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Depression Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Depression

These Depression Funny poems are examples of Funny poems about Depression. These are the best examples of Depression Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Personification | |

A Magic Adventure Of Peter The Pan

A Magic Adventure of Peter The Pan/AKA Peta The Fwying Pan

Peter was a fine young pan with blue eyes
Like all the other pans his age, except,
Peter could not yet pronounce 'R's'--he tried...
And 'L's'...so hard he tried. He even wept.

School had been especially hard today
Peter had been poked, teased, and made fun of
More this day than any other school day...
And the ride home took so long on the bus.

When he came through the door, his mama knew
"Why the long face? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"
"No ma'am," said Peter, "Just tiwad fwom schoow".
"Some cookies and milk may just be the trick!"

Mama said, as Peter sat down to eat.
By now, everyone was gathered around
To hear of his day--and sneak a treat.
So he told them his story...and they frowned.

"How can someone be so cruel! Makes no sense!
You are the smartest and brightest of pans!"
Said Debbie Dishwasher-- then cycle rinsed.
The rest agreed and came up with a plan.

"Okay! It's agreed!" said Bob the blender.
"You need magic!--THAT--we can render!

Charles Chalice and Gail Goblet--my dear
Bring what you have, for this magic milk shake.
Michael Magic Grill...you go get us some beer
And also get Peter a great big steak!"

Then everyone sang together with cheer:
"A parr-ty! A parr-ty! It's a parr-ty!
We are all...having...a magic--parr-ty!"

Everyone was busy, hust'ling around.
Tams the Golden Toaster was making toast.
Tex Texas Tea Pot hummed a whist'ling sound.
David Dish and Sara Spoon danced the most,
Except for Marlon Mop--he could 'get down'!

Carol Crock Pot was fixing up the Soup.
Russell Rolling Pin had rolled out a crust
For a magic pie with love from the coop.
Joann Juicer made fresh smoothies--a must!
Suddenly...a sound was heard on the stoop...

"Who could that be? It's nearly midnight!"
Said Cyndi Chandlier all bright with light.
Christopher Cutting-board called, "I'll go see!"
Vienna Vaccume said, "Not without me!"

"Wait!" Debbie Dishwasher cried from the sink.
"Let's look at more options. We need to think.
It could be someone in need of a meal...
Or, it's a burglar--come here to steal!"

"Everyone else! Quickly! Hide inside me
Until we find out who that sound might be!"

deborah burch©
5/23/2012

*****end part I...conclusion in part II




Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) | |

God Answers Aunt Kate-repost

For the last few days
     her depression had weighed
          heavy, a thick woolen shroud,
              her thoughts thickened by darkening clouds,
                    in an endless tunnel the sides closing in like a narrowing funnel.

She sat, immobile, staring 
      through the window of the house she'd built with such caring.
                
It'd started as a shack by a pond on some land
                           and she'd hammered and built it
                                               with help from no man.

She kept adding on, room after room,
      as if she, too, suffered from the Winchester doom.

Eccentric, they'd call her, if she had any bread,
      but, since she was poor, she was "soft in the head."

A tiny little woman, emaciated, so thin,
      she was not much more than frail bones under skin.
Yes, she was surely a pitiful thing,
      shoulder blades jutting like primordial wings.

Like an old phonograph with its needle stuck,
          she prayed for death, so far with no luck.

Suddenly there came a tremendous din,
         like demons scratching on her roof of old tin.

Startled, heart pounding in her bird-cage chest,
             she was suddenly afraid of a cardiac arrest.

Armed with her twelve gauge she crept to the door,
         a thousand claws scratching, louder than before.

She'd always been brave and her life had been hard,
           so, gun at the ready, she stepped into the yard.

Locked and loaded and aimed at the roof,
        she feared for her life, to tell you the truth.

(Not minutes ago, she was begging for death,
         now she was worried this might be her last breath.)

Then she looked at the roof and let out a gasp,
         the rifle fell heavily from her stunned grasp.

There on the roof and thick in the trees,
          was a sight that made her weak in the knees.

HUNDREDS of VULTURES all eye-balling her,
        clacking their beaks as they seemed to concur.

Aunt Kate started laughing and laughed 'til she cried,
        she hooped and she hollered, holding on to her sides.

The birds, having reasoned she'd make less than a bite,
                  stretched out their wings and took off in flight.

Her depression has lifted and, I heard a rumor,
       that her life had been saved by God's sense of humor. 

