should have gone back for my masters degree,

How can you have an opinion on something, you've never done?
A world in which you've never come,
and what initially seems scary,
can be enlightening or fun,
but it's natural to be scared of what could become.

This isn't me saying, I think everyone should take drugs,
They're DEFINITELY not for everyone.
But do you think you should be allowed to judge?
How I spend my own time, with my own body?

There's a common phrase “Drugs are bad”,
As if an inanimate object has a moral compass,
and can know the difference between unlawfulness and justice,
Chemicals have no objective opinion,
No way to tell their right or reason.

Go to the pharmacy, “Paracetamol please”
no one ever questions this need,
People portray this drug as accepted,
while others are shunned and rejected,
this judgement isn't made with logic,
and the papers will slander with no justification,
“YOUNG GIRL LOOSES LIFE!” the headlines shout,
those words in your face like a covonia clout,
no one cares about the coroner report,
All they see is a picture on the front page,
Of a poor girls mum distraught,

These are portrayed as the rule as opposed to the exception,
a perfect example of media deception,
then again we all know it's been that way since it's inception.

We all know drugs can have negative effects on lives,
I've experienced first hand the darker sides,
such as my friend Dave who tragically died,
an amazing person I'll never again be alongside.

****** abuse can be a ******* awful thing,
a cardinal sin,
it can change people....
make them a different person in the same skin

With no idea what it contains,
It is injected directly into their veins,
*** and Hepatitis C,
Collapsed Veins and crutches plain to see,
That's not how anyone should have to be.

But is it the substances which are to blame?
Is it helped by the way society, publicly shame,
People who have had lives I couldn't even BEGIN to explain.
Needing something to take away the pain.
but ending up with zero gain
and although it's not always the same
People often don't like what they became.

The aim of this poem isn't to force my view,
It's to hopefully make you see I'm not much different from you,
and to not shun what you don't understand, but listen with open ears, and potentially lend a hand.

Walkabout started, in wilderness so bare
With no tracks, roads, homes nor cities in stare
Sticks and stones from my body, did tare
On horizon, welcome glitter of water’s glare
A sense of someone, something’s care
Cool, refreshing, revitalizing there’s no compare
From waterhole a single track, to sun’s lair

This narrow single track, evidence left by life
This road I follow, with mind set blithe
Into thick dark bushes, overgrown and rife
Thorns, cutting and tarring at my life
Pain and anguish, remind me, of life
I turn and look, at the ordeal, I survive
Following track, at cross road I arrive

Any one of four, to go
Back, I do not want to go
Right, a valley below
Left, more rocks and bushes on show
In front, a rainbow
The bow, proof of life bestow
I venture ahead, toward life’s flow

The single track, joined by another
A partnership, parallel to each other
Never did they join, in future
Along these tracks, I venture
These tracks, by contrast a pleasure
If cuts and bruises, the measure
My time on these tracks, I did treasure

Progress, tracks transformed to gravel way
I pass a house, where family could stay
I stopped, turned, looked and walked away
My essence, did not allow me to stray
“It’s not your destiny”, I heard the elders say
Discouraged disappointed lost, I started to pray
Again, a rainbow appeared, to point the way

As gravel way change, to road of tar
On the horizon, the evening star
Inviting noises and lights, of nearby bar
A lady, offer me a ride, with her in car
Voices of the elders, “You’ve already come this far”
If I quit now, this entire journey I did mar
With rainbow gone, I follow morning star


As road of tar, turn to gravel
I stop, turn and stare, with look of baffle
How can people be so concerned with trivial?
Can a single place, contain all that evil
Everyone treated, according to given label
I travel for myself, not to create a fable
In front of me, the rising sun marvel

Gravel road, turn twin track
As I put the city’s madness, to my back
The sun’s lair again my tack
My walk, more determined, there’s no turning back
Lessons learned and experiences stacked
For the remainder, there’s nothing I lack
This easy going, balance the rack

As one track, disappear
In my hand, I catch a joyful tear
Gone the lonely and disillusioned fear
To me, everything is no so clear
I shout out, in joyful cheer
This walk, empowered me to steer
I look to the future, through eyes so pure

I stroll into the wilderness, without a care
No more burdens, to bear
From me, all doubt was tare
In life, awaits no more scare
In front of me, a canvas made bare
A bright colorful future, in my stare
A future, with golden silver glare

He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go
when the "real world"
is just as scary
upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with muses?
back turned to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort
compared to the Fort Knox
of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
Radical left and right facebook profiles
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,

dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
President Andrew Steele Jarret
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time".
She wrote this book in 1998

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read "In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks
to rise up and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up,
Making art,
Being loud
is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words,

Because we do.

Repeat After me:

We The Artists
The Geeks who shall inherit
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow,
bend,
or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

Excuse me if I fight
For education over distractraction.
Forgive me for preaching
Art as our gospel.

you can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts.

I am sick of being tall
because my friends
are too busy crawling
I'm putting all my stat points into
inspire

Let me incite placebo healing
for a small fraction
of the tortured
anxiety pretzels I walk along
each day.

