Prose composed out of disorderly thought
Nonsensical experiences ineffably taught
Words scribbled into unintelligible naught
Thoughts of fiction and truth violently collided
Aberrant ideas and torrid emotions intertwined
Pen travels warily across paper terribly misguided
Writings and stories inhale and exhale with repulse
Sweat dripping, mind racing, morals sinking
Concepts littered on tree skin manifested on impulse
Trashcans erupt with writings rejected
Creativity dissembled by negativity reflected
Self-sabotage leaves artistic endeavors dejected
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Sleepless nights
I awake drenched in hot sweat. My heart beats wildly inside my chest. I try to bring my racing thoughts to a pause, but my attempts to pacify my nighttime terrors prove futile.
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to reconnect to reality.
After sixty seconds or so, I regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up in the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that transformed my dreams into nightmares.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks as the reflections are laced with reminiscences of past violence that is cruelly scarred on my face.
I quickly look away from the mirror in which the wounded child within peers out to present day struggles through the eyes of a shaken man, a haunted man, a man without resolve; the man who is me.
Shaken but not stirred, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress harrowing childhood memories far below consciousness without much success. Alas, childhood agonies remain ravenously alive inside my mind's eye.
With eyes wide open, I don’t see any restive sleep obtained this night. As usual, my day begins...
I stumble to the bathroom and throw cold water on my face. I take a couple of deep breaths to reconnect to reality.
After sixty seconds or so, I regain a semblance of composure. I reach for a towel and dry off my face. I look up in the mirror and get a glimpse of the man that transformed my dreams into nightmares.
Tears well up and cascade down my cheeks as the reflections are laced with reminiscences of past violence that is cruelly scarred on my face.
I quickly look away from the mirror in which the wounded child within peers out to present day struggles through the eyes of a shaken man, a haunted man, a man without resolve; the man who is me.
Shaken but not stirred, I stammer back to bed. I try frantically to repress harrowing childhood memories far below consciousness without much success. Alas, childhood agonies remain ravenously alive inside my mind's eye.
With eyes wide open, I don’t see any restive sleep obtained this night. As usual, my day begins...
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Conscience silenced
Impoverished peoples baited by illicit temptations
Pauses in moral hesitation before engaging in transgression
Perplexity abounds in life changing contemplation
Heed to virtue or delve into vice
Right or wrong is void in changing status quo
A call to conscience fails to suffice
A nine to five brings blood to a boil
Criminal history leaves future job prospects foiled
Slaving for pennies, drudgery in broil
Money, power, and respect
Craving immediate ascension in netherworld success
Easily obtained through drugs, guns, and sex
Liquor stores, Cell phone stores, Gun stores
Languishing on the maligned corners that plague the poor
Vagabonds beg for change in hoards
Prostitutes sell their product at the door
Affront of the myriad check cashing stores
The poor have few means for social success
Advantages and opportunities are nothing but less
Tumultuous conscience compartmentalized
Actions, legal or illicit, rationalized
Big profits recycled and capitalized
Loss of love, life, and liberty comes at a price
No matter the means of fortune and prominence
roll the dice, pick your vice: jail, death, or financial dominance
To be continued...
Pauses in moral hesitation before engaging in transgression
Perplexity abounds in life changing contemplation
Heed to virtue or delve into vice
Right or wrong is void in changing status quo
A call to conscience fails to suffice
A nine to five brings blood to a boil
Criminal history leaves future job prospects foiled
Slaving for pennies, drudgery in broil
Money, power, and respect
Craving immediate ascension in netherworld success
Easily obtained through drugs, guns, and sex
Liquor stores, Cell phone stores, Gun stores
Languishing on the maligned corners that plague the poor
Vagabonds beg for change in hoards
Prostitutes sell their product at the door
Affront of the myriad check cashing stores
The poor have few means for social success
Advantages and opportunities are nothing but less
Tumultuous conscience compartmentalized
Actions, legal or illicit, rationalized
Big profits recycled and capitalized
Loss of love, life, and liberty comes at a price
No matter the means of fortune and prominence
roll the dice, pick your vice: jail, death, or financial dominance
To be continued...
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Frustrated...
Pen clutched tightly
Notebook in hand
Attempt to write knightly
Words betray my thoughts
Fingers twisted in knots
Can’t seem to write for naught
Desire verse compulsion
I’m lost in the confusion
Writings resemble vile repulsions
Hand cramps in hesitation
Ink leaks onto the pad
Paper stained with stagnation
Ideas recoil in fright
Derision from my peers in sight
Motivation runs dry and takes flight
Cap my pen
Close my note book
Tomorrow I will try to write again…
Notebook in hand
Attempt to write knightly
Words betray my thoughts
Fingers twisted in knots
Can’t seem to write for naught
Desire verse compulsion
I’m lost in the confusion
Writings resemble vile repulsions
Hand cramps in hesitation
Ink leaks onto the pad
Paper stained with stagnation
Ideas recoil in fright
Derision from my peers in sight
Motivation runs dry and takes flight
Cap my pen
Close my note book
Tomorrow I will try to write again…
Write... write... write
Do I write about education?
Do I write about the penitentiary?
Do I write about redemption?
Do I write about society’s newfound slavery?
Do I write about a morally decaying nation?
Do I write about personal futility?
Do I write about illusionary freedoms?
Do I write about the pen’s utility?
Do I write about talent lost to procratination?
Do I write about swinging pedulums and dichotomy?
Do I write about being second class?
Do I write about civil invisibility?
Do I write about what I know?
Do I write for an audience?
Do I write for a show?
Do I write for a fee?
Do I write to set myself free…
Do I write about the penitentiary?
Do I write about redemption?
Do I write about society’s newfound slavery?
Do I write about a morally decaying nation?
Do I write about personal futility?
Do I write about illusionary freedoms?
Do I write about the pen’s utility?
Do I write about talent lost to procratination?
Do I write about swinging pedulums and dichotomy?
Do I write about being second class?
Do I write about civil invisibility?
Do I write about what I know?
Do I write for an audience?
Do I write for a show?
Do I write for a fee?
Do I write to set myself free…
Monday, September 7, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
titleless
Inauthenticity breeds mindless conformity
Strict conventionality begets imbecility
Group-think is fraught with impropriety
Controled thinking is a injustice to humanity
Strict conventionality begets imbecility
Group-think is fraught with impropriety
Controled thinking is a injustice to humanity
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