********Many thanks to Aunt Kate for this wonderful true story.**************


Details | Light Poetry | |

AMY WINEHOUSE-Should have went to rehab


They tried to make you go to Rehab...
you said...
                NO!
                    NO!!
                       NO!!!
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
you wouldn't 
                 GO!
                     GO!!
                        GO!!!
  
 boo-hoo hot-mess
        Wine-HORSE


Details | Rhyme | |

Shameful Morning

not sure how she got here 
only know she needs to leave

underneath the stranger 
my arm numb; asleep, 
mouth a desert.
a hundred dead cigarettes dance my tongue dry 

princess of night 
exposed by light. 
get me out of this;
another dreaded morning mess. 

bed broken
along with my will. 
I swore never again; 
the lie is half the thrill.

~JSLambert


Details | Blank verse | |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.


Details | Bio | |

Pseudomorph

I get a kick outta the writes I see,
So intellectual, how can that be?
I skipped two grades,
Was forced to take IQ tests again,
Cause no one as dumb as me,
Could possibly produce such a score, you see
Got 100% on regents exams,
Passed college entrance tests
Half drunk and dirty of dress
Cause I was up with friends
drinkin' and carousing like the rest,
And, Lord knows how, but I assure,
I aced the test, and even more,
To what was then considered
"The Poor-Man's Harvard"
I cruised through that as well,
No one was gona stop this Bell

But IQ tests, and scholastic grade,
Never has one, of a man be made
I still do get confused,
About how to wear two shoes,
My brain may be book-smart,
But comin' from the heart,
I've trusted when I really shouldn't
Was skeptical when imprudent

So here's this IQ wiz,
Don't know just who he is,
And street smart as a cat,
Caught in Dr. Zeuss's hat.

So teach your children well,
don't grow up to be like Tom Bell



Details | Free verse | |

My Boredom Disease

Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 


Details | Bio | |

Solitude: To Yoda, An Ode

Green bark a prism creates,
Feel the pull of earth, you must.

Rotates, a slime of endless hates,
Can hold me not, this world’s crust.

Friendship’s ties, isolation Deflates,
Succumbs, my spaceship, to bitter rust.

Mist, my soul forever permeates,
Lift-off, booms the rocket’s thrust.

My spirit when light returns, elates,
Swamps swell, swallowed hope’s swirling dust.

Trapped, I am, until student from fate
Arrives to learn; Cloud City or bust.


Details | Rhyme | |

The Doctor Is A Dead Man Walking

Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.

When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say, 
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.

Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.

He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.

And, of course,  sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.

So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”

“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”

“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc!  What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.

But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.

“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.

A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw 
Reminded him of his sacrifice.

He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.

As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.

As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello.  I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”

“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift.  I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.” 

Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes." 

Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.

“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!”  Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?

Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”

Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”

Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss?  I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.

“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos would be too small, 
They would cramp your balls.
You’ll get migraine headaches.”


Details | ABC | |

The Vent

im livin in a world, where all eyes on me.
trying to curve my own route.
but route 66 keeps finding its way to me.
ive been plenty sick, in all the events layed before me.
even when i reflect to my lowest points
i dont regret any of the choices
That I’ve deployed in my era
A lot of it by error, but hey
We live in hell conditions and there ain’t no air condition 
Or any guidelines when life throws you in the sidelines
But when hindsight twenty twenty hits
You’ll begin to understand life’s a bunch of equations and you in the mix of it
An you’ll have to think twice, before running into a situation and becoming the best of it
Situations
it’s what got me here, it’s what got us here
Ran with my thoughts blazing up to her place and
Guess what happened next
She opened up heaven’s gate
And just before late I slipped out
Simply put 
I’m a Grown ass man
Doin his thing, waitin to blow up like an old land mine
In doin what he drools over
But time after time 
Something decides to creep up and cover the light
Lost my way
Then I revoked to ever know, I ever thought that way
But in the in between time, that in the mean time 
Spent a lot of time
Gettin pissed off just to medicate and lift off
Don’t need Don Perion to sip off
Already had my way with the bottle
Even thought to get back with the trouble and rejoin the hustle
That’s just what happens to a man who really knows his old ways
Whos tired of making ends meet and ponders getting back to the streets.
Memory sets in and he remembers an O.G. saying
No matter how tall your pockets stand when you ball
Eventually times gonna make you fall
Fall
And I as I pull myself together 
I don’t wanna end up like the twin towers rubble
I mean no offence to nine eleven but at that time I probably could have used a reverend
But all that’s irrelevant now
because i live with a different perspective now

there you go you made it to the end :-) comment if you like, constructive criticism wanted as well.


Details | Light Poetry | |

Poetic PRESCRIPTION:

                               NO REFILLS---Dr. P. Soupenstein
                               Rx *7563287      BEC 11/11/11      
Seems to me,
what you need 
for healing this condition...
is something real
you can feel
to ease this mean affliction

Patient please
accept from me
this poetry prescription:

      ( <_____PUSH & TURN_____> )

Take ONE positive poem
Read ORALLY 2 times BY MOUTH -----
Every 4-6 HOURS AS NEEDED for the pain 

Blues and belly aches will dissipate
resulting in healthy energy gains 

                  WARNING!!!
-Alcohol may intensify the effect of being drowsy 
attempting to read while operating machines... 
will cause you to drive lousy.


