Suge posted:

It's weird, rereading my poetry a few days/weeks later. Like I didn't even write it...

i feel that way a lot about my writing.

Trying to make the pieces unfit

Only hours had she passed,
And we argued over colors.

"Purple,"I squeaked out, fighting to be heard.

Blues and oranges and yellows.
I wanted to shout at a soul
Whose hands I'd never hold again.

Perfumes were taken,
A rocking chair, a scarf, some jewelry.
Pilfering the last of the monarch who left us.

Like it was common sense.
It turned my stomach.

9-7-11

you'll always feel like home Suge- <3

That is what people say, about my stuff. good work man.

Everything's blue

Everything's blue in this world.
The scissors by my side,
Take a ride and fall into the dizzy of sleep.
In my dreams, where gramma meets me,
We sit on the old couch and watch movies
While I cry because I haven't seen her in so long
And I've nothing at all to say.
When I ask a question, it goes unanswered until
We get up and part ways and I feel like
Crying even harder because I've said very little
And I don't know when we'll meet again.
A lump of sadness sits in my throat; the walls melt
As I fall into reality and hit the alarm clock's snooze button,
And try with all my might to fall asleep again.
I missed the comfort of gramma by my side.
Now I walk the world feeling jaded,
Lost in the shade without a shadow to follow.
I'm at the crux without a crutch to catch me and
I write notes of my impending death, hoping to find
The right words to say goodbye, but instead
Finding volumes of silence spreading upon the papers edge.
There is always a fine line to cross, and I'd
Cross them all to get to that other side.

9-28-11






This is one of my favorite recent poems. I'm in a bad way and I can scream it all I want but I get no help. I was left without a therapist and I miss him a lot and I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of a long fall. I'm probably going to jump. Don't take it personal. Or ignore it. Everyone else has.

Very nice.

Awwww thanks to bof of you

Man this is some of your best stuff, keep the good work bro man.

STD

It is true.
I don't know love,
Or how it moves mountains.

I don't know how it breezes
In
&
Out
Of a persons life.

And I probably wouldn't want to.

I don't know the nature of the beast,
Or the waterfall that romance provides.

I find love like I find most monsters;
Scared and hiding in dark corners,
Begging to not be seen.

In my forest of hate, love does not
Provide the stream of moonlight to
Help guide me through.

Nor is it a shiny star in the sky,
Made special for me.

Love is a bear trap I try not to get my foot caught in.

Hugs and kisses do make me cringe,
I am meek and I fear germs.
I do not think the transference of spit is sweet.

In the darkness of my life,
Love has not provided sunlight.
The dusk and the dawn are not powered by the beating heart.

I believe in caring, and not being an asshole,
But in my garden of despair, love does not bloom.

I am a creature of the night.
Love is not a flashlight.

Love is an eerie cretin, a germ, a toxin that
Spreads delight faster than a whore spreading her legs.
It is an STD and I don't want it.

Love is not beautiful, love maims.
Love is the darkest corners of my mind,
And the greed in my heart.
Love is society's collapse, and the hope that it brings.
Love is perverted and sad,
Love is no friend of mine.

But I keep the light on anyways.

12-27-11


Probably one of my most recent favorites that I've written



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 12/27/2011 12:42PM by Suge.

Suge posted:

STD

It is true.
I don't know love,
Or how it moves mountains.

I don't know how it breezes
In
&
Out
Of a persons life.

And I probably wouldn't want to.

I don't know the nature of the beast,
Or the waterfall that romance provides.

I find love like I find most monsters;
Scared and hiding in dark corners,
Begging to not be seen.

In my forest of hate, love does not
Provide the stream of moonlight to
Help guide me through.

Nor is it a shiny star in the sky,
Made special for me.

Love is a bear trap I try not to get my foot caught in.

Hugs and kisses do make me cringe,
I am meek and I fear germs.
I do not think the transference of spit is sweet.

In the darkness of my life,
Love has not provided sunlight.
The dusk and the dawn are not powered by the beating heart.

I believe in caring, and not being an asshole,
But in my garden of despair, love does not bloom.

I am a creature of the night.
Love is not a flashlight.

Love is an eerie cretin, a germ, a toxin that
Spreads delight faster than a whore spreading her legs.
It is an STD and I don't want it.

Love is not beautiful, love maims.
Love is the darkest corners of my mind,
And the greed in my heart.
Love is society's collapse, and the hope that it brings.
Love is perverted and sad,
Love is no friend of mine.

But I keep the light on anyways.

12-27-11


Probably one of my most recent favorites that I've written

*Goose flesh*

Really well done. I felt very lonely as I read this. You are beautiful.

I made the angel Gabriel my bitch

My wish took flight on leathery wings.
A demon once an angel,
The nighttime is my shadow and
I lurk for the lost souls begging god for one more chance.
I sink my teeth into their hearts
And take away the love they harbored for themselves.
The vain and the belligerent all became my soldiers
And I felt nothing when I slayed them.
I turned the angel Gabriel into my whipping boy
And hope his messages never make it home.
I showed him the glory in lust, made him a creature
Of habit who keeps knocking on my door for more.
His calm demeanor I destroyed,
For passion, for rage, for the disease of hatred
That lives in us all.
I dress in the darkest purple,
I bleed the blackest blood and laugh
A most deafening growl that poisons the minds of many.
I followed the angels, side by side; we were one until
I led them, like lemmings, off the cliff with cut wings
And watched them scatter into humans.
There is no god; there is no devil;
There is only me, a hellion made of flame and malice
Dancing circles of sin in the sky.
They would need an army of heaven and hell to stop me, but
I play by my own rules and dare all muses, all gods,
All heathens, all seraphim to catch me at my own game.
I play for all sides; I play by myself.

1-9-12

Misery loves mental illness

In my head, the devils are singing.
Playfully at first, but with vigor and rage,
Turning sour at a moment's notice.
I let them giggle with sickness,
Trying to shake them out, like
Water caught in my ear.
Reluctant to leave, I let them rent space
In my thoughts, in my mind.
To be without them is to be lonely,
And I'm not that same girl anymore.

5-14-12

"One man looks at a dying bird and thinks there's nothing but unanswered pain. That death's got the final word, it's laughing at him. Another man sees that same bird, feels the glory, feels something smiling through it."
-The Thin Red Line

Torment the tormentor if you must, or declaw, delimb, and disassemble if you can, but the point I think is to create a calm companion of the wild animal that stalks us... to accept the inevitable and enjoy what we have, now, for all it is worth that we might miss in our fear of losing 'it'.

Victim Anonymous

The ugly I tried to melt away has become plastered to my mind.
In memory of all that I reject,
I wander aimlessly, looking for a cure to the incurable.
Though my heart is rendered empty,
I fill it with apathy and hope that it can mend
The pathetic lesion that anger grew.

Malice be damned, I want to erect sunsets
Where only darkness can dwell.

Creation is hideous in my thoughts,
How I believed I was born with a higher power
Only to have been designed for burdens.
Can our precious deity lift such horrors from my mind
While intricate mazes of disorder are being birthed
From the chaos that dances throughout my daydreams?

Why do the free get to strut while I continue to die?

The benevolence is invisible now, an echo of a memory
Left transient in this blackout mess.

I miss laughter and the scent it left behind.
It comes in waves, this compunction.
It leaves sickly sweet stains as it slithers about.
What an allusion, bringing me to my knees like a beggar.

And I would beg,
Beg for ignorance in such a deafening voice that the gods
Would be fools to ignore me now.

It is only when the earth stands still that I can hear the refusal.
And if ever I am to be adored, it is by the wind, which
Passes the memory to me like a dream in retrospect.

It makes no difference and yet, all the difference;
All the difference in the world.

My poor head, swimming with an undefined religion of rage.
It keeps me within the void of my own illness.
I feel pressured for perfection while I stand so deep in the shit,
Hating my existence, cursing the world, victim anonymous.

My sullen soul is a broken piece of glass that
Is too dull to cut the feet that walk upon me.

I peak in obscurity, but can't change the resentful notions
Burrowing holes in my grim esteem.

All I want is destruction, a battle onward to destroy
The shell of what I used to be.
When the obvious rejection disappears, I shall
Plow through the acrimony like a fleet of paranoia
Scurrying from the unknown, only to come across the same damn thing
I was trying to escape from.

It's like running from yourself in a house of mirrors.

And so in the end, justice has nosedived into revenge and
I lose myself once more, all over again.

6-25-12








I love the title of this one...

Awww yer so awesome. Thanks for your genuine words. They make me smile I don't think much of my talent, it doesn't pay the bills but it provides me hours of relentless entertainment. I promise my stories are way more fucked up than my poetry. LOL