PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

listening to salt tank's angels landing, doorway to the past via pic 101_0042,

shamefully still see some hope online: the socially inept man's whore stew,

so unnoticed i burn myself, no one even cares to ask: 'how is it?'

i'll tell you: only to myself do i feel exceptionally exquisite,

to others, i'm about as wonderfully boring as they come,

has me sitting here, experiencing the uncomfortably numb,

glimmers of light make everything okay, if only for a sliver of time,

backtracking, slipping on unused ideas that have atrophied into slime,

can a lack of love kill?

weakly, compared to global warming and super viral infections,

kiss me and make it all go away - won't happen like dead people's resurrections,

don't cry anymore, only limited help offered by emoting,

i'd rather sit here, contemplating my psychological, social and moral eroding,

wish the lovely was common, like my over-usage of commas,

poor pity party me, blowing shit out of proportion like it was the worst of traumas,

i'll say it again for you: happiness - and to the wind it was thrown,

dug a special plot in my mind for it, carved 'i miss you' on the gravestone,

have dark visions, as if i was staring into the sun,

goddammit because it's fun, why does all this ink have to be so moribund?

i'll take a shot at it: being ignored by the community = dead, nothing, invisible,

take a shot at it, tell me something that will make the sadness and i divisible,

you care about as much as i do, surrounded by the skin of a cow's hide,

looking forward to a piece of shit job, where i'll surely be underpaid and overqualified,

where do those similar to me congregate? inverted smile like it was dropped upside down,

get up max! 'friends' have drugs, purporting it might just drown that sickening frown,

please: just tell me others need me, staring out a car window at the santa monica pier,

i'm not like the car i ride in: everything, it seems, is stuck in first gear,

every few seconds: a possible future relationship, connection, marriage or bond,

all into thin air - and why? on me this answer has never dawned,

several songs have passed, now dire straits' sultans of swing plays,

soft like a kitten, yet left to meow by myself even by the strays,

meow on max, sooner or later someone will see your empyreal potential,

no: unlike muscles, popularity and alcohol tolerance, what i possess is seen as unessential.