I’m 10 beers in and there’s a crackhead mumbling to me about life.

Gonna publish a little chat book called “Bullshit. Cheapo. Art.” Well, eventually. I’m not really sure when. Or if it will even be called that. Or if I’m even ever gonna publish a book. But, I hope to publish a book someday. I’ll self publish that piece of shit if I have too. Anyways, here’s some poetry. Enjoy.

???-Some crack head mumbling about life.

So, it’s like we’re

all at a park right,

and life, life

is like a fart…


It was a park,




And your like

“Fuckin a’s, right?”

And life,

it’s like a carnival ride,


A fuckin roller coaster man,

and it’s just going,

it’s like a river,




its a big joke,


It’s real funny,

why aren’t you laughing?


It’s fucking hilarious!


people should laugh more.


#???-10 beers in

It must’ve took 10 days for me to get over it-

No, maybe it was longer then that.

It must’ve been 10 mornings since you said good morning,

and that’s the shit I’m talking about!

It must’ve took 10 beers for me to see clear,

yeah, I’m feelin pretty lonely right now.

It must’ve been 10 years that I’ve felt weird,

No, I don’t know what going on is about!

Well I suppose,

It’s probably been 10 minutes since my last smoke,

and that’s what I’m going to do now!



Your a







Active, alive,

your a volcano!


Your exploding,

And here you are!



And your really gonna do the thing,

aren’t you,

Mr.Smallearth man.


I’m mike, and I put my shoes on and go to work, and then I go home and take my shoes off.

Here’s poems…right?




#???-how much longer can I do this?

Your in the kitchen

and it’s hotter then hell,

and tickets are rattling off,

and EVERYONE is fucking up,

and you’ve burnt yourself 12 times,

and your sweating profusely,

and you need a cigarette,

and you’ve worked 40 hours this week,

but your still broke.

And you wonder,

“how long can I do this?”

You get home from work,

and you try to write poetry,

but nothing is coming out of you,

and the little that does is absolute garbage,

so you get drunk and stoned

and smoke a pack of cigarettes

and listen to music and read

and you look and look and look

for inspiration,

and you were really hoping

poetry might be your ticket out of the 9-5 grind,

but it’s 3am and your faded and sad,

and you wonder,

“how long can I do this?

Then it’s your day off.

And you clean your room up,

do laundry, take a long shower,

jerk off, shave,

walk your dog,

go out to eat,

and your mostly fine.

But then you see a couple walking happily together,

or a love song comes on,

or a moment of intimacy happens in some show your watching,

or you jerk off, but when you cum your left unsatisfied,

and all you want is a women to hold,

or, really, any kind of intimacy.

And you wonder,

“how long can I do this?”

It’s 3am again,

and your job sucks,

and your poetry sucks,

and your lonely,

and you REALLY start to wonder,

“how much longer can I do this?


#???-feast on!

Feast on

sugar and salt and fat

and all of the food!

Drink whiskey by the gallon,

and burn up weed by the pound!

Smoke a cigarette right when you wake up

and right before you go to bed,

and a whole pack in between!

Spend hours mindlessly on your phone,

and don’t talk to anyone.

Spend every dime you have

filling the empty whole in your heart

with the food your eating, and the alcohol, and the marijuana, and the cigarettes, and keeping a roof over your head and a cell phone in your hand.

Don’t clean your room for days

and wallow in filth.

You’ve got this game down pat,

don’t you,

ol’ boy.

Sometimes, you just want the girl.

Woody Allen might be kind of a weirdo, but aren’t we all? Idk, I know I’m a big fan. Anyways, I used one of his “story-jokes”(is that the proper term? I have no idea)to structure this this next guy. Enjoy!


#???-Sometimes you just want the girl.

I was recently spending some time with this girl and she told me she didn’t want to see me romantically. I was talking too my buddy about it and he asked “why are you so depressed about it?” I said “well, I wanted the girl and she didn’t want me” and he said “well, why are you all heartbroken about it, it’s not like you guys dated”

And I said “I’m not heartbroken! I just wanted the girl and she didn’t want me”

And he said “so what? I said “I’m just a little sad”

He said “well, man, there’s other girls out there.”

I said “Yeah, I get that. It’s fine, I’m just a little bummed out”

And he said “maybe you should hook up with someone to get your mind off her.”

So, later that night, I went into my bathroom and cranked one out, and then lied in bed and thought about her anyways.

BANG!!! endendend.

I’m a Gemini, if it matters at all to you. Also, uhh, here’s a couple poems. Enjoy!


The days

end and end

and end.

Over and over,

coming and going.

Less is more,

so remain poor,

and have sex

with cheap whores.

Wake me up tomorrow,


covered in my own sins.

We’re out here

battling for survival


and some days,

it’s a bloodbath

out there,

but eventually,

eventually it all


and ends,

and ends.


A pen, a page,

a poet.

A beer,

some kush, a dog.

A bed, a light,

the room,

and then,

we just keep

getting bigger,

expanding out,

until we’re talking about

the whole entire universe,

and then


That’s the end…

or maybe it’s not.


the point of the whole damn thing

is that

we just sorta keep expanding

and growing,

until we don’t


and then

that’s the end.

It’s over.














I need a cigarette.

I’m not really sure what love is but I think I have a general idea

4 poems. Love is the general thing. It’s Valentine’s Day. I’m a little bit sad. I may or may not have posted one or two of these poems before. Enjoy?





Ladies, ladies,


come on now,


don’t you know

I love you?

Oh, ladies,

your so much more than just pretty,

your funny, smart, and talented.

Ladies, ladies,


I love ladies,

oh, ladies, ladies.

Ladies is what

it’s really about….

or maybe it’s about love.



Fucking love.


and love,




ladies, ladies,



we just want you



#????-Nothing special(so special)

Her legs,

oooohhhh boy,

her legs,


there just legs,

but her eyes?!

Her eyes,

they seem to….


there just eyes,

that’s all.

But then,

you get to her smile,

that god damn smile,


It’s just a bunch of teeth

and lips

on a face.

It’s nothing special.

She’s nothing special,

and in no way

do I long for her

with every fiber of my beings,

but, I suppose I can admit

that at least a few of my fibers

long for her…




you are a queen,

Aphrodite herself,

the one and only.


get that sweet ass

out on those streets

and find me,


I don’t wanna do this whole

sufferin thing alone


so you get out there

and look for me,

and when your close,

shine your light,

and show me

just what

your light

shines like.



Well, ______
its like this,
I want to kiss you.
I want to hold your hand.
I want to spend time with you,
outside of the bar,
I want to get to know you,
all of you,
I want to admire you,
I want to stare into you.
I like you.
I wish you liked me too.

A poem about love and also being sad.

Hey. This is a rough draft of a poem. Pretty much all of my poems are rough drafts.





#???-dead door nail

I spit blood on the ground before taking another drag of a cigarette I’m smoking on my way to go drown myself in cheap whiskey while surrounded by cheaper friends who only need a puff and a shot to stick by my side for the night.

I can feel my teeth breaking on the cold concrete of life and all I want is a warm body to help it hurt less, I suppose all I’m saying is before I die I hope I can have someone who lies down next to me and whispers into my ear ever so sweetly my name, saying that she loves me as our arms entangle each other like some sort of Boy Scout knot, but warm bodies are harder to come by then booze and friends and I think my heart might be drying up and I’m scared that someday sooner then later I’m going to choke on my own bullshit and keel over, dead as a door nail and loved as much as one too, and all I gotta say is I would hope that even my own worst enemy was loved more then a rusty old door nail.

Slithering slouching slug

Pumped out this poem on my walk to work, check it out!

#???-Slouching Slug

Don’t mind me,

just a

slouching slug,

a scummy bug

slithering away

to a grave stone

with no name

on it.


just a bumbling


beating out

every bit

of hope I had inside me,

bleeding out any blessings

that lord almighty

might have bestowed upon me.



slithering away

to a

nameless grave