Biography of W.B. Mad
Growing older everyday. Hating and loving life at the same time. Writing all the time on benches, on buses, in church, in classes, at dinner, in hotels, at pools, in the park, in the movie theater, everywhere. Dad suffers from chronic pancriatitus and is out of work and on disability while Mom works to feed brothers. W.B. Mad suffers from Chronic Depression from which often much of his work his inspired by focusing on dark themes and the underbelly of life.
W.B. Mad Poems
Shot Glass Happy Endings
Found in the undertow of broken hearts and broken felling's. Confused and lost I staggered around like the town drunk. Thought I'd found my shining star till the hearts came crashing down. I swore my heart had been broken.
Pages of old stories stuffed everywhere. My life is consumed with pages. Pages here and pages there. Pages stuffed in drawers and boxes.
Dreams real and yet still indifferent. Left on old rickety shelves for further investigation. Dreams left in the dark spaces. Hiding from the world, and all the peering eyes.
Sunny Sunday mornings. Spent in overused phrases of love. Shot down with bullets from past lovers. Caught in the undertow of memories.
Little lies smashed into faces that I pass everyday. Faces that are tired of all the pain. Faces that cant stand the numbness anymore. All the numbers pushed thin into tiny little file folders.
Suffacation: What Defines Me
You say you love me. Yet you feed me filth. Do you see my sick skinny bones and sickly flesh? Do I look healthy to you.
Sunny Sunday mornings.
Spent in overused phrases of love.
Shot down with bullets from past lovers.
Caught in the undertow of memories.
Memories that should be forgotten and never ever remembered.
Little memories shut up in the top of old suicide pills.
All those crazy little thoughts.
Little thoughts that make a man want to hurl himself off a bridge.
Falling down into some unknown darkness.