deepundergroundpoetry.com
put you out of my misery
Time in.
I'm due for a win,
like a date with the girl I saw on campus in the rain today,
wearing a sundress and combat boots,
reading Kerouak through a ziplock bag.
O.M.Me
Who's really in charge here?
Does the dog ever catch the car?
and what does he do with it if he does?
Non posturepedic,sleep number thirty something,nicotine and worry insomnia.
You just wake up from not even snoozing one day and you're fucking old...
My mother cried when she got cancer,
having never smoked,ate well, exercised and attended church twice a week.
Even made a pilgrimage to the as she called it "holy land" (Isreal) once in spite of barely being able to afford it and already being sick, only to find after sixty five years that god was just a dream.
And than there are those of us who can lay a body down but not a burden.
The line between good and evil is blurry at the point of fruition.
Even on her deathbed,
mom keeps making Mary Shelley references.
I'm afraid of South African witch doctor, human poachers who aren't employed by me.
I'm afraid of being homeless in the city again. I'd rather be lost alone in the woods.
I'm scared that when I get to hell I will see my father there and being the bastard I am,be under such tight security I won't be able to bust him out.
Got a girlfriend with a wife on the side.
Both I wanna turn into lampshades in my creepy basement.
The girlfriend laughed but looked at me strange when I showed her how Siri will really tell you where you can get rid of a corpse in Baton Rouge.
The wife left after she finally believed me about the the locked box under the bed being my murder kit.
Love has to be second to commitment to your work.
So,
need to double check the doors I'm opening like someone in a dress just walked into the same public restroom as me.
Sitting in solitude on the city bus with them skull candy world mutes in and a withdrawn,pale,iridescent reflection on, listening to anything is better than hearing hungry children cry in transit from their dad's hood to their mom's.
Sometimes I wish I was Keanu Reeves so someone would put a bomb on this thing and we could actually go fast.
I'm due for a win,
like a date with the girl I saw on campus in the rain today,
wearing a sundress and combat boots,
reading Kerouak through a ziplock bag.
O.M.Me
Who's really in charge here?
Does the dog ever catch the car?
and what does he do with it if he does?
Non posturepedic,sleep number thirty something,nicotine and worry insomnia.
You just wake up from not even snoozing one day and you're fucking old...
My mother cried when she got cancer,
having never smoked,ate well, exercised and attended church twice a week.
Even made a pilgrimage to the as she called it "holy land" (Isreal) once in spite of barely being able to afford it and already being sick, only to find after sixty five years that god was just a dream.
And than there are those of us who can lay a body down but not a burden.
The line between good and evil is blurry at the point of fruition.
Even on her deathbed,
mom keeps making Mary Shelley references.
I'm afraid of South African witch doctor, human poachers who aren't employed by me.
I'm afraid of being homeless in the city again. I'd rather be lost alone in the woods.
I'm scared that when I get to hell I will see my father there and being the bastard I am,be under such tight security I won't be able to bust him out.
Got a girlfriend with a wife on the side.
Both I wanna turn into lampshades in my creepy basement.
The girlfriend laughed but looked at me strange when I showed her how Siri will really tell you where you can get rid of a corpse in Baton Rouge.
The wife left after she finally believed me about the the locked box under the bed being my murder kit.
Love has to be second to commitment to your work.
So,
need to double check the doors I'm opening like someone in a dress just walked into the same public restroom as me.
Sitting in solitude on the city bus with them skull candy world mutes in and a withdrawn,pale,iridescent reflection on, listening to anything is better than hearing hungry children cry in transit from their dad's hood to their mom's.
Sometimes I wish I was Keanu Reeves so someone would put a bomb on this thing and we could actually go fast.
Published 11th Sep 2015
| Edited 12th Sep 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Anonymous
- Edited 11th Sep 2015 9:41pm
11th Sep 2015 9:40pm
I felt like a lil chianti and fava beans through some of this, dark in the way realism can get when there isn't enough privilege
I found the most relatable thing, a scary thing, in the line- I'm afraid of being homeless in the city again. I'd rather be lost alone in the woods.
that puts a chill in me that makes the murder kit feel like a comforting necessity. Strange days indeed, like the zombie apocalypse and we're all dying unsure that the struggle would be worth it. do we want to win this thing, ? Up is down lately, the dream you wake up from only to see it is another dream. Siri freaks me out
thanks for the read, took me places.
peace, JR
12th Sep 2015 6:32am
I like your style, it's so descriptive that everything that's going on in your poem seems totally normal and acceptable... Creepy! Good job!
5th Nov 2015 3:52pm
Brotha, it's so fucking great to read your stuff. I dig the humour, sharp observations and the fluidity of your thoughts spewed out onto this page. There's a few traces of warmth, but these are suddenly snuffed out in the final stanzas with some dark humour. Great stuff, always unique and razor sharp along a twisted poetic blade.
