Freestyling Poetry

Don't look,
don't look at me
Lord,
I've been trying,
and trying hard,
so I dove into the deep
end of the closed
community pool,
right off
the diving board like a God
damned fool.

I never kept my head straight,
too busy blowing up
brain cells and mind states
because I was used to throwing up
peace signs and middle fingers,
I could always hold my liquor
with both hands,
double fisting like a stripper.

Two wasted lines
and enough ink to spell
fifteen words;
oh what I would give
for just a few more verbs.

This poem is going
nowhere,
I heard we were known
for pulling thoughts
from our heads,
or was it airy nothing,
maybe somewhere
from the dead.