Poem-A-Day: Day 586

Big Waves

somewhere I wondered
but then that fell away
in the illiteration
the salty brine
of killing moons
and the bastard tripe
that I’ve long since past

but there she is
as per the normalcy
plagued by self writeous
and slipping doubts further to
the simplistic frankness
of the unquestionable
fathoms deep

Poem-A-Day: Day 585

Impossibilities

There’s an uncontrollable urge
on my part
to exacerbate any situation.
I want to push boundaries
and see hatred
in the eyes of the oppressors.

The savage reality can be blissful
but typically blows
compared to the unconventional
ideals of simplistic perfection
that are lost within
their own terrible notion of being.

Poem-A-Day: Day 584

Absolution

The suspect of giving
is an immediate cultural wound
bleeding heresy and shit
from the cankerous living.

And if the killing moon
were less than murderous plague
bridging past and future
the information would oblige.

Poem-A-Day: Day 583

Fifth Notions

The silver box lost the commonality
and the crimson punch of hate
put things into bitter reflection.
I could afford the caustic behavior,
the others were less than fortunate.

Poem-A-Day: Day 582

The Ex Hall of Famer

somewhere a champion rises
that place is not here
here a champ leans on risers
and drinks scotch
and drinks vodka
and drinks wine
and remembers the champion

somewhere there’s a champion
that upset the former champ
on a different stage than here
and he stopped
and he left
and he gave up
and he’s no longer the champion.

somewhere a former champion
drinks the remains of the day
from the understanding
that he was
that he is
that he always will be
that he is the champion of kings.

Poem-A-Day: Day 581

Derp Derp Derp

Common idiots
Cannot understand real life
When they don’t see it.

Poem-A-Day: Day 580

Cockroaches

There’s some queer familiarity I share
with the idiot assholes that follow
my every movement.

I follow them close
as they follow me, and the truism
is oddly suspect in the nature of dance.

I cared before, but now the waste is gone
and I can’t bring myself to value
the inferiority of the complex.

Because it’s no more complex
than wasting time in an effort to waste time,
there is no point aside from being problematic.