A Porcelain Doll

A porcelain doll,
So soft in complexion.
In her confidence
I place my greatest failings.

She doesn’t know
That she is my refuge.

I prefer to listen, though,
To the silence of her
Trials and tribulations.
A peace is found here.

How could a mere man
Craft such a divinity?

Why would I place such faith
In a relic of what should have been?
How can her dark eyes
Force such a devotion?

I ask without rhetoric.
I have found an answer.

Such art must be cherished.

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Is there a rhyme to this?

Is there a rhyme to this?
Falling into Theta
With the taste of Xanax in my throat?
I just need another smoke.

I don’t know what I want anymore,
I barely remember my name some days.
Still I’ll stress over the small things.

I’ll still worry about the evanescent manner of your affection,
The calories in my dinner,
The increased rate of my suicidal ideations.

Shit, did I just miss my exit?
Someday I’ll reach the shore,
Maybe drown myself in the ocean,

And embrace the cold embrace of the winter tide.

But that’s thinking too far down the road,

Right now, I’ve just got to get home
Where there’s still scotch in the bottle.

I must beg pardon

I catch your glances,

Your eyes meeting mine

And shooting away again.

I see you.

Of course,

I see them during stares of my own.

Who could take their eyes off you?

Not me, not now.

But you must forgive me,

This is a dream of a path never taken.

I must beg pardon,

This is a memory I don’t know.

But I do know now,

And that my happiness in you

Is (wistfully) reciprocated.

Overpowered

Overpowered by the Lips,

I lie here breathing,

staring at the ceiling,

Wishing the fan was pointed in my direction.

Overpowered by her lips,

I lie here thinking, romanticizing

Wishing she was struggling with me for the sheets.

How could she love me, though?

I’m broke on a broken computer,

And my room is a mess.

I dribbled piss on my boxers.

Embracing the safety of a bedspread tent

I sink further into the bed,

Knowing if I want change, I must effect change.

But it can wait, just a bit longer.

Let’s just lie here, only for a bit longer.

my existence offending

My existence offending,
With every breath of smoke
Which is taken alone,
I march forward.

Fire erupts from the candles at the wake.
A man lies waste deep
Not ready to be interred.

Yet the birds still sing
O’er a body cut down
By Smith & Wesson’s
Newest thresher.

A miracle occurred today,
He has proven something,
If only for himself.

He has become an Ozymandias,
A king of the dead to be forgotten.
The works of his dying hands
Mattered only to his fleeing soul.

The triumphs of loves won
And the woes of years of defeat,
Are but memories forgotten.

I want you in the fall

I want you in the fall,

When the sun grows cold

And the leaves turn brown.

 

When the Pennsylvania wind bites,

And those with money go to warmer climes,

That’s when I’d die to hold you.

 

Imagining you in a sweatshirt,

Hand in hand with me,

Walking down a country town Main Street.

 

We’ll forget the harshness of the season change,

The fear of winter to come,

In one another’s embrace

I need to update so have an old one

Bloody ‘ell Jasmine!
A free write and a Facebook post?
A poem up Mishter Lusk’s alley!

Or was that Saucey Jacky’s alley!?
Ha, I’m not crazy like that!
I’m just as fun, but without the gore!

This is how one fuckin’ does it!
You write from the bloody heart,
Maybe steal one or two while you’re at it!

He must’ve been a helluva guy,
For Miss Kelly to give her’s so freely.
I’ll never get why ladies like the shag.

But that’s neither here nor there,
This poem’s about me!
It’s about time someone wrote for Paulie!

Ole Sid’s got his back,
Feeding him some grand delusions,
What’s the difference either way?

Let him be great,
Or let him spill some krovvy tryin’.
It’s cheap, plenty to go around.

Now listen to me being morbid!
God forbid!
Back on track, right oh, right on!

I’ll get on up there,
Somewhere high above you plebes,
And when you beg,

I’ll smile and say, ‘no.’
Not exactly, but I won’t do much.
Alright, I’ll save the world with me.

Dammit,
It is what it is,
I wish I was a bird.

I am what happens

I am what happens.
Whatever I’ve become,
And where I go, transforming,
I am a product.

Imperialistic in breathing,
I expect to end as all the greats do,
Invaded, perverted and in a puddle of vomit.

I am the Holy Roman Empire,
Something to fear, my very existence.
With existential crises crashing,
I can be… unpredictable.
A Caligula.

Angry, I will sleep.
Accosted, I will sleep.
Ashamed, I will sleep,

And maybe when I wake,
It’ll be worth it.

“Lot’s of self defeat in that one…”

Right?

A burn, a passion.

Circles, in fields of black and White Snake,

A symptom of being at a loss.

 

Screaming through my chest,

I shout until my throat hurts.

“It’s not going to get better, is it?”

 

I’m no Pierce Brosnan,

Barely a Roger Moore,

Definitely not a Danny Boy.

 

Searching for a sortie,

HPPD, here I come.

I don’t want to live to thirty,

But only the good die young.

An oldie

During my forced slumber
I meet my dear.
Alone and afraid.

In the aftermath
I hold her in my arms,
On an end bound train.

She smiles,
Knowing she is mine,
As I am her’s.

Her red dress entices,
Her warmth welcomes me in,
The cold of this hell falls away.

The train screeches to a halt
At the ghastly demon gate,
Hungry, We look for a meal.

A search to no avail.
As the weeks pass,
Perfection peels and pales.

The gaunt face of my love,
That unfed life of mine,
It drives me mad.

The demons laugh as lives end,
As the platform is cleared of all.
I wipe away any traces.

From the wreckage,
The whorehouse of slaughter,
We feed.

I watch her live
As she feeds on the dead.
I eat only when she fills.

Once again my love, My sweetness,
She kisses me with chapped lips.
I taste the blood of our prey.

The metallic taste remains,
As we lie in cold red puddles.
She shivers, and i hold her close.

Alone, We eat as we need,
Keeping the Wendingo at bay.
Awaiting the next train.

Coagulated blood stinks,
The maggots infect our meat,
Still we continue to gnaw on bone.

Our solitude is broken by a beast,
What used to be a woman.
Feeding on our rotting prey.

She scowls at us that there is plenty.
We eat as she gorges.
Her belly fat with human meat.

Flesh is ripped from bone,
Skeletons are shredded,
As she devours innards.

I cast her a look of disdain,
Holding my love near.
We make eye contact, fear.

“Judge me if you will,”
The she-beast scowled.
“You’ve fed too, the Wendingo will be around.”

I smile as I pull my love towards the train,
“We fed to live,
You die to feed”

As the train departs into darkness
My alarm tears me away from my love
And my joy dies into the mundane