horny poetry

i have absolutely no excuse for this jesus christ i am a mess of a human being honestly this is exactly what it sounds like shut up

i'm just a virus, you're a disease.

siblings (meagre sympathy)

you think you're angry,
but i know you're sad
and you're scared that it's gonna show through.

and if you choose to hate me,
it isn't so bad,
'cause you can't hate me more than i do.

you'll never believe me, it's part of the plan -
your heart is a child with the fists of a man
and you'll fight back forgiveness while i sit and shake,
born of all the same blood, plus a tired old ache.

we're afraid of the same damn thing.

but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.

i think i'm stable,
but you know i'm lit
like a matchstick approaching the fuse.

but i'm well and i'm able,
i'm finally fit
to take all of your hard-earned abuse.

you'll never believe me, it's how this all goes -
one burns into nothing, the other just knows
and you'll choose every blindness while i can't look away,
dragged through all the same mud, but with sorries to say.

we're afraid of the same damn thing.

but i'm tired of the fighting,
you're tired of the peace,
so you're hunting revenge
while i'm hunting release.
so i'll say it to kill ya,
and you'll challenge my bluff -
maybe mum never loved us enough.

maybe mum never loved us enough.

people shouldn't drain you:

finally getting it right.

je suis charlie

"oh my god," i say in vain,
while others whisper it in prayer,
reacting to such senseless pain
unleashed on those no longer there.

and still, these names, they roll with ease
off tongues of those who'd do them ill;
of those who'd rise from on their knees
and, citing god, who'd stand and kill.

i do not know what i believe -
no book or hymn's been written yet
to paint a god i might perceive
as worth the wasted life we get.

and those who injure, wound and maim
have critically misunderstood
the use of a religious name
more powerfully used for good.

i wonder what our world might find,
with "god" and "good" one round apart,
with rage and rampage purged from mind,
with hatred healed from every heart.

an old poem i just found:

when i wake up, there is a sound like a just-lit match;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.
i am surrounded by the whirring and whistling
of being alive in spite of myself.
i am tangled in a lifeline i never asked to be thrown -
send me your anchors.
i'm ignoring your flares, their flames unwanted
as i search for the sound of a just-lit match -
this life is an ocean;
big enough to swim in, but not enough to drown.

small

feeling like an insecure child.

hitchens

the tricky part is this:
nobody cares if you're right while you're alive,
you have to die for that to matter.

but everyone cares if you're wrong while you're alive.

and i thank god that once you die,
nobody will ever have any reason to even speak your name
because we'll all finally be done trying to tell you
how fucking wrong you are.

(like talking to a pompous, unduly self-righteous, ignorant brick wall.)

how strange a thought:
i am so glad that i'm younger than you
so that i will exist in the world on the day that you die
and bear witness to your instantaneous irrelevance.

ah, the luxury
of watching people cease to be.