| These are words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am trying to say . . . |


In ServiceIn Service (In My Own Majesty's Secret Service)In Service
I came to report for duty But my Country would not have me
So I found several strong desires That I could serve instead
First it was to Ink and Page Whom, to this very day, I remain a slave
Then I gave my love to Amber Fluids Which my liver quickly sent away
To the Cinema, I surrendered my entire heart It only loves me back between the film's end and it's start
I offered the whole of my mind to Literature With it's sweet, empty promise to take me from here
I sacrif


Wolf, He CriedWolf, He CriedWolf, He Cried
I am a liar Because I've never spoken the Truth before I didn't know what it was then
I talked of beauty Until I saw you And realized I'd never seen beauty before
I spoke of wanting a woman But I didn't know what a woman was Until I wanted you
So, I have been a liar But I did not know, then, that you existed That was before you, and before you was a mirage
I imagined what my life could be like The fantasy was never quite right Because I never could have imagined anything like you
I talked oft


Ancient Collection 3Sunday, November 25, 2007 It all may or may not be total bullshit anyway . . .Ancient Collection 3
Current mood: drunk
Category: Writing and Poetry
Well third times a charm. So, here goes nothing again.
KILLER DISAFFECTED
This is bad, all bad. All the good guys will be dead. I swear on my life, before this is over, We'll watch every last one of them die. The only comfort ever, Is that it wasn't our trigger. These bullets came to pierce hearts, From something much bigger. It wasn't me, my apathy. Maybe it was him, his nihilism. Passed from father to son, k


Ancient Collection 2Tuesday, October 16, 2007 Verbal Violence From The Word Warriors' PenAncient Collection 2
Current mood: drunk
Here goes some more poetry for the three people that read this horseshit last time. I think I'm the best poet of all time, but I may be the only one. . .I am also a person who thinks I suck. A category where I am one of millions . . .
MY VICE IS SO SYMBOLIC
Maybe a cigarette knows truth. It never said it wouldn't kill me, or make me weary in my youth. We both know how they hooked me. We both know it's what I choose. But cigarettes are loneliness,
| These are words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am trying to say . . . |


He Is A Red Wine Glasswaiting with countless others to be taken and filled or to fall.He Is A Red Wine Glass
The latter, though not ideal,
does have its attraction:
the satisfying sound as you shatter;
the collective turn of heads;
the chance that when you're swept up and binned into oblivion, someone might get cut.
He could handle that, the momentary relevance.
What shakes him is the secret fear
his fellows will soon be gone and that he the slighted last
will remain alone.


TodayToday Life is traffic and beating horns and spilling gases and oilToday
and asses sweating into leather seats
Tomorrow might be all rainshine and sunclouds echoes and rebounds and words left carelessly lying about
like Yesterday, today has little meaning until you sleep into waters that drift away with you under bridges you built undreaming
Today for me is like a slip into a happy puddle that soaks your shoes and your socks won't be dry until half past lunch.


Seeing is BelievingTravel hard and take life screaming and kicking white flowers off green stems spinning childish desire at once young and without age, not eternal but infinitely sadSeeing is Believing
Reel and turn sweet face in the mirror, leave with me and we'll never look each other in the eyes again and we'll never grow old without seeing there are no shadows without shining light no meaning in absent minds no better than the original but better than the best greater than anything more stone-ridden than our ancestors strong like wild desire growing old in
| These are things I find to be quite good. |
| One of my favorites of my own writing. I am narcissism. |
| I am a huckster. My art is a hoax. I write for money and fame and women. The written word does not lead to these things. Therefore, this is all a farce. |
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
He lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
--
These are just words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am saying . . .
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
He lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
--
These are just words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am saying . . .
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
He lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
--
These are just words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am saying . . .
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
He lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
--
These are just words. They are made of letters. They have nothing to do with what I am saying . . .
--
I know how the devil sleeps at night
He lights the fire behind my eyes
He lets it there and I let it lie
I know how the devil sleeps at night
Previous Page12345...Next Page