The Deplorables
Because there was hilly billy running around all willy nilly. flipping and flopping his fishy filet, now he's sloppin the mopin today. Out walikin' n chillin', n stalkin road killin', for black pot fillin', the kettle's the villain. Can't quite get it right, fight though he might, his light not bight by a right sight. Yet never has he ever, on any endeavor, goten it together to weather the whatever. Whether he's hootin' n hollerin' or rockin' n rollin', he's stumbling n bumbling, "dem cookie be crumblin." A pathetic excuse this obtuse red recluse, this mighty white wighty n righty up tighty should never reproduce. These cringey, whingey, power stingy, fumblin', grumblin', crumblin', mumbling, creatures' main feature's are backwards preachers, thruth bleachers, no teachers, and NASCAR skreechers. Hee-haw, southern draw, drug withdrawal, slack jaw, Maw n Uncle Papaw. Trumpy dumpy little stumpy, frumpy clumpy always grumpy, no last straw. Vile and bile, world reviled, can't reconcile such a defiled lifestyles, and all the while, siege heil siege heil.
I'm a little paranoid
Just like an Android
That's about to get hit by an astroid
I woke up dead
There's a snake in my bed
Beads of sweat dripping off my forehead
Time stands still When you feelin ill
I think I'll take one more pill
Crush it up and try not to spill
Keepin it real you know the deal
I knocked on my friends door
He said nope no more
I passed out and hit the floor
I'm shocked and Disturbed
It was the Craziest thing I ever heard
I ordered some drugs online
They arrived right on time
I couldn't believe they were all mine
I Locked myself in the bathroom
Around noon and then boom
I hear a knock It's the cops
My heart stops
I'm looking at 15 years tops
Only solitude and pain,
Can blend into such beautiful damage.
Poetry,
A stage,
A crowd.
I was my own creator and destroyer.
I opened deep parts of myself,
For strangers in dim light.
The applause silenced the sound of the ever_forming cracks in my heart,
The silence allowed my sorrow to have a voice.
The mic painted the pictures loudly,
Three rounds on stage,
Three circles to run around my head.
But I can write,
About the beautiful girl backstage,
Who used her smile as a shield from sympathy.
A warm heart,
Facing an avalanche.
A rose,
Torn apart by her own thorns.
Beautiful voice,
Ugly echoes.
She was beautiful,
She still is.
Or the guy beside me.
Master of language,
Slave to pain.
Or the other guy.
Loud eyes,
Silent voice.
Short poem,
Long story.
It was just yesterday,
But tomorrow drags it further away from today and it makes me sad.
I hope I never get used to the feeling.
I got used to depression,
Now am too weak to die.
If I get used to happiness,
I might be too weak to smile.
It's poetry,
It's drugs,
Am having,
A freaking hangover.
Elliepoet
What is love, just chemicals in the brain.
And when love ends, it can be a pain.
It’s like a drug, withdrawal to go through.
And there’s nothing that anyone can do.
There is the good and there is bad.
And regardless of both, it’s still sad.
The good is knowing that the pain,
With some time, will certainly wane.
The bad is that it’s certainly true,
Until that time there’s nothing to do.
It’s true withdrawal, just like from morphine
Altering the very brain’s machine.
It’s a real effect, can’t be denied.
Take it from me, many have tried.
And unlike some learning, with time you get better
With love withdrawal, you follow the letter.
Nothing to do but suffer the time.
Cause nothing you do will make it sublime.
Plus food has no interest, no desire to feast
It’s the heart break diet, 15 pounds at least.
And then there’s sleep. What’s that you say?
You sit in bed till the break of day.
So that’s the message and everyone knows,
When your heart is broken, that’s the way it goes.
This itching
It’s like a drug withdrawal
From my body
And I fall
But I don’t do this intentionally
I do this because
It’s what I do
No stepping of the ledge
Easily—
No willing sacrifice
Just me
Falling—
Because there is no where else
To walk
This is me
This is who I am
This is what I do
Do not thank me for it
I do not want it
But don’t also think this
Saddens me
Or inconveniences me
In anyway
This is what I do
This is who I am
This is me
Think of me as a tool
A well-guided instrument
To a poorly thought-out
Providence
This is it…
Or maybe
Simply
That one you forgot
You remember
Now that I prod you
I’m the method—
You used to know
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