here comes the rain again
more misery for the arthritic
fucker trapped within this
fragile soul
what is a day without pain
swimming with sharks
wondering how much
disappointment can one
endure before the obvious
must be asked
the left arm is aching again
you can only wish it is
a heart attack
may it be sudden and
painful
death is often referred
to as a good career move
i'd like to think of it as
a means to no longer
have to pick up the
pretend you actually enjoy this
that the poems are your way
of communicating with a world
you want to participate in
pretend love is actually on your side
that the muse wants you to succeed
embrace like old lovers, destined
to take over the world
pretend you haven't wasted
all these years
wondering why you can't be perfect
wondering why no woman ever has
you in mind when the call for prince
charming goes out
pretend these scars are just accidents
instead of cries for help
pretend a christian didn't tell you
that you deserved to be molested
as a child as god doesn't make
mistakes
pretend this didn't start out as
a suicide note
pretend someone actually gives
a fuck
rest easy
purple flowers
cushion the blow
of the broken soul
battered to the
ground
hope is gone
ashes of it rest
with all these
discarded
spoons
no one gives
a shit about
an epidemic
when there
is money to
be made off
of it
parade your
dead children
around in some
twisted glory
fuck for your
own misgivings
as parents
anger is
knowing
they beat
you to the
pour a drink for all the
lost souls
all these tired fucks
longing for a tall bridge
and icy water beneath
no one likes a jumper
fuck off, if they wanted
opinions they would have
a column in some failing
newspaper
it has to be like this
tragic
unending
a bit of chaos confused
with a love never found
a saxophone wails in
the distance
charlie parker once told
me to dance like death
was right around the
corner
the love of my life pulled
a gun on me that night
somehow
we still haven't got
sometimes, the pain
wins
love can't reach the
dark corners of the
heart
a broken bottle on
some desolate street
all the angels have
broken wings and
no desire to be good
anymore
you remember when
the neon used to light
up this place for miles
now, just another set of
alleys for the homeless
and whomever needs
a fix
on most days, you can
find the needles still
in the arms
body bags like trash
which is what most
people think of it all
a nation of assholes
determined to spread
that disease to the rest
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