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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

Monday, March 23, 2009

Pantomime-in-a-Box

I tightly clutch onto lace curtain,
Refuse to end up 6-feet below,
Patch of Kentucky blue grass,
Keeping me safe from rain that seeps,
Into earthen cracks above my cardboard box.

My smile,
Eroded with the compost,
Made the grass green,
The days short and sweet.

The air has evaporated,
I gasp for oxygen.

Asphyxiated by reality,
Comforted by illusions.

Ears cannot hear my cries for help,
As I scratch on the box,
My name,
I cannot remember.

I remain homeless,
Non-existent,
Guilty,
Till I finally decompose.

Forever exiled and confined to this place,
Not even God can save my soul,
He mocks my attempts,
To break the latch.

Copyright © 2009
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