I'll start.
orange you glad i am not dead
i say as i look down at death
sinister smile and all
Looks that make you crawl
Eyes red as tainted blood
Grip of a thousand storms
If only that were my truest self after all
It all fades away, but there still remains truth
There it is, moose
standing above my reflexion
once more
watching myself grow old
tribal, rituals
to cope, to be secretive
to not be understood, no code
mystic communication
feeling
no contracts, no bills, no curriculums
just awareness
immediate and rounded
...
I neEdEdD s0MetHiNg t0 WRITe WItH
U say shit?
I Ain't saint shit
I'm My own freE bitch
Shh.
Hear that?
Hear what?
RADIOHEAD
Make the next one your suicide note please.
Sage and hide.
>orange you glad i am not dead
Made me kek
Reverse the tide that sucks at fingertips,
makes vision numb, suckle on blindness I
can't bear seeing any more I want to etch
out but my fingers, they can't
Solemn solid water slips down my throat
Alchemically, how do I join with another
human
A distaste for jurisprudence, affinity
towards nonsense, rationalizing rashes
until they sublimate
Op is a faggot.
This hell called Veeky Forums,
I've had it
Never thought it would be this way
But ops words have turned me gay.
Now i want to burn this word,
But I'll cry in my basement,
while my trap lover enlarges my bum.
So long, farewell.
Brushing my teeth
In a cloud of shit stank.
Ah! I own a face!
I wrote this poem called Mr jones and then it turned out it was a song by the counting crows.
>Orange you glad I am not dead
As the dry ash wisps up from my abandoned road
Abandoned by my old neighbors, I visited to warm their home
My memory betrays me and through steel walls inches thick
Rest the corpses of my love for life and the delight only within
One rubs its sockets, long since dry, his lover left him before he died
The others face, post mortem dashed
With furrows of bitter anger, but all rests in ash
THE VOICE!!!---
arriva piano
And then it tumbles
Like the fucking sun
DO YOU UNDERSTAND?
Jonny is he sleeping john
Are you sure
THE SUN
LIKE A MILLION OF WHORES
IN THEIR WOMB MY CUM
john aimscherd i'm scared jhon
Little jonny with his big dick
I'm scared
He maybe he can hurt us sigh
(Cries like a cunt)
IMGONNASLITYOUBEN
sono felice
Molto fatto
JON
and then
They trow me on the stairs
Down
Down
Down
I have never, not once in my 26 years, been high.
Unless you count drugged up to your eyeballs on antipsychotics, put I never wrote poetry while that was going on.
I avoid drugs, alcohol and even cigs because I have an addictive personality, and my grandpa struggles with alcoholism so I know what it looks like when that shit fucks you over.
Kinda wanna try some real hard shit once, just to traumatize myself and remove the allure.
>that pic
holy shit, youtube comments are really the best place to find autists
I never did that, poetry are for faggots and so are drugs.
>>/pol/
Yeah, addiction runs in my family also. My great grandfather died in a hospital in the 70s, having been there for the last 40 years of his life, as a result of alcoholism following WWI. Pretty much abandoned my grandfather in favour of drink.
I'm leery of the hard stuff, don't even have alcohol. Sadly addicted to benzos because of a bad set of circumstances and a choice made by my psychiatrist. Keep away from them if you can.
Need eye drops
Teeth brushed and freshly applied deodorant
No part of me smells like kush
but the red eye says 'WEED' all over it
The long quiet earth
Under the loud sun
Sungold on fins, breathing through blood, the creature writhed on the deck.
Many cobbled night winding
Moth mouthed halogen breath,
Gas flambent and warm
Hanging by roads roads roads
In their thicketed