Details | List | |

I hate about you



 I hate the way you make me feel guilty about being jealous when other girls hit on you, 

 I hate the way you can go forever without even seeing or talking to me when your friends are around, 
but expect me to drop everything to talk to you when you want my attention.

I hate how you're so happy at times and I'm so sad, 

I hate how you treated me like *****but yet I'm the one feeling bad.

I hate how I feel so weak and you're so strong, 

I hate how you think you do no wrong.

I hate how you pretend that everythings okay, 

I hate how you took my innocence away and act sometimes like it ment nothing.

I hate how I feel so scared, 

I hate how I how fast I feel in love with you without a fighting chance.

I hate the way you look at me and just know when something is wrong.

I hate how everything we have means nothing to everybody else

I hate the way I feel inside, 

I hate the nights I spent alone and cried.

I hate how everything seems wrong, 

I hate the feeling of wanting to belong.

I hate how you're always in my head, 

I hate everything mean you have ever said.

I hate wondering how you really feel about me, 

I hate how you try to go out with certin friends you feel like you have to lie

I hate how when your job takes you away for long times I left with alone and want to do nothing but cry

I hate it how you can just come in and out of my life and feel like everything is alright
while I am the one that has to put up with the problems, family and drama every night


But most of all I hate the way I can't stop thinking about you, and I hate it even more because I know you know its true

All these thing don't make me really hate you, 
It just makes me lust you more an more and it feeds my wanting you right down to the core


Details | Carpe Diem | |

Pricked

Your  love pricks me like a rose each thorn grows but no one knows Your so full of 
it as it shows so carry on now go on, go. I'm fed up with the phony and  i'm 
through with the tears, you couldn't pay me all your money to make up for those 
years. Someone help me I feel faint how could I think he was such a saint and 
worst of all I let me fall into a spiral down below. A magic called love carried 
by the dove of someone I use to know.


Details | Rhyme | |

Flailin'

Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.

I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.

My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.

These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.  

I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter.  My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.

Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.

My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.

The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”

After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice.  You really should.”

Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.

So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.


Details | Lyric | |

The Unhappy Moth

She chose a red scarf. The most red 
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.

She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.

Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving 
till she fell asleep.

Yesterday
she saw her Beloved Moth 
flirting with a Younger Moth, 
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.

The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
woolen wine, 
last night.
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
unhidden
with a heart filled with peace.

She was not afraid no more. 
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.

The Unhappy Moth was not 
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew 
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.


Details | Rhyme | |

I Just Can't Win

I Just Can’t Win
I pay taxes all year long and still the IRS grins
Knowing any profits I make will go to them
Spending money on the lottery- a one in a million shot
Buying a hundred dollars in magazines but Publisher’s Clearing House never knocks
Slaving all day at mopping the floors and vacuuming the rugs
Then having four little ones drop their ice-cream with fudge
How about buying a new car-being so proud and delighted
Then driving off the lot having its value deflated
Having season tickets to the Chicago Cubs
Never to win a World Series and this really bugs
Being sick and going to the doctor is right
But when you have no insurance, the bill is out of sight
But the worst of all is entering this poetry contest
When knowing I just can’t win even though I do my best


Details | Free verse | |

Concealing a Battle

It’s happening again.
Red-hot Guerrillas breaching my porcelain surface,
Angry little bombs exploding, leaving
my land a red war zone,

And I can’t find Concealer,
who has gone A.W.O.L, deserted its place in line,
after Foundation, before Powder.
I send Hands to search the recesses of my desk,
the scattered costumes on my floor.
Their time bombs tick
And I need Concealer for this daily battle.

After the red formations attack my foundations,
they battle against Powder,
forcing my team back to expose my land;
blemished, riddled with unwanted lumps.
A wasteland uncovered,
and Concealer my only defence able to 
hide the scars, the age, this weakness.

I send on the second wave;
Foundations, Powder, Mascara – all charades to
distract the public from my flaws.
Reluctantly I slither out into their gaze,
Exposed,
praying my cover hides what the
snarling, ruthless army
strives to conquer: to
Unmask what I truly am.


Details | Free verse | |

Naked holes.

Imagine a life without holes.
An unstable world,a round figure of nothing.
A straight line,smells like ptomaine.
Holes are everywhere,white and black,
polychromatic,pretty and ugly.
Holes that you may fill,other you may not.
They can think,memorize,imagine.
Emotional holes,logical,positional,
in a chessboard,a second before a knight arrives.
Holes in my body,in your body,his or her,
screaming for pleasure,with or without morals.
Living there,breathe,judge the way you treat them.
A hole can kill you,can make you suffer.
They are in brains,in hearts.
In great losses.
When out of nowhere they are born,proud,
captivated eventually,died full of years.
Significant holes,in maps,in history.
They feed on hopes,feelings,aspirations,
organic,inorganic matters.
Holes reborn,only looked at us.
Naked.


