.I cryso othersdon't have to
writers blockI have writers block.I don't know when it cameOr how, I just knowThat it appearedJudging, telling meMy work was patheticPathetically awful, incapableOf making someone's bad dayTurn goodI tried riding of it of itBy telling it to go, andThat I didn't need itBut I was ignored.I tried using a friend of mine,Hate, yelling and screamingAnd abusing the block.Silly me, I forget it hasNo feelings.I try to throw it away, hopingIt gets run over,But I can never catchThe writer's block.It's safe to say... Nothing worked.Have I been defeated by thisDevastating force? Do I giveUp, and take up sports instead?No. That's not me.So I sit down in front of myComputer, and I write. I writeWonderful, pointless nonsense.The click-click-click of the keysMakes the block crumble, knowingIt's criticism has no effect.As the block erodes, it screams out one finalProtest, until it's finally gone.My computer screen is filled withGarbage words, imprinted on.Satisfying nothing,Amaz
."i have a boneto pick with you"Really?which one, andwhy is it sobad to you?
.Rhapsody queenMusic's growlchords all prowlsurrounding soundnever held groundA roar, a screama distorted dreamthe nightmare songNo right, no wrong,Music play itsonly tune, callingbeastsIt's too soon
.Torrents swayIn the chaoticair, hanging hopeErode, despairskin worn downspine and bonewhatever I lovedI loved alone.
.What we sayand what wemean are twodifferent things
."You aren't being yourself"YourselfWho's thatAnd why isShe better thanI am
.You gave me wingsThey turned to stoneYou gave me hopeI'm still aloneI followed ordersLike you told me toEndless struggleAlways more to doI've got everything;Glory, money, butI was still left emptyTell me: Now what?
.Be the beastin the monster'sclosets
-sexuals don't-Heterosexuals don't blink.(Because they want to see the world,But they are blind by their ownBlinding light and it doesn'tMatter.)Homosexuals don't swear.(Because, as said by others, their GodRefused them and abused them,So who can they swear toNow?)Bisexuals don't dance.(Because no matter what song plays,They can't hear it as they haveAlready filled their ears withCotton.)Polysexuals don't feel.(Because what is there to feelWhen every single emotionIs against you in everyWay?)Pansexuals don't breathe.(Because the air is thick with smokeFrom fires of oppression and ofDepression and so theyChoke.)Demisexuals don't pray.(Because why pray to someone whoHas ignored you countless timesWhen you wish these peopleAway?)Asexuals don't smile.(Because what is there to smileAbout when the whole world isReady to throw you to theWolves?)
There Is No Cheap Sex!You just don't pay directlyor even worse you don't pay with money.There is free sex!but it's hard to find it.
Final problemAfter a problemComes anotherWe solve manyBut not all of themBecause somedayWe all find that oneWe can never solve
085- She doesn't want to fight you.She's an animal who's forgotten about her teeth and clawsat a time when she needs them the most.
contrapapalcloven holy mosesand wicker risking judas wristsall of us convulsingin scripture fitsand jesus spitbut none of uschosen to seeblind in a paradiseof evidenceswearing our eyes outand perilously erringtowards careless marysand arrogant seasthat won't splitno matter how many deitieswe deceivewe are godsdamned to worshipand grieve
naturally, there's no way homewildfire,tell me facts about the mood,how gods who receive homage are cruel,how whiskey and poetry shouldn't mix(it's working for me-it's worked for me-it's damnable and i know it.)you write your words in soot,the boom in your heart leftwhen fireworks explode andyou don't know what to doyou don't know what to doyou don't s t o pdon't stop.sometimes, i'm a fire coursing across the coast,a storm untempered. today, it's bloody knucklesand telling you that lighting things on firewon't make them beautiful, only burnt outand broken but that's you're point-your lips don't make a soundbut your actions echo acrossgrounds you've yet to travel,unforgiving winds of changemaybe god is in the strangerswe begin to care about, in betweencrushing hope and party dreamsand i do i do i do (not)know where to stop and where to gobecause red means go go goand green is uncharted landwe must never cross for partof me is made of glassand you are nothing nothing nothingbut sharp
.You don't feel fastuntil they slow youdown;