Tag: shit

Pain

by sidcorvid

Gasping for my next breath,
Grunting with the thrust of the needle,
I become slightly more of a man.

Panic, a fear of the imminent moment,
Had subsided, disappeared under searing pain.

My body rigid and teeth embedded in my lip,
The pain does not seem to end.
On retrospection, I did not realize
How long two seconds could last.

Taking it slow now, numbing instead of stabbing,
I recognize that the worst was over.
I fucking made it, euphoria increasing with inhalations.
Now to try this shit out.

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Is it already past midnight?

by sidcorvid

It’s already past midnight?

I guess I’ll sleep when I sleep,
Rest’s not that important.

Instead, I’ll keep cadence
Reminiscing on cadence,
Waiting for Taps.

I crumple the sheets, a failure contemplating:
What is it that makes a man?
What struggle overcome?
What prize attained?

I don’t know, dude.
I can’t honestly say I have a clue.
What am I even striving for?

Anyway, it’s over now,
And I’ve gotta move on.

Can’t say it’ll be easy, though.

What is the sound of shit hitting the fan?

by sidcorvid

With blood blued on my sweater

And infection taking root in my burn,

I deny my own desire.

Self-worth is overstated, overrated.

Rhyme is a poor man’s crime,

And I want you.

Arrogant in thought.

I didn’t expect this to be easy,

And you are worth working for,

Worth creating my own world and path.

Still, they ask what my story will be.

They wonder what I’ll achieve

Through an illuminated life.

A better question is,

What is the sound of shit hitting the fan?

I deserve nothing,

Have earned little,

And the future remains hidden.

Making Buddy headbang to Nicki

by sidcorvid

Whiskey makes my bones shake,
And I’m having trouble typing.
‘Motivational’ wubs inspire poetry,
To be called great by idiots.

On this night,
I feel the dead gods in my blood,
Coursing like my .5% BAC.

There is no past,
On this night there is no compromise,
One more shot to remember the future.
A violence churns as I party alone.
A writer writes, infuriated by his subordinates.

He has no Medevac waiting for him,
Calling ‘Suppressing Fire!’ has no effect,
Except a stagger and a disorderly conduct.
Alone, this booze-fueled warrior, I, will fall.

Imagine the hangover?