Suck My Poem (reprise pt1)

August 1, 2011

Sleepless in New Jersey. Catatonic.

 

Careless. Reckless in my mind. My mind.

 

Count my fingers to pass time.

 

Count sheep at 2 in the afternoon.

 

I’d count my failures but there’s too many.

 

I’m ok.

 

You’re ok.

 

Stuper dooper.

 

Hands wander over my belly into my tight shorts.

 

Quick tug to make sure it’s there.

 

Light a cigarette. Ha. Always light a cigarette.

 

Sleep 10 hours straight then go out then come back and take a 3 hour nap and woke up 5 pm yesterday.

 

No sleep yet. Almost. Sort of. Kind of. Ya know? I know

 

Oh . . . I know.

 

Doze. Wake. No focus. No nothing nada.

 

Try to eat. My stomach is bloated from the water and anti stress tea I drank to make up for the coffee and / / /

 

Ever contemplate death mr Goodpeoples? Not me. Well, not by my own hand.

 

Sex is a foreign country. Relationships are memories so far buried it’s like I’m reading someone else’s story.

 

Not hard to understand myself but I always ask why am I like this? I know why. Sometimes I just won’t tell myself.

 

27 trips to the bathroom. Or was it 30?

 

My best thinking is when I am in the bathroom or on my way to the bathroom or on way back from the bathroom.

 

Pay my rent so I can try and sleep. Waiting. Still waiting. Wabbling.

 

Bullets of words blast through my my my my   . . . .  and hit you softly.

 

A parade of sweat falls everywhere. . . anywhere. I’m burning.

 

Tired.

 

Until.

 

What?


Destiny

February 4, 2011


Exterminate – A Poem

June 5, 2010

I wrote this one in late 2008 after a break up with a woman. A woman. It’s always about a woman. Ha.

Exterminate

I need an exterminator to kill the bugs she left in my head, my heart. Some bug powder to kill the pain inside that won’t stop no matter how much I want it to stop. Stop. My head hangs heavy on my lap and I try to hump it to bring some life back into it and it doesn’t respond until it’s time to smoke or eat. My face is even redder than usual like a ripe tomato that I refuse to eat because I hate tomatoes and I hate her. I’m filled with so much anger that my stomach feels nauseous and I want to puke right here on my knees and kick myself in my yellow teeth wishing it was her kicking me or me kicking her for how desperate I feel as her face rolls around in my head over and over like a really bad fight scene from American Gladiators and I’ve never watched American Gladiators yet it stops for a moment and I feel slight nostalgia of what I thought we had but I now realize was never there. I’ve been played for a fool. A Jackass. A lunatic. A ninny. A nit wit. A Joker. “I’m the JOLLY JOKER!” I laugh. Then I cry because this as funny as a bowl of half eaten dead children’s intestines. My heart is broken and I hurt and all you want to do is to not feel your guilt and all I want to do is to hold you in my arms one more time and beg and plead with you to take me back and start the same sadistic pattern all over again because I’d rather deal with the pain later just so I can get more pleasure today. If that ain’t true love then I don’t know what is.

A drawing I did in 2001 or so of the great writer William S. Burroughs.


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