I will spit
on anxiety paper-cuts
from this paperback of bigotry
in our future history
labeling myself neosporin prayin'
God,
PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.

He says "Geek Poet!
Leave the politics alone
Stick to Pop culture"

Cousin.
Politics ARE Pop culture.
don't you see?

in a world where businesses
buy natural disaster insurance
In fear of presidential tweets
McDonald's burger vending machines
You think this isn't dystopia?

We play games to escape.
where can we go when the real world is
scary as the upside down?

Tell me, Cousin.
Where do you write your poetry?
is it safe?

Do you surround yourself with coffee?
Turn your back to a naked woman?
is there whiskey on the bar,
A journal,
your favorite pen?
Your cell phone,
clentching in the public restroom?

because no matter where you are.
that sanctuary
is a ******* pillow fort compared to the
Fort Knox of an artists imagination

politics ARE pop culture
China is throwing unfathomable
amounts of money into Propaganda
targeting millennials though memes.
Fish don't see water, remember?

You are telling me
I can't write about politics.
There are Americans
who have never voted,
posting radical left and right facebook posts.
protecting and attacking A Racist,
selfish, blemish on our history.
you wonder why we are scared, Cousin?

You want to know why I am so loud?

I watch Men step alligator shoe
out of Boston limousines
Slicked back hair straight
from wolf of wallstreet
belligerent screaming
"I do what I Waaaaaaant!"
"She does what she waaaaaaaaaaaaants!"
"We do what we waaaaant!"

This is the world
we're escaping from.
Excuse me if I break
from the zombie jokes
The vampire romances
Focus on the dead bodies
in our own city, Cousin.

Our demons are real now.

dystopian literature
called for the 2017 election
as far back as the 1930s'

Senator Buzz Windrip
from "It can't happen here"
by Sinclair Lewis
makes promises
to "return America to a better time".
back in 1935

buying validity for his ideas
in airtime on the radio,
tarring those who disagree,
as tools of mother russia,
dismissing woman,
as silly socialists.
naming the press
"a lot of irresponsible wind bags."

In the book "Parable of the talents",
Octavia butler Predicts a "Pox" In 2015
Wiping most of the population.
She wrote this book in 1998

Andrew Steele Jarret
becomes president
promising to return the country
to an "Older Simpler time"

Want to learn how to defeat Trump?
Read "Our Twisted Hero,"
by Yi Munyol

Read
"In the Heart of the Valley of Love, "
by Cynthia Kadohata

All of these Dystopian fantasies
Prepare the Geeks to rise up
and fight.
Pop culture is the only thing saving us
Knowledge is the only thing saving us
Standing up.
Making art.
Being loud
Is the only thing saving us
from the red button
in the orange hands
of the man who NEVER Had
the best words.

We The Artists
The Geeks who will inherit the earth
Swear to protect our words.
We will not bow, bend, or break.
Ink is the blood of prophets
The voice is a weapon

excuse me if I use Mine to educate
rather than distract.
Forgive me for spitting on anxiety paper-cuts
from our government
paperback of bigotry
labeling myself neosporin
praying God, PLEASE
let me be charismatic enough.
Let me incite placebo healing for a small fraction
of the tortured anxiety pretzels
I walk along each day.
I am sick of being tall because
my friends are too busy crawling.

I will preach Art as our gospel, Cousin.
You can't Incite Revolution
by throwing dice at ghosts
Our Pop Culture IS Politics.
I'm putting all my stat points into inspire
Watch how high I roll.

I saw five blackbirds perched on a telephone wire at six am
They were black as the blackest of nights and as big as Caterpillars
They were looking down on cars taped over with blowing plastic bags
Floating in the hot pink wind like tornadoes made from lipstick
Their talons were long daggers looking to pierce the deepest part of my heart
To open my eyes with their meandering meaningful meaningless
They had shipwrecks adorning each obsidian feather and crooked teeth
Capped the nightmares that lurked behind the glare of their eyes
They watched solemnly at the scene below of closing doors
Of rustling papers and stained tears tarring the summer ground
They had secrets cawed in a language of screeched whispers
Warning and educating ears that were too deaf or too self involved to listen
We’ve got no chance to escape this drudgery of modernity
We’re stuck in this self-built prison of black and white prisms
Of three dimensional reasoning and the attitude that follows
Never meant to be but it’s what it is when we think we’re free
How can the one blind bird perceive things differently
If our shortsighted near-death experiences have left us numb
Numbing us to the presence of the stars in the morning sky
Or the Sun exploding torrents of fire during the night
Wrapping us in a chilly warmth like blankets soaked with gasoline
We've left ourselves to wander the desolate land thinking of the obscene


I saw five blackbirds blacking out the sun as they took to the sky
Laughing their murderous laugh at the awkward bipeds down below

Have you seen my ring?
Its old now, and worn out
Its seen fights, and tears
Through the years, through every outcome
It sat right between my pinky and my thumb
Not the finger I used to point out what was going wrong
Or the one I used to say "I never loved you either"
It was on the next one, over.
I wore it proudly, it brought me a sense of worth
Now that its missing i'll move heaven and earth to find it
My hand is confused
That finger forever internally bruised
From the force of losing it so quickly
It thickly layered scarring on my heart
It is tarring me apart
I would give anything to find my missing ring

Another piece of wood stabbed in my heart
Another sharp pain
Tarring me apart
Another piece wedge to deep
Another nightmare when I go to sleep
Another obstacle to keep me together
Another piece of wood, just another splinter

Is it possible to be a self within a self?
When we whisper the over-used notion, "I would never do that."
Is that merely the hidden internal us responding in fear
in vulnerability
in sacredness, holding onto the hope
that no, we would never do that?

