Nicotine is making a comeback
analog cigarettes are making a comeback
so many students are nicotine positive.
Every girl has Zyn by her drink at the bar
which used to be seen as a BRO-y vibe.
I’m not taking a view, I’m unbothered by it.
because
I’m hooked as well - I might as well admit it.
I’m into placebos these days and and I’m abjectly
rendered dumb by their unspeakable pleasures.
I went to an acapella concert last night and OMG!
I was mollywhopped (knocked out).
.
.
Acapella songs for this:
They - The Harvard-Radcliffe Veritones
Finesse (Remix) by The SoCal VoCals
Viva La Vida by Buffalo Chips
24k Magic by Acasola
.
.
....
Trump has everyone quivering
he cornh0led those cowards at CBS
but you know who ain’t backing down?
South Park. I LOVE those guys.
Trigger warning. This is EXPLICIT and hilarious.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Afetnw70S04
Your smile used to light up my heart
like a spark of light.
And yet, love died in its shadow,
shrouded in pain.
The surface of trust
was somehow scratched;
and susceptible, it started to rust.
Hope tried to seal it
with placebos, empty platitudes,
and a fountain of sparkling phases;
that spoke of love won, love lost,
and love yet to be.
Still, I watched you walk away;
as my eyes filled with tears.
Sweet words, once used to seduce
and flatter,
have morphed; into unpalatable
departing words.
And yet, life moves on,
without guilt, apologies,
promises or guarantees.
three hundred thousand unsmoked fags
since i took the plunge and stopped
i did it cold turkey mates, suffered as
my nicci levels plunged and dropped.
no nicci patches,
no nicci chewing gum,
no electric cigs,
good enough for some,
no therapies to help,
they just didn’t exist,
all those placebos
i so sadly missed.
so i went cold turkey mates
mainly through short cash
so why do i still dream of
lighting up, crashing the ash.
i dream i still smoke,
enjoy every single one
memories flooding back
from years long gone.
every single pilsner
accompanied by a ***
nothing quite like a grosse
and a long deep drag.
its sad really;
just a sick joke,
because in real life i just can’t
stand the smell of ciggie smoke.
i did it cold turkey mates, suffered
as my nicci levels plunged and dropped
three hundred thousand unsmoked fags
since i took the plunge and stopped
hospitals overflow, all are helpless
fear of death enveloping other fears
covid threat challenging our core concepts
looking on, we can but wipe away tears
no cure exists, yet placebos vanish
police force to dispel crowds at chemists
winner takes all; it is fight or perish
feral ferocity today persists
reflections show, what we like not to see
chivalry values, Cinderella dreams
as a collective whole, ugly fury
moment to moment horror stories stream
in midst of this storm, please light a candle
weary souls look to the lighthouse signal
19-April-2021
My dear Miss Peach how lovely!
Your table boasts so fair
You've chosen the finest bubbly
Best porcelain plates and crystal ware
Your handpicked guests are perfect
They know just what to say
They are prefects without defects
With no real opinions per se
Your parties are full of boasting
With braggarts, blowhards and egos
Pomposity excels in what they are toasting
Meaningless, pointless placebos
So Miss Peach I beg you not be stilted
Or try in your best elegance to change
What manner you provide is boring and gilded
And matters not to bourgeois talk wearisomely deranged
October 20, 2020
Completely Your Choice (30) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Cok the hammer, drop the blotter, And we will swim through muddy water
Just drop all your defenses, Don't build fences, blur your senses
Watch the corner, your my spotter, We'll walk right through the bloody slaughter
Cok the hammer, point the pistol, Pull the trigger, unless my fists full
I can ex you with one squeasy , I'm so greasy killings easy
Cok the hammer, kill the chatter, learning is the only thing that matters
I side step into a shadow, I got your money I am sad though
Been winning, from the beginning, Past by you all while heads were spinning
Remember when we were falling, I cut the rope and started calling
Lifting pane, I felt the wind blow, And you pushed me out the window
It's ok though, I just did blow, Ground felt like a feathered pillow
Cok the hammer, pull the trigger, let us run towards the grave with vigor
I side step into a shadow, That placebos too big to swallow
I continue with a caution, There's no wind inside this coffin
Now i'm trapped in here not knowing, Which way the winds of change are blowing
Cok the hammer, pull the trigger, I side step into a shadow
Cok the hammer, pull the trigger, I side step into a shadow
Living in the city
There are lots of urban joys,
But the one thing we put up with
Is an awful lot of noise.
