Forlorn Free Verse (Draft Cleanse)

I’m not lazy

I’m hopeless

Please don’t notice me

My misery hates company parties

Let’s get out of here…me myself and I

Pardon the mess, I’m currently renovating my psyche

My mind can’t hold us all

I would try but my thoughts have termites

psychological necrosis

I received an eviction notice

thirty three days

I say this hoping you will notice

That I’m hopeless

Will I grow old alone?

Will I die unknown.

I’m not sure about succeeding

Not killing myself be my greatest achievement

I cried last night so I could smile today

long walks down short paths

hold my under eye bags, my third eye’s mascara is running

I need to go to the little boy’s room to powder my nose and reapply my psychological make-up

Hello, it’s me

a thing

a being

insanity.

My ying wants to kill my yang

I have hunger pangs at a hate buffet

Kaleidoscope eyes beneath rose colored lenses

laying in puddle of my past

upchucked a bunch of memories

don’t look in the mirror, don’t look in the mirror

I’m a clown with a frown

but I know how to hand stand

I can do other tricks

Even magic

I learned early how to disappear

goodbye

 

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The Fuck if I Know What This Means

A man without sight sat down to write at a table his brother made with holy hands.

His spirit was half empty, and he couldn’t poor some more because his father locked the pearly cabinet doors to his liquor cabinet.

The double sided candle burnt out and the table went up in flames.

Only his eyes survived the conflagration.

Now he sees but can’t speak.

But he had nothing to say anyways.

Um Eh Hm Ah

2 low down lovers getting high

                                                 swipin’ at stellar mobiles in the sky

the perfect view

2 blast acid jazz & opium blues

under tongues

on top of each other.

4 them love is true

stupid kids

if they only knew

Bury Your Past. Never Dig it Up…Unless You Want to Get Dirty

I wanted to give you the world

all of it yours

but all I had was sweet nothings

So you turned your back to me

decided to leave

returning

once learning

you lost something

special

unique

one of a kind

Too precious for you

pure and refined

                            a diamond in the ruff

                              another one buffed

lifted

touched up

Now I shine

with a beautiful mind

That you will never have

She loves me for me

Lives to please

My beautiful beholder

All I have for you now

all you’re allowed

is my hot head and cold shoulder

Soon you’ll be forgotten

A slice of my past

Putrid and rotten

Too nasty to taste

Love and hate

are too precious to waste

on those not worthy

So leave me the fuck alone.

 



 

I’m not very good at poetry….but I tried :).

Johnny’s Prompt About a Prompt

Thanks and much love to: http://porngirl.blog/2019/01/09/johnnys-prompt/

 

      I wasn’t prompt in my response to a prompt another me created.

          but that’s nothing new.

How many ways can I say there’s nothing left to say?  

i wish I knew.

or simply forgot the thought so I could be free to be me without heed.

Just me! Just B!

I don’t know what that is.

Nobody does.

I am

I was

It’s all been said

It’s all been done.

 

How many ways can I say there’s nothing left to say?

Must I digress from my digressions?

Must I meta-analyze the metadata of my thoughts?

No

I shouldn’t stress over infinite regress.

Maybe that’s new?

No.

Plenty of people care about not caring

and plenty of people care about people who care about not caring.

That doesn’t make sense.

Nothing does.

I am and was and is and did everything life has to offer.

Why bother?

No matter how inane

how insane

it’s all been done.

Einstein was right

and we’re all crazy

doing the same thing over and over again expecting something different

a new position

a new religion

a new vision

How many more times can I multiply my personality before going crazy?

I need a proper division of me’s

but first I have to subtract a few

To reach my prime.

To be whole.

 

How many ways can I say there’s nothing left to say?

                          Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe I should take the advice of an author I can’t think of or find, and write like I’m the first human alive?

 

How many ways can I say there’s nothing left to say?

There’s no new way to say there’s nothing left to say

                  so why say anything at all.