Barlot ... Poems
Rabies In My Palm
Ah the moonlit melodies And cliche connections of words It's murder to think in such fancy ink But never to record...
Charlotte's Web: A Rapture Tale
I was drinking my coffee in a resort area bathroom When all of a sudden, something started to happen The ceiling turned into an ocean of green But the floor stayed the same as it had been
Sleeping On A Tablecloth
I took a break from the slavery of words But when I returned, I found my style was nothing as it had been before 'What could have changed? ' I asked in distress. My best response proved to be of no aid-
Still Blank With Words
Staring at the molecules floating past my eyes And finding the appropriate species to categorize them Just as real as the tangible- A projection of mortality.
You can't keep running away From the things you can't control Somewhere new becomes the oasis When Murder Beach took its toll.
Half of my heart is a question mark Ending the sentence of your tyrrany Threatening to set me free- More like handing over a golden ticket.
We can stop it if I cared But frankly I’m just too tired these days As I sit trapped in a Valium haze Where did they go?
Learning To Walk
My essence is fading Christianity's the bleach The second I left Murder Beach...I knew it would happen But it happened so fast-
Very Seldom Is It Just One
There are days I wish I were born without confidence Hoping there will be nothing to lose When it's blatantly rubbed in my chest That I'm nothing more than second best...to the people I choose to admire.
Oh Bitch, You'Re Weary!
The night was storming as she sat alone Unheard voicemail on the phone Meant nothing Like everything.
A New Kind Of Aa
Opposite yet adjacent shapes broaden the vision With solitude comes perspective- Thoughts more obscure and more reflective But somewhere appeared an incision
Wal*mart (Rip Free Trade)
I'm completely uninspired And at a loss for words The growing amounts of Wal*Marts Are clogging up my brain.
Suicide Note (Anything But Twenty Volume...
There's variety in misery And right now I'm all twelve kinds. Solitude takes the best of us When we realize love is sugar-coated lust.
Prison Of The Southern Baptist (Love Not...
Oh my dear, Every breath I breathe here... Is nothing more than inhaled pollution and exhaled personality. Conservatism's a bitch, Baby
Sleeping On A Tablecloth
I took a break from the slavery of words
But when I returned, I found my style was nothing as it had been before
'What could have changed? ' I asked in distress.
My best response proved to be of no aid-
As it involved the lack of rainy days-
Which seem to be in abundance.
I then made a list of from then to now
Hoping to find out how...ridiculously free I've become:
The lack of fun being number one