Details | Free verse | |

JSA BLUES

Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Countless jobs for the unemployed. Just search and see. It must be true the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Take any job you can get. Work 80 hours a week. It's for your well being, the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. Take minimum wage if you must. That is all you are worth. You will thank us some day the papers say. This Government would not lie. Reject letter sent by post. Applications online ignored. Too old Too young. Inexperienced. Do not drive. It must be the JSA blues. I have the JSA blues This Government would not lie. The JSA blues. Government would not lie. JSA Blues. Would not lie. JSA blues. Not lie. JSA blues. LIE!


Details | Limerick | |

Quadruple Limerick-THE AUSTRALIAN DINGO

I raised an Australian dingo,
no name came to mind but Ringo;
he jumped on me,
ripped my clothes daily...
it costed me plenty of money!

Only once I left him alone;
good grief... my furniture was torn!
Oh, should I be mad...
or be kind instead?
I'll sleep over it for tonight!

All Ringo did was run, bark and howl,
mistaking a small cat for an owl;
They took him away
to the zoo today;
he'll whimper form his cage, not rest!

I'll take him back, lest he behaves;
his lesson he'll learn:  good manners!
Now, Ringo just stares
to earn forgiveness...
it's fun to play with him and laugh!


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

An Indirect Self Afflicted Tribulation: A Situation Never To Be

My lateness once more has caused me immediate damnation, and my unstable state, a product of my lost attention. Overcoming the limitation by doing three person's work at once resulted to a failed manipulation of compressing minutes' activities into seconds just to beat time and achieve punctuality. Reaching for the door with already aggravated emotions. In self caution, I knew something was still missing then I realized it's a stuff I cannot go without. Oh My God! This means, beginning all over again. A complication I most feared in a situation like this. My dwelling place now seem a mansion as even my bedroom has undergone exaggeration which at this moment isn't as accommodating as the habitation I once knew. Starring at the plain surface of the mirror Table gave no answers and already praying for the fruitful termination of this trying time, as I searched among the cosmetic items it harbours. My next location is obviously the wardrobe and even with the intense frustration I was still calm enough to suppress the friction with myself as I searched each and every pocket of my clothing which are all hanging in straight vertical position. And yet, my state gradually reaching exacerbation, cos' there is no answer. In milliseconds, my Pillows are in two corners of the room I prayed for any sort of temptation but not this as the bed calmly accepts my aggressive search of my item which suffers an ungodly abduction. The Investigation continues with a quick scan through my shoes, and finally leaving the room with no appreciation which now looks like a ghetto market of a third world country, a demotion I usually never allow, not until now. The larger sitting room just increased my retardation having hope of finding my "Precious" would be mere hallucination so therefore, I barely did much other than a mere Inspection. Yet, cannot find its location, which simply increased the heap of burning coal on my head. Already tired of exclaiming several holy Indignation careful flash back and calculations of my previous movements yielded no results. "check the Double Seater" was my last thought. And as I acted in submission to that command, the invaluable material surprisingly fell off my shirt My Car Keys!


Details | I do not know? | |

FEAR!!!!!

I RUN from FEAR.

I HUNT for FEAR.

I HIDE in FEAR.

I FIGHT cause of FEAR.

I'm FAR from you.

I'm SCARED cause of you.

You're the FEAR that I HUNT.

You're the FEAR that I FIGHT.

You're the FEAR that SCARED me for LIFE.

*Comment if you have any thought and if you like it. oh and some of the poems i write arn't 
always my feelings. their some times just to get through other people so they can have 
something to read that just fit's them.*

                                              -Angel4eva23


Details | Lyric | |

Counterpole

My rhymes are timeless while this time is lifeless
why is life this kind less, reminds me that this
mind is spineless ready to tip and quit, as
my lies become mindless and get swollen shut
and Stuck up inside my sinus
Drivin in my prime but with no optimus
Victim to the flip-side of the Midas
Running through my blood like a virus
The sun makes my skin mundane
rubbin on ben gay but get arthritis
touch spermicide and converts to hepatitis
I hit the plus sign but it just musters up a minus
I'm seen sucking my thumb like the peanut's Linus
I run and duck when I hear the sirens cause
I abducted the president's Nike air pumps
now air force one is trying to find us
I'm at my desk obsessin about success but
This whole time its been right behind us


Details | Senryu | |

House of WEED

Aromas, green, sweet
Enter through doorway now 
S—sick horror can’t breathe