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 :).

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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.

I Suck @ Poetry, & Sobriety Didn’t Last Long; Maybe I Should Start Telling Myself That I’m Going to Get Drunk so I Can Sabotage Myself Into Being Sober

He spoke in tongues

                            that she refused to hear.

The lost language of love

                                                                               fell upon deaf ears.

Poetree….Or Maybe Just a Weed

                                                             I don’t know if I make any sense

         but I like digging in my couch to collect a few cents

             to buy some booze

                                            a black and mild or two

                                                                                    maybe a tiny bit a shrooms

                                                                                       and eighth of an eighth

                                                    Gobble them up

                                               upchuck my thoughts

                                                                                 wake up in a puddle of my past

            My third eye’s mascara is running

let me go to the little boy’s room to powder my nose

                                                     reapply my psychological make up

I need to find a pretty girl to love

                                                          and lust

                                                      and break up

                                                        my dreams

             Shattered thoughts

                                             I need a punctilious princess

                                                       to pick up my pieces

                                                                                           and forge a kintsugi mind

                                                                 to stare at

                                                            and be proud of

               and show off to her friends

             and add to the crystalized museum in her head

Maybe I don’t make any sense right now

                                  but my sixth sense is high off an eighth

                                      Smoke and music floats above me

                                        as I make ash angels on the floor of my garage

Maybe this doesn’t make sense

Maybe I’m rambling.

Maybe I’m in shambles

Maybe I need a revolver and a bullet

                                               to make a gamble

                             Middle finger on the hammer….pull it

                                                       Blow my brains onto an empty canvas.

                         Brain fragments

                            Blood spatter

Does it really matter?

How my loved ones feel?

                                             once I’m gone

I’ll leave a pretty note

                                      written in music notes

                 A sad song singing how I don’t feel like I belong

                                                                                     How I long for acceptance

                               but hate the person people see me as

I hate my past

I hate my wrath

                            I hate that the only thing that’s definite is math

Why do I feel this way?

Why do I feel like a stray?

                                         The runt of a mutt stuck in a muddy rut

What am I?

Who am I?

Where am I?

                     Does any of it matter?

     Am I just a random collection of matter?

I’m rambling again.

Take your pills, B.

Go to sleep, B.

Don’t worry, B.

Tomorrow will B the same.