... well this wasnīt meant as a massmurders story... iīm going to kill this poem soon.


Chronic dreaming

itīs a shortage of happy feelings
in the pharmacy. and iīm feeling
depressed. writing down
words i dont know the
meaning of -in the meantime.

Me and my killed dog, talking
in the dark, he took over my
soul, i canīt stop think of
bones.

My skull infested with thoughts
and parasites, i shall shave my
head, when i got the time.

lay down in the initation bed.
fulfil your rites, and then you
can go home.

i got many friends in the
frying pan, well i guess.
people seem static when you
look at them, maybe itīs just
me. But i remember that smell.

feed meat-eating pigeons in
the park, like my grandpa.

freeze to death in the desert.
sulphide angels wait.

sniffing holy ghosts
in church, well i guess i will
drown in holy water, someday.
i never dived.

if you dare we can cross the fence
to eternity..

come, let go of divinity.
itīs already inside of you.

i feel like a tumour,
school begin soon.




Poetry by asshole
Read 574 times
Written on 2007-04-04 at 23:55

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I think this is a great poem, exploring many unknown areas asshole, I like it's roaming surreal feel and it's hopeful final stanza. the last two lines telling and just where the healing comes from, we have to learn a new way sometimes. Thanks for sharing, smiling at you, Tai

Language: 5
Format: 4
Overall: 5
Mood: 5
2007-04-05


normalil
Heck! What a poem. I can feel for you but find the text quite disturbing. Nature has a great power of healing.
2007-04-05