I would never flee down coast line to coast line
abandoning all
recklessly
I would never own a worthy
boyish love
holding it ransom,
giving not even a speck of pink back
selfishly
I would never cloud ridicule
over the individuals that love me and wreak grey
havoc on their hearts
so haughtily
I would never obsess over material
adornment and superficial success
vapidly
Hoping to control others with one look, one unreachable charm
I would never look like a Barbie doll queen
Platinum blonde hair
Golden olive skin
Perfect figure
what a cliché
what a ******* conformist
I would never lick up liquor like a dogged lush
tarring the black of the night
so pathetic
I would never weep in the shower
because of the way someone loved me too much
I would never have a disgusting want to be left lonely
So degrading

I would never let the world turn me

**I would never.

My laughter bounced off the walls,
To thick but to thin at the same time,
Allowing my laughter to be heard at times.

The laughter resides in my heart,
Making everything seem ‘normal’,
Though I do not know if these broken pieces on the floor are ‘normal.’

Everything is spinning; as I dance around and down these empty halls,
With madness running threw my veins,
Everything seems to be hollow even this laughter.

I can’t seem to find my mouth able to form words,
My throat can only allow this laughter float up and out.

These walls have been through thick and thin,
And I am quite surprised they haven’t tumbled down of yet,
Because clearly those cracks are quite scarring and would shatter any perfection;
Wounds and bruises are painted on the walls but they still stand.

I slam myself against the walls,
Wishing to scream out in agony and pure hatred,
But all that bubbles out is this maddened laughter.

Revenge, oh how sweet it sounds,
Even though it is the thing that is tarring me apart, making it into something bittersweet instead.

This thirst is much worse then this cursed sound,
It’s the worst, making me go into a wild outburst.

Laughter after laughter, nothing else,
Not even a single breath of utter displeasure,
Witch I clearly feel building up within my heart.

These walls should have ears,
After all the entire entity should shake in fear,
Every time they hear the madden laughter reopen within my heavy chest,
And flutter out of my numb lips.

Here I lay
Tears forming in my eyes.
Here I lay
Not wanting to go another day.
I wanna give this life up.
It hates me
Just as I hate it.
it is eating me
It is tarring my insides up.
Just like you
How you broke my heart.
Here I lay,
Wondering what's gonna happen now that I don't have u

You said I reminded you of music.
I know music is one of your favourite things.
The pressure.
You'd wake me with kisses & caress my skin.
But what happens when your fingertips come across my imperfections.
The shame.
You say I'm more than you could ever ask for.
But what happens when I tell you there is more.
The guilt.
You have your addictions, like we are with tarring our lungs. What if you found that I do it because it slowly kills me.
The irony.

Did you tare up that note? I will never know if you did but I know that I did. 

As I re-read my poem The Note I noticed that I still feel the same. I still feel unwanted, ugly, stuipd, fat. And I see that I have started cutting again.

The Aftermath is hard. Your parents now turn into siblings, your siblings now turn into family, and your family turns into the internet.

"I can't do this anymore!" You keep thinking everytime you look at the aftermath. The aftermath of tarring up that note.

Everyone now knows that you are Depressed, restless, and have lot of Moodiness. Everyone sees you struggling and they want to help.

Truth is they don't know how to help. They don't understand what's next after the aftermath.

Your family starts talking in private. You listen threw your bedroom door and here things you and I should never have to hear.

Have you heard what I have heard?

Are we really all in this together? Or do we just hear that, read that, and think that. But then nothing happens.

I am here right now to tell you that the aftermath *****. Your mother threatens to drag you to the hospital into the Mental Ward.

You get told that your being insane. That your acting insane. So you look to people online. They comfort you and tell you to use a rubberband to help with the self harm.

Welp guess what your mother takes that from you too. You see, the You's, I's, and We's turn out to be just another word on your screen.

But it's true we can all do this. We can beat depression. I will never know what you chose. I don't know what I have chose. All I know if that even thou I wanna write another Note. A note no one should read nor write. I don't.

We can make it past the Aftermath. Just hold on a little longer. Yea,

The Aftermath *****

Oh well.. You can do it. I can do it. We can do it.

[Author] - I never thought that I would make another poem to go along with this one so I hope you enjoyed. All of this infromation from this poem and the first one is true in my mind. I hope you choose life. I know I have....At least for now.

Them three over there
Them three laughing at other people’s expense
Them three tarring, hurting, destroying everyone in site
Them three breaking me peace by peace
Them three destroying them selves