PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Jarring pencils through my head

this early causes my forearm to cramp up,

I jot down my own thoughts 

since the automatic writer 

who sat fighting mental fires

rode off into some fantastic sunset,

So here I am,

Blood spewing profusely

spelling out my future

like alphabet soup

in a present tense

pretending to be elegant

but misspelling every situation

shrugging it off like accidents,

Now I'm not the best suited 

to tailor this life I'm ruining

so when I marry myself 

off to the darkness

I can breath relief or puke in disbelief

that it went on this long

I'll bow to mass audience 

as I purge into buckets

and sling it on the front row

grab my junk and yell "Suck it",

I'll watch them ice cream scoop

hand fulls out of their eye sockets

and clap cos baby,

that's their cue,

being told what to do