Though we tune it out by habit
And just rarely come unglued,
There are nights when sleep’s a challenge
And we yearn for solitude.
Then a possible solution
Did present itself and thus,
There’s a new white-noise contraption
In the bedroom, next to us.
Though my husband swears it’s helping,
Desperation does delude.
I still hear the traffic roaring,
Just a tiny bit subdued.
Still, there’s value in placebos
For believing can hold sway.
While I toss and turn, my spouse is
Snoozing peacefully away.
We are all too eager to place the little pills on our shaking tongues.
Academic idiots force their good intentions, as they lay in bed with corrupt chemical pushers.
Our TVs are inundated with ads for the latest, greatest snake oils that promise our meaningless little lives a few moments of relief. Side effects may include losing your soul.
When did we all become so sick? When did not paying attention in school become a disease?
Take the blue ones to calm you. Take the white ones to kill your pain. Take the orange ones to wake you up, and focus your aim. Take the pink ones to feel great. Take the green ones even though they're fake. And as we choke down our placebos, washing them down with false hopes of healthier lives, in the end, everyone still dies...
The will of God, e'er take
me to my knees,
your Spirit, so astringent
cleansing, free!
Ne'er given to imply
a church of greed
attendance, and deny
as fate takes fee!
What is the Godly why
where the decree
in Gospels wrenching cry
wanderings spree!
With Hope our mind's comply
Christ's heart receive
in apathy's restraint
placebos flee!
that fish patiently wait
at interface of water and fate
burping bubbles for their troubles
water bugs and mosquitoes
unwilling, unsettling for nibbling placebos
acting on a deeper, more hungry drive
to ascend today, eager to stay alive
jaws set wide for voracious consumption
sweet thorax collapses to juicy bite
hooked into a jarring compunction
steeling the air now, a painful insight
to bait, to fish, to hunger, to wish
to fish, to bait, to consume, to sate
ichthyes pisces, jumpin' Jehovah might these
waggin' winged fins fly these troubles away
jumpin' the air and pulling the lines
hard to believe that the mettle redefines
the parts played of the hunter and hunted
penetrating mistakes are now confronted
shoulda looked at bit harder towards a bait
to now spit out this damned curved harpoon
at any rate, it's beyond meaningful debate
escaping unlikely - freedom inopportune
panning to sky, maybe panned over fire
maybe that end ain't so bad after all
peckishly satiating lifes consuming desire
fish for a fisherman so that life takes all
© Goode Guy 2013-06-19
Here I am: a product of coffee shop
bricks and apparition footsteps-freakishly
paradoxical, hungrily swallowing placebos
disguised as Penicillin.
I harbor words deep into my hingeless ribcage
keep their tangled veins behind my
lovestained, hatchet hacked Heart;
They cannot be silenced.
Who needs to know them anyways?
They are brittle cattle skulls left in
desert sun, elderly faces stare
back at me, cradled in my eye sockets where
they should not belong.
Puppetry: I am a marionette on semicolon strings
curled around their blithe and bony fingers
which stroke the dimensions of my brain with pseudo-malice,
fingernails dug into white matter,
the right hemisphere's wounded meat. A ghost of past;
inkstains still dripping like oil off
severed whale bones hung to dry.
My sickly verses maintain their steady cancer.
Seeds I've consumed in hopes of daisies
made me a deafmute Persephone, whom
devours youth like Heroin. Unashamed.
"To A Closed Mind"
Jenna-Nichole Conrad
Wordsmith
I don't know how else to put this
its taken me so long to do this
I'm falling asleep and I can't see straight.
My muscles feel like a melee body is curled in a u shape
I put on my best but I'm still afraid
propped by lies and promises saving my place
as life forgets maybe its time I saw the world
I'm only here for awhile but patience is not my style
and I'm so tired that I gotta go
what am I supposed to hide now
what am I supposed to do
did you really think I wouldn't see this through
tell me I should stick around for you
tell me I could have it all
I'm still to tired to care and I got to go
I'm following suit and directions I crawl up inside for protection
I'm told what to do and don't know y I'm over existing in limbo
I'm over the myths and placebos
I really don't mind if I just fade away
I'm ready to live with family
I'm ready to die in obscurity
cuz I'm so tired that I gotta go
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