bureaucraps.

hate the bureaucrats
and their offices
I had been to one a few days ago
old building with stuffy rooms
and rickety fans
full of documents
you can smell the paper
it stings your nose
and these damn bureaucrats
middle aged men
bald and fat
women with big glasses
and hair on their upper lips
it’s always them

you feel helpless
before these bastards
too lazy
to put up with their shit
I must’ve had that look on my face
for one of those snakes
slimy and smiling
snakes
that hang around these offices
they get things done
came up to me
held out his hand

I would like to say
that I walked away
but I placed a few bills
on his hand
he hissed a smile
a few handshakes
head scratches
and boot licking later
I got the address
on my licence
changed

walked back home
searching for my balls
I want to be a hero
but I’m not
so I write
whining like it matters
to feel better about
myself

too much too little.

shelf full of books
not enough readers
world full of art
and not many
artists

too much time
with nothing to do
so many mountains
and no one to climb

too much pain
not enough tears
too many gods
and not enough love
so much life
very few living

too many people
and
not enough me

that’s the problem
with writing
it’s either
too many words
or
nothing at all

hope.

the heat unbearable
and the throat
dry like
my mind
the sun
burning through
my soul
and
life evaporating
slowly

then the clouds arrive
and the skies go
dark
with the wind
that heals
your burn
with that first drop
of rain
falling down
I realise
the world
with all its
madness and sick shit
is still capable

capable of
surprises that
lull
your soul

not better.

when things go
south
when life
is fucked up
when
I’m down
when it’s grey

I have people around
telling me
it’s okay
things are gonna
get better
’cause
humans are drawn to
sadness
sorrow
melancholy
pain
our common
turn on
the old light
that’s flickering
and the moths flocking around

and when they say
things are gonna get better
I say
never mind
I like it this way
no I’m not
a masochist
or some pain loving bastard
happiness
it drives the people
away

it’s sadness
that makes me
feel better

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/2017/05/06/better/

nothing.

there are days when I have to write nothing special about those days they are usually mundane days. I’ll be on my way to college or having my lunch or talking to someone or lying down doing nothing and then all of a sudden I grow heavy my face about to burst my belly bladder and chest full of something that feels liquid like a balloon filled with water and I start sweating and gasping for air eyes starts seeing things that aren’t there and my mind goes blank. no one around me notices a thing they don’t understand they don’t see anything different it feels normal, someone standing in the beach looking at the sea it looks beautiful the waves full of life the orange sun perfect but out of her sight is a man flapping his hands and legs gulping down salty sea water praying for help drowning in the same beautiful sea. I take out my phone to type something but NOTHING arrives. you have a bad cold and you want to sneeze but you can’t, does it make sense now? I have a better example which involves shit and fart but then I’ve talked about them a lot recently I feel like I’m full of shit. coming back I’m so full but I don’t write anything all those crazy poetic thoughts that usually crowd my mind seem to have disappeared trying to find something to write about searching desperately its tiring so I piss on grammar and fuck art and start typing letting the words find me

soul reaper.

with every
reason
the poem loses
a part
of its
soul

with every
rhyme
the poem
dies
a little

a poem born in the
mind
heart
and
the gut
is
full of
soul

purer than
the burning
passion
in his eyes
and
the heat
between
her legs

truer than
the tears
that
well up
when you’re
kicked in the
balls

it is then
strangled
with
meanings
purpose
words
till it
is nothing
but a beautiful
corpse

and
here I am
the soul reaper
waiting
writing

watching
a poem
die

discomfort.

it’s around 2 a.m in the morning and I sit in this not so comfortable recliner seat staring at the lights blue dots and white dots blinking ON. OFF. ON. OFF. there is an oldie to my right snoring his head falling on my shoulders there is a beat to it but its annoying its hot outside but I wear a tshirt and a shirt over buttoning up to my wrists trying to
sweat a little for I feel the creepy chillness in my body legs have given away arms trying to keep me warm my head goddamnit the head swaying from one side to another it feels like it’s full of water my head the biggest burden right now I try to focus on the good looking muslim girl sitting to my left looking beautiful in her black burkah and scarf not black but some abstract pattern its hard to fall asleep with the shitty music that they play to keep the driver awake I’m on a bus and I don’t feel good only comfort is that I’m on my way home.

its just fever but I write and people like pain some their own but most like the pain of others so I tend to exaggerate my pain

goodnight.