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Greg Wilcox Poem
Say that everything will be just fine,
When I’m lying in bed with a bottle of wine.
And you’re workin’ on number nine,
Figuring out why I’m still on your mind.
Call me and tell me you’re alone,
So I can fantasize about the clothes
Scattered on the floor from your ex
Who hasn’t grown.
Beating this pallet that grows with paint,
Not color or water, just black that stains.
And when you finally answer to tell me lies,
I’m crying in betrayal but I stay on the line.
Because I’m holding onto the comfort you gave me.
Slipping into red coated train steam.
So close too everything but still can’t see.
Now, when the bottle is empty and dry.
I realize my mind is a flightless bird trying too fly.
Paralyzed by something that serves me no good
And it stands where my dignity once stood.
I’m fine, I’m fine while I drop down the cliff.
Choking on Disaronno, grasping a spliff.
I’ve uncovered a way too not caring,
Even if chaos rules my heart, and bones narrowing.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2017
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Greg Wilcox Poem
When the mind became numb I didn’t have to feel the rest.
Feelings they say, I laugh, I never felt the blame.
When the mind became numb I didn’t know about the real.
A foreign concept that was a native language to my soul,
It blocked my ability to feed, trapped in the blackest of holes.
Suddenly forgot basic needs, forgetting to eat a meal.
Tell me what life can be, what it can offer
I chose to delete my memory,
I now can’t obtain my memory.
My mind became softer.
When the mind became numb,
I sat in the ash, refusing to awake.
I wanted nothing more than to take
The sorrow into my thumb.
When the mind became numb.
The window shattered from my broken broom.
My parents home smells of lavender and fright,
But I break in shower, devour, and fight for my life.
Falling asleep on my fleece sheets, hiding in my room
It was time to leave into another world.
A world of cleanliness and not needles,
A world full of fantasies and not overran by beetles.
I had to steer my own direction with a push and a curl.
Graduating from a facility, known as Sundown too some,
Taught me how to take care of myself again,
When the mind became numb.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2017
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Greg Wilcox Poem
Amaze your mind and stimulate your horizon.
Tonight we forget the real.
We’ll slither through the unknown.
We’ll bite death in the ass.
Then trick our way through the path to hell.
No turning back, we are stuck now.
At night the reason will seize to fall,
And we turn primal, we begin the brawls.
Taking shelter beneath the stones.
A touch that illuminates my soul like chrome.
Vortex inside each mind, crazy colored vortex.
A velvet heart yet suspicious tongue.
Dwindling into the ocean, by our feet we’re hung.
When I combine your colors with my planet
It mimics Picasso and shimmers like granite.
Just like the abnormal extraterrestrial.
I can see the fear and I can smell it.
It’s inside my septum, settling, wallowing.
I feel your eyes graze across.
Enveloping my head.
When will I be cleared of love,
I always thought I was done looking.
Waiting to be arrested, by hook or by crook.
Enter the world of everyday issues,
As still as a valley’s night.
So cripple the weak when they fall short of respect.
For two beings as one promotes chaos.
It begins destruction releasing a seance.
But the man buckles to his knees at their sight.
Not defending their place, failure at the fight.
Disturbia pummels your mentality straight down.
Improvising a brand new land trying not to drown.
Befriending a monster totally incoherent.
Busting through concrete melting the sealant
Forget her pain it causes unhappiness
Flailing into denial.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2017
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Greg Wilcox Poem
She had a smile from ear to ear.
So huge she made birds sing.
But when she redirected her gears
Her emotions held together by a sling.
Whenever she walked
She did not see her obstacles.
Selfishness to the point her thoughts mattered
Most.
Whenever she talked
She did not hear others advice
Self-loathing to the point her words murmured a
Boast.
Her name was dared to be said.
She spent her days smoking in bed.
Then picked up up the museum of glass art
Hung by her mouth.
When her drugs were just right,
The old her wallows and the old her
Lies dead.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2018
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Greg Wilcox Poem
The day life was given to a boy.
His eyes had been enveloped over the skyline.
Small boy, large hope, small boy, large home.
Before he had a chance to flourish,
He had been given a different purpose.
Nervous with courage to cherish.
He had been moved to another accommodation.
Rusticated to a new isolation.
Stationed upon different temptations.
Where he had no identification, but all surprises.
While in a stationary motive.
His mind became erosive.
Devoted to death, coated with no emotive.
He became an addict through rusticating.
The quiet and silence of his mind dictating.
His mind refused to fixate.
In the end he was a boy with no choice.
Rusticate to oblivion, a bowl of mistrust.
Until you drop dead into earth’s crust.
We all must move on without fuss.
Travel back to the boy’s first home, in tune.
Recovering the move, collecting his runes.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2017
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Greg Wilcox Poem
Disease of the mind
Controlled by another
Hated by the higher
Loved by the lower.
The sicker the better
We’re not coherent.
The sicker the richer
Total opposites.
The disease is life itself.
Blood sucking hell raisers.
The happier we are the worse
Then hurt anyone who tells us otherwise.
We don’t even know we have it.
We are the statistic of dying liabilities
The only disease that murders our loved ones
Even before ourselves.
Selling our souls
To a disease torturing us.
Yet we torture others for our future expense.
SIGN ON THE DOTTED LINE
Soaked with blood, sweat and sadness.
Copyright © Greg Wilcox | Year Posted 2017
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