sitting on my mountain's top
snorting like some pig eating from a truffle trough
rounding like some vulture over valium's vault
it's 4: 10 a.m.
i'm spoiled again.
depressed and alone.
idiotically
planting a bouquet of
'forget-it-alls'.
hard to sleep
with the wind cutting
slits through the blankets.
i induce
restless leg syndrome
to warm up.
too damaged to create
anything other than ugliness.
at the top of my mountain
i hate myself.
the journey was quick
and
i've been sitting here for hours
plenty of fire,
but nothing to cook
or anything to do.
i came for some answer, but
i realize now
i left her hours ago.
the wind holds no congratulations
no scent of victory.
the view stands simple and cold
like a photo
jaded in some shoe box.
the silence carries no remedy
no ailment for my heightened doubt
just paranoia.
when i return
i will be sick.
not bed ridden but something close.
walking pneumonia
numb sounds,
information delays and
poor circulation.
a chemical imbalance
stone neurons
speed towards
flower-petal receptors.
pummeling
not addiction but its close cousin.
i chose this spot to
escape shame,
debt and
failure.
how very mature....
haha... where I come through (no not the tree) ... Tip Top is a factory that sells bread and ice cream... so they were my thoughts upon entering this Title... I leave with the same thoughts... you've given me something to munch and lick over..... Love it! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your stuff is getting better and better this piece is funny and deep and real very good write mate Nik