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Please excuse the comma splices, tense changes, verbosity, etc. I was just a youngin' and now I realize the error of my grammatical ways. Plus, I preferred the flowery and descriptive writing styles of the early 19th century and beyond rather than the short, journalistic post-Hemingway-style of writing. I love intense imagery and descriptions in general. Still deciding whether I should edit my old poetry for grammar mistakes or take the Beatnik approach and fuck it.

Disclaimer: I only wrote/write on bad days. Grand days have never inspired me enough to write as I've always used writing as an outlet. A majority of my poetry is angsty, dark humored, or depressing, however, I don't have depression, and I'm not self-destructive or suicidal by any means. My writing is mostly a tenfold representation of the kind of day I was having at the time. Embellishing the realities of my bad days on paper helped turn them into good days. Not sticking my head into an oven anytime soon (or ever, actually). :P +10 points if you got the reference.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment

Sunday, December 21, 2008

Surreal Escape

Embarking on an island,
Unseen by human eye,
I chart in isolation,
No neighboring boat- nor passerby.

No civilization befouls the sea,
For plague and ocean have not met,
Thy bid farewell, speaks thee,
Must clean up life's debris.

Sailing to nowhere,
In search of something,
Though may seem fruitless,
Must life have purpose?

Tale of my life,
Anti-climax,
Whirlpool swallows my existence,
Evaporates my being.

Soul slowly disintegrates,
Pulls me to the fruit of its loin,
Sea calls my name,
Taunts me.

Defiled by sea mist,
Sinks into crevices,
Catacombs lay beneath sea.

Dark abyss of gratitude,
Palpable,
Unable to elude its grasp,
Sea whispers peril.

Heart hampered-- non-existent gratification,
Lost beneath surface,
Accompanied by sailors passed on,
Sallow waters, unmarked graves.

Lost and bewildered,
In aquatic nightmare,
Flounder to surface.

Discerning water,
Common as chocolate milk,
Yet not as barbarous,
To lactose intolerant.

Though my life appears droll,
I must abdicate from reality,
Leaving evidence behind,
Of my surreal escape.

Copyright © 2008
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