coolguyeagle76'
Well-known member
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2009
- Messages
- 225
- Reaction score
- 41
okay so i know this is probably get shot down by a bunch of pussies who are too scared that someone on the internet might see through their anonymous dirty kid dont give a fup the punx asthetic, some will say "why would i post my innermost feelings on the internet thats just plain silly yall". i dont care about those people. i know there are fellow artist on this site, kids whos main drive on the road is unleashing there primal voice, those that strive to create. this thread is for you. i wanna read and hear your poetry! lets slam.
A lonely house in the night
Where I rock gently
To the rhythm of brittle ghost crickets
Deep in a winter chasm
Vast vast vast, the darkness beyond the fireplace
Is low like e minor
And below the lamps of a kerosene fog time
I can only dream of. I inhale
Smoke and recall
Good old boy sheriff’s deputies
In the class room of escape
Talking about quitting, and yellowed finger dreams
Think how ill be under a bridge by a track tie fire
Telling heroin addicts how I need to get off this nicotine junk
Tell them of my DT’s on a train 3 days
With out love or a human voice but my
Crazy singing ranting writing
And they wont tell me how they fear life
they’ll call it death and talk
About westbound brothers
And grainer porch funerals
I think I should leave to myself what is only myself
And rest, but the cadence of your voice has changed
Old friend, old life, we’ve become. and we’ve grown young together.
But I only know the lines in your books
Not the lines around your mouth.
Poets will starve if they are brave enough,
Bullets will fly if the money is right
Vultures will pick if the decaying wind rises
The wind blows through my mothers chimes.
A lonely house in the night
Where I rock gently
To the rhythm of brittle ghost crickets
Deep in a winter chasm
Vast vast vast, the darkness beyond the fireplace
Is low like e minor
And below the lamps of a kerosene fog time
I can only dream of. I inhale
Smoke and recall
Good old boy sheriff’s deputies
In the class room of escape
Talking about quitting, and yellowed finger dreams
Think how ill be under a bridge by a track tie fire
Telling heroin addicts how I need to get off this nicotine junk
Tell them of my DT’s on a train 3 days
With out love or a human voice but my
Crazy singing ranting writing
And they wont tell me how they fear life
they’ll call it death and talk
About westbound brothers
And grainer porch funerals
I think I should leave to myself what is only myself
And rest, but the cadence of your voice has changed
Old friend, old life, we’ve become. and we’ve grown young together.
But I only know the lines in your books
Not the lines around your mouth.
Poets will starve if they are brave enough,
Bullets will fly if the money is right
Vultures will pick if the decaying wind rises
The wind blows through my mothers chimes.