visionary loser

an alternative to ennui

Tag Archives: angst

I’m much better now

I realize I have no one. I lost my best friend when I ripped out his heart and fed it to the wolf. I keep thinking the wolf is domesticated and won’t hurt me. But the creature snarls every time I get too close. At 12:10AM I have no one but myself. And she’s poor company.

On December 30 you told me you were thinking about me. On January 24 you didn’t recognize my number. On February 10 you messaged me for the last time. It’s June and you don’t answer me. Ever. I wish you could see me. Maybe then you’d care. Sean, I think I’m going crazy.

I’ll never fight with you again. I’ll get a noose tattooed around my neck. The more we fight, the more knots it acquires. So that when it looks tight and thick, I’ll have chocked myself into being good.

 

Filling me up

Do you ever just want to cry to release it all?

To make the pain of loving someone stop.

So you can be left at peace.

Cause I do every day.

And it never works.

 

Creative Integrity

Creatively jacking each other off,

I saw them demonize the intellectual –

the rational, the sane.

All that matters is Art,

and with that comes suffering

Only from darkness can creativity reign supreme.

 

The paintbrush caresses the canvas,

The pen strokes the paper,

all trying to get each other off.

These phallic instruments clutched tightly in clenched fists,

Vigorously pumping away

and what comes is —

 

What fucked up / sad / insecure place does this stem from?

To speak on things which you don’t understand.

 

Creative merit isn’t doled out by those with rough hands,

Nor by those with degrees,

it comes from people who want to do it.

Almost anything can be Art,

but it all boils down to intent –

 

why have you the right to express your contemptuousness

on what an individual finds valid and valuable

to tell a story about.

 

Antidote to Bereavement

we the underbelly –

cowering in the dark amongst the filthy,

our pockets filled with mud and shit

pissing away at the manicured suits

cocaine nightmares

dusted and busted

there’s no other choice.

slitting our throats,

we hang ourselves amongst the living

spilling blood in the streets

as hollowed eyes watch,

in sick sad amusement

fucked by millions of tiny cocks

spitting threats and dreams in our mouths

that dissipate and butcher.

manipulative usurping cunts

casting us in fiery disarray

longing for that sliver of beauty

our innards spill in a pool

of sunken lullabies.