PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

In terms of words that sting and haunt like ghosts of wasps, a feeble man stumbles and  staggers across an open field. 

The kind of field where children go hungry and love is starved.

 Who among the brave and free would join the cause to feed a callous heart and an empty smile? 

Take a selfie, take a shot, shoot the shit, shit your face, die inside, and repeat... 

Do YOU have the brawn or the mind to justify the life of a misguided man, a man who self sacrifices for the selfish, protects the powerful, and idolizes the idolaters?

Haha, it's ok, it's fine, it's fair, it's FUCKING FITTING...

For the man who has all why not a little more, we ARE in the land of dreams and sales, and it's all 2 for 1. So claim your prize and pay your fair, but don't forget to brush your hair because there's something in the air...CHANGE?

Perhaps but I doubt it. it was offered once, twice, thrice, and fries...now grab your coke and move along to the back of the line.

The man boy waits, and holds his breath. There is a chill that drifts across the dying field. He shakes and shivers his breath not visible but it is seen. A single drop of water lands on the bridge of his nose, he holds out a gnarled hand as the drop slides down, ever so slowly....

The drop is a metaphor, for....for....

I can't remember the tv is on, that means it's time to brain my rot. Sensationalism, racism, peace talks, war talks,celebrity nudes, twerk, twerk, twerk. My head hurts but the good kind of hertz. I've lost my mind but I'll always have my...sins

You sin, she sins, he sins, I....sin. So let's throw a party, let's start a riot, no wait...it's Sunday soon, time to sell all our sins and be saved to waste another day...

ME a pessimist? FUCK YOU! If you know me so well then tell me, why I don't I feel regret for the things that I've done and the people I've hurt?

...I knew it...you're just like me... You're a fraud, a farce, a figment of something less than human. 

The begs, and he begs, and he begs for the drop to fall into his blood stained hands...perhaps it could cleanse him of THEIR sins. A minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month...so still he stands, trembling, sobbing, his hand full of tiny balls of ice. On the bridge of his nose the drop continues it's descent into nothingness...

But here's a cheerful though before you go and leave this frozen shell of not-quite-man-not-quite-beast. I'll relive my greatest hits in my head while the sun comes up and thaws me out. My heart will beat again. I'm sure of it. I'll start again, so let's ctrl-alt-delete our way into the future, only I won't be having company, not this time. When the sun rises and shines so will I, not unlike a phenix, but more like a mushroom rising from sad but an inevitable end. Enjoy what's left of the 7 days of monotony and take nothing for granted, read a book, explore your self, find a new species of asshole, lend a hand to someone who doesn't need it. Be persistent but not too much. This is just junk I'm venting. I have vented. It's the patch, I swear. Don't hold that against me, poem? Hah! Spark of sudden insanity? You could be on to something... :-).