Self Help?

Self help books are getting aggressive. Just saw one called “Unf**k Yourself”. That doesn’t even make sense. Is it a book for people who get told off a lot? The other one was called “Hardcore Self Help: F**k Anxiety”, which seems a bit intense for anyone with anxiety issues. Maybe I’ll write a self help book called “F**k You and Your P**sy As* Depression”.  It would save lives…. or result in a string of suicides. These things are coin toss.

Not the point.

Don’t “like” my writing if you’re just baiting for followers. If you actually read any of it, then go ahead. Either way, I’m not here to read blog posts or writing by others. Never really have, aside from a few exceptions. I don’t like to taint my creative process with outside influence. Some emulate others and call that inspiration, but I disagree. Not to say I’m unique, but nobody taught me to write poetry. It’s just something I started doing in the sixth grade for no real reason. I just like rhyme and rhythm.

One Way Commodity

Though I’m here in spirit, my body has decayed

Consumed by my indifference toward my squalid state

Every joint aches, pains so damned persistent

Been so long since I tried

I no longer know my limits

Time is finite

Relativity can attest

It only slips away

Yes, time is only spent

Unlike the serpent, Money

You can earn that back

But it isn’t worth your time

Nothing is, at that

Perhaps I’m coming into focus?

I’ve never felt so clear, though lacking any purpose

Sordid Flower

Body twisted and contorted

This sordid flower begins to wilt

Years of malnutrition, living only off stout will

Still, roots running deep

A funny thing for one so static

Forever held in place, it seems

No beam of light can penetrate

None venerate its’ beauty

None will look for it in Spring

The First

It took quite a while, getting to this point

The first page of my book

Its’ contents still unknown

I’ve considered poems, with thoughts in-between

Offers of insight, if any can be gleaned

It seems my memory is short

Each piece a time and place, destined to distort

More with the former’s passing

Eventually becoming twisted….

As if seen through coloured glass

Back for a Taste

Something keeps me coming back

I lack the will to quit

Paradoxical by nature

My thoughts always conflict

If I just walk away, can I reclaim this wasted time?

Failure calls back to me

“I am yours and you are mine”

Denial unbecoming

I put the pen to page

Back for a taste of failure

Again, again, again….

Lying In Darkness…. In Wait

I rise from forgotten places, somewhere in the dark

Body wasted, broken

Expression cold and stark

Bad omens mark my coming

Neither bird, nor beast, nor fellