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Little Boy

This is My Last Poem!


Mentally Ill World Find Your Soul

Death to a Young Poet


Transparent gaze

Spearmint grace

I feel like you, old man

A young man I am

Who’s too old for these fresh boots

Purple blossoms

How I grace your daze

Regretful repent of past


Chaotic Soul

Coal ignite

My stomach ache

Yet I still bear the death inside

Though my love hugs out in ecstasy

The monster still cries and crawls all over me

In this bliss

Chaos has crippled my soul

It still renders its beauty inside

Yet needs divide

Heart let go, let go

But obviously not

For what have I done wrong for taking a shot?

The Smoking Jesus

Creamy scoop beverage of caution

Drinking the shitefly

Pacing in the daylight dark

Death like the drowned fly

Blessing myself in my lower chakra home

Wake me up with a suck of poison

Panicking that I won’t leave again?

I want to be awake in this crush and breathe now

Creating from a disturbed destiny and scraping my way to clean!

A Poet is Born From Misery

A poet is born from misery

Seeking a salvation

Stick to the road



And know you were a light,

Even in the dark

Like a female’s heart

Realise the mistakes

Shows your humanity,

Even from great falls


We’re aligned,

Like a blind man’s grasp!

Writing is Like a Hospital

Writing is like a hospital

You’re always waiting

And they classify you ill.

You eat

You sleep

You meet

Then all again, you do it over, hoping for freedom from,

What put you here?

You’re mopping around in the hallways

As the doctors and nurses are swing dancing every day, to save you,

As they live with bad accidents at weddings.

You paint a picture out of the window they assigned you

And you’ve never seen it like the way you see it now.

As you realise God depicted this just for your every memory

And you cherish it like freshly picked strawberries during a young spring.

The damage is done

As they bandage your heart to your forearm

To soar you to the light,

Your heart is on your sleeve

And your poem is written in the hospital

And it will never go undone!

A Poet is Like a Dog Staring at a Bird

A poet is like a dog staring at a bird

Letting all disappear around them

And being a part of the story,


If you are contemplating on suicide like communion

Take my word for it

“Pleasure yourself”

Because when I looked out the door the second time,

My dog had two birds

Two stories unfolding!