Clickfarms in Bangledash

The poet in my head is very much alive, even if he doesn’t want to show it right now. I’ve lacked inspiration of late, but I decided tonight to go through an old wine tattered notebook of mine, one that I haven’t looked at in months. I found some stuff that I like. Little lines here and there that I enjoyed. So, I thought to myself, why not throw it all together in a blog post and call it the “psych101 series”. Oh, yeah, the wine tattered notebook was the same notebook I used for Intro to psych. So, um, below is the stuff I was talking about…
Enjoy!

#????

She stood there
in her underpants,
and she danced.
I didn’t remember how we had
gotten there,
so I asked what was happening,
and she sat down on my lap,
and kissed me on the lips.
Its as if she knew
exactly what I was missing,
and the things she’d do,
well,
I would do them to,
and the people she was friends with,
well,
I’d be friends with them too…

…then I woke up,
and there was no me and you,
and I didn’t like that much,
so I went back to sleep,
and dreamt of you standing there,
in your underwear…

#????

I looked into the eye of oblivion
and found nothing to say,
so I said what I thought a wise man might say-
“ahh, what the hell, someones gotta do it! Right?”

#????

Everything in this town
has a story behind it,
and that was part of the problem,
but that was also what you missed most about it.

#????

The damned help
the damned
get damned,
telling each other
of salvation and glory,
but no matter how you shake it,
we where all damned,
and hell isn’t a place
that burns deep in the earths crust,
its right here on earth.

There is no
“making it”

#????

persistance,
not patience,
is the real virtue

#????

Theres a homeless man
that has completely
lost his shit,
screaming what I imagine
is his name,
saying “you will remember me”
and the others laugh at him,
but I smile to myself,
knowing that he was probably right.

#?????

You ever hear the one about the guys who tried digging to china?
They where digging for so long that everyone forgot about them,
and now there gone.

#?????

Taste of christ on my tongue,
singes from hell on my lungs

#?????

God made a faulty model
that runs off the bottle,
and the definition of insanity
is writing the same thing
over
and over
and over
and over
and…

#????

I smashed the bug across the page
and thought about how
“one of these mornings”
will someday be smashed
across the page.

#????

No poem in mind,
but a million trapped
in never,
forever

#?????

The bridges are burnt,
and the city is next.

 

 

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