Futility

3 Comments

Tags:
  • Life

    Futility

    Introverted in my chair

    As the mystery unravels

    Skizo beings in my hair

    Retarded mental travels

    Universes collide

    And my tea is getting cold

    Electrocuted kite

    Revolutionizing is getting old

    “I create my own destiny”

    I lecture a doomsday comet

    A sunken market isn’t free

    Beluga caviar vomit

    I spit some evil words

    You selectively never listen

    Machines mend our hurts

    I pace in my perfect prison

    I pray to some abstraction

    Bracing for a storm

    Suicidal initial reactions

    Fucked being the norm

    More than I can bear

    My kingdom for a fix

    Something foul in the air

    Synchronized swimming down the Styx

    And nothing was the plan

    And silence was the way

    Breeze from a shit smudged fan

    Victory in a stack of Lovecraftian hay

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    winterkou commented on Futility

    09-09-2010

    Another good yet interesting write. you seem to have a way with words this strange twist which seems to fit the category you are speaking of
    Reply to Comment

    PoetsofBlood commented on Futility

    09-09-2010

    You are amazing, this is really good, ok, but we are going turn you upside down, to see if there are any horror/darker poetry in them pockets, and shaing you to see if they fall out, :) Good write...
    Reply to Comment

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    stigbohnolsen’s Poems (49)

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