Glitter Salad and A Little Bit Of Glee


Eggs, Bacon, Pickles and Shoes. Birds, Cheetahs, and Big Balloons. Smoke it, Toke it, Light that shit up, just don't forget to put cookies in your cup!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Don't ask...I was bored...

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Future looking at the past

I look upon these children and see them make mistakes
I recognize it, But it will be soon too late to forsake
I tried to warn them, resenting it will be our commonality
It'll be a shock when they grow up like when I saw reality
Nothing is ever given, you give and take what you've earned
You're making the decision and you choose to be burned
I'm a bystander watching you get abused by drugs
The drug game isn't as fun as you think just ask my buds
They're lying 6 feet deep, It'd be smart to use my wisdom
Next time you see your dealer, I'm saying refuse his blunt
Get your life together or you'll wish that your life was done
I use to be like you thinking I was cool smoking with my cousin
Look at me now, cleaning while I'm watching a reflection
You'll be out on the street, I guess we're all a collection
The guys are struggling and the girls are on planet whore
I'm a lucky one, but you won't listen to me, I'm just a janitor.

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One Last Time

Everyday seems like a living dream
Sleeping into a nonexisting world of impossiblities
And then you wake up
Limited by actions and urges to continue more
One last time

Your mind then wanders off into a different dimension
A realm of warmth and comfort
No worries
Just Pleasure
One last time

The urge is no more than just a habit
A soul quenching paradox
Confused and depressed
Only if I did it
One last time

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"The Crack Baby Blues"

I sing "The Crack Baby Blues" with an invisible choir,
sharing "notes" of reckless desire.
We formed an alliance in 84',
but when 85' hit,
you abruptly became the streets biggest "Hit".
No longer a secret,
you depleted families,
that were once considered complete.
Once considered unique.

Visiting us from a foreign land,
your arrival was not by chance,
or an accident.
A Government experiment gone wrong,
this song has a deadly "Remix".
A "Fix" that weakened an entire generation.
This Nation,
prompted another Civil War.
Ghetto Poems,
scream echoes of pain,
that flow through the veins of addicts.
I sing "The Crack Baby Blues".
Yellow brick roads of tragic addictions.
Lives that once mimicked art,
now a beautiful picture departed.

Ten minutes of Euphoria,
transform bright souls,
into "Night Of The Living Baseheads".
The poor hide from life's mirrors,
leaving their souls faceless.
I sing "The Crack Baby Blues".
Harmonizing in pain,
psychosis becomes a reality.
are shared with the audience.
They clap in unison.
Numerous "Fatalities"

People yearn for an "Encore".
The "Fiends" shake for more.
I sing "The Crack Baby Blues" with a tear.
Each year,
we're told to forget about this era.
Rich Americans,
exit the auditorium together,
"humming" enough time has passed,
this is no excuse for poverty and crime.
Tell that to Ronald Reagan and Oliver North,
while young men and woman continue dying,
or being sent up North.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

The 1980's

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Pill Head Junkie

Volume Three

Pill Head Junkie


Pump it straight up the vein, it becomes the shock that keeps you sane.
Always left picking up the pieces, of this shattered existence
and it becomes my bittersweet addiction, this wicked affliction.
An overdose is in the prediction, That will ultimately leave me in perdition.


It is the opiate blues, the withdrawal dues, stringing up my own noose.
My soul has already bled, and in this temple your god is dead.
I run for that ledge, in overdrive reaching for the edge
yet here is a dirty secret I harbor and must confess.


“In my mind I create and I destroy.
Entire worlds will fall to ash,
yet the truth is clear for I am just a boy.
Who could not even manage to stay in class.”


Watch the life fade from my eyes, like the caged lion who slowly dies.
I have lost my passion, gave up all hope and let this life kick me down,
while told not to make even the slightest sound. I want to defiantly stand,
however I can no longer feel the ground.


“Did I fry my brain while trying to stay sane.
In your game of madness to win you must sin
and I've had the chance to look around,
I just want to burn the bitch to the ground.”


Paging Dr. Frankenstein. Smart as an undead Einstein.
Looking sharp in his white lab coat, preying on the ignorant goat.
Dispensing a rainbow pill platter and at this party I am the mad hatter.
There was once a pill head junkie, a regular highschool flunky.


I have tried going sober, as my peace rests on a cold shoulder.
No longer do I care, that karma is a bitch and life is just not fair.
Stumbling into madness, welcome to my hell.
It is the chaos, with your own cell.


The saddest story of them all; A poet who has missed his call.
Potential lost when you choose to fall, running for that wall.
My biggest regret would be to not wager this bet,
for I am holding aces, and do not play favorites.


I hate the way you make me feel, a suicide run with a mentality to kill
I hate this ecstasy in which I bathe, the opiates coursing in my veins; that which I crave
It is the scent of the depraved, the twisted and the insane
and I can sniff it out a mile away.


I know the trickery being whispered into my ear,
that the reaper stands before me, and I should feel fear.


“There was once a pill head junkie,
a dropout, dead head; flunky.
It was what the world thought of him to be,
So that was all he wanted them to see.”


I hate the way you hold me back,
on the hunt, you are my prey and I will attack.
I hold no reservations when you are all about distractions.
Sarcasm is my low blow, as your reaction becomes my free show.
In all my rage, I could claim self medication.
Locked in my cage, It's for your own self preservation.

So make you assumptions, your accusations, and take your observations.
For it is your own obsessions, that has turned this into such a tragedy
and for that you will always fail in your quest for beauty.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

[Edited - Cleaned up messy Codeing]


This was a hard one to write, took me over 3 weeks to find the right words to put this one together... It touches on a very sensitive topic for me, I hope those who read it enjoy the write.... I myself have mixed feelings about this, perhaps writting is no longer helping me as much as I need... Anyway as always comments are apprichiated!!

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Wasted Youth

Waste your days away,
Getting stoned
Load up on speed
Drink your lives away
While your innocence is gone.

Post nude photo's on
Social networking sites
Just for the attention
Of the men and the women,
To judge you all.

Then you'll see how it stresses you out,
You'll start to lose control,
Then resort to people's opinion's
Of you,
Because you're blinded by it
Because that's exactly what they want.

Follow the leader with 5,000 followers
Or "friends"
And see who's really going to care for you,
In The end.

Post about your life,
So you think people really care,
When really you're there to entertain the "audience".

You feel jealousy or envy,
Because you do not fit this certain image
That the leaders fit just to stay on top,
But none really have the courage to bring down their "fame".

They say numerous times,
"I don't like the attention",
But deep down if they do not get certain likes,
Views, or re -tweets they feel upset
And go on a rampage of saying,
"People are fake."

Why is this?
Why do we have to feel this way?
Why do we have to fit a certain image?
Why do we have to resort to drugs,
When the answers lie within the problem?
You're the answer and the solution,
So don't feel influenced or left out,
It's not always as it seems.

That's society's image,
Not yours,
So live your life freely,
Without being someone you're not,
Because you'll be a Wasted Youth.

Then when the "Fame" dies,
You'll have nothing to prove,
Then and still I say,
Everyone will move on and
Nobody would care about you.

That's how the cycle goes,
Now you know.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Poem speaks for itself, so comment if you'd like to :) I'd love to see your opinions.

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Absent Flashes

There were no flashes in the shroud;
not of Turin, but of sound, and light,
and restless colors that weren't.
Though they could, they hadn't then,
and wouldn't for the evening, no matter
what we'd do to provoke them and their ire.
We spoke in idle, but idle things... Somehow would,
in spite of us, build a fanged momentum, and
occasionally bowl us over when we feigned
disinterest. They only fed on funny bits of
insight, or "insight", or relevance found
completely on the spot. And even still,
they'd be picky, they'd be prudish; they'd
be snide. Denied by time, our Father,
not a God but a thing, the only true king;
somehow absent of any mercy for you,
for me -- for anything, ever, anywhere.
So they strove to fascinate and leave;
bitter at the funny way of things,
the general disinterest of the world at large,
and the fact that they lacked the presence
to do anything more than luster in the air,
or frighten people in the passing dark.

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i'm locked into a battle with my own head.
the pain hides beneath my skull.
it pounds upon my brain with no mercy at all.
my eyes close to shut out the light.
i pray to God to help me with this fight.

i wake up hot and sweaty.
it is not the good kind.
the scent of illness lingers upon my flesh.
my fever burns me from the inside out.
i worry about the day ahead.
how am i to function this way?

i take a cold shower hoping to lower the heat of my skin.
i think i see steam coming off of my body.
i take the necessary medications.
i hope they are able to tame the monster in my head.
my body is till hot to the touch.
i curl up on my couch and cry praying for darkness.

i fall into a deep drug induced sleep.
my dreams are hazy, disturbed, and brief.
i awake to a sound of a horn.
the dog licks the salt from the tracks of my tears.
i slept two hours, but my brain still throbs.
the migraine is winning the war.

it takes all my remaining strength to get up.
i stumble to the sink to get some water to drink.
the days are longer when the pain is stronger.
i'm overwhelmed from this attack.
i manage to get upstairs and collapse.

i lie there staring at the wall.
the migraine is strangling my brain.
i close my eyes and try to focus.
i utter one sentence, God help me!
finally, i drift away into the solace of sleep.

it's 2am now and i have awoken feeling better.
i take another cold shower.
the fever is gone, but the migraine desperately hangs on.
the pain is now dull.
it is a welcomed change.

i thank God for the relief.
i can see the light at the end of this excruciating tunnel.
i smile a little bit at myself in the mirror.
my migraines and i have a long ugly history.

it's not my friend, but a bitter enemy.
one day i had hoped to be free of them.
the years have showed me otherwise.
i know now they come and go as they damn well please!

My Happy


Free me from this overwhelming weight on my shoulders
I need my happy
It's an addiction
A Problem
I need my happy to feel sane
To feel alive
Don't take my happy away
I rarely get it
And once I taste my happy I don't want to quit
But I must have a damn limit
Fucking limits
I've tasted my happy today
But it's not enough
I've already reached my limit
It's time to put these ten ton bricks back upon my shoulders
When will I get my happy again?
I don't want to wait
Why can't I have my happy?
I'm fucked either way
It's a beautiful curse

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this is about my cocaine problem I went through when I was a teenager 

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