| write like your life depends on it
because somewhere someone is stealing
all your pens
because the well of inspiration is constantly
being polluted by television
because your rights are being stolen
every day
because there are people in the world
without the freedom to speak
but they're doing it anyway
risking their lives and it's
making you look like an
asshole
write bullets to arm yourself against
the end of the world
write armor for your children
so they know they're not alone
write middle fingers for corrupt politicians
and greedy businessmen
write obscenities to knock them on
their asses
write healing balms to ease
suffering
write kisses on the lips of
your lover
because you never know when
you'll see them for the last time
and it would be a shame
to waste the opportunity
because they say the brain
is the largest sexual organ
and you should be writing
orgasms
write because there aren't enough
poets and novelists in the world
because there are still there blank spaces
on the human psyche
because that's how religions
get started
write the seventh wonder
of the literary world
give them something to talk about
when you die
write heartfelt poems on the backs
of blank bank deposit slips
give yourself something
to live for
|
| |
| do you know
the pressure?
saints/drunkards
singing their songs
in separate churches
there's a sonic addict
pounding drum kit explosions
in my head
I can't remember
all the words to
all the songs
anymore
but I remember
lightening eyes
bumper sticker sermons
blinding lights
empty bottles
unfinished pages
a box of dead roses
blood on a white t-shirt
this poem keeps trying
to crawl off the page
everyone's looking for
an escape
pedestrians/ghosts
streets like open graves
I want to breathe
the words they speak
the sound of a city
whispering/screaming
my apartment is
haunted
by all the selves
I'll never be
I never was
the type to deal
with my problems
I'd rather wad them up
and cram them
under the bed
where they grew
into monsters
they're waiting for me
to fall asleep
mad men rejoice
when angels give up
hope
beautiful/anxiety
nothing is ever
really lost
dreams/heartaches
singing their songs
in separate chambers
of eternity
|
| |
| i'm sick of reading books
i didn't write
i want to fucking shoot
all those talentless bitches
in hollywood
and wallpaper my apartment
with the broken shards
of manufactured music
|
| |
| smash your head around
new thoughts like concrete blocks
flung from a speeding car
jangling guitars on the stereo
rocket trumpet dream sensation
through astral fields of glass
enter hitchhiking philosopher
thoughts lined on the dashboard
send them cascading away
eyes flicker towards passing
street lamps, electric angels
hovering over the sidewalk
blind yourself with illumination
engine revving syncopated rhythms
endless highway meditation
|
| |
| I wish I could have met you
hugged you tightly while you sobbed
and whispered, "everything will be alright
if you just hang on"
but that would have made me a liar
nothing will ever be alright
in this sadistic world
still, it breaks my heart
that you had to die alone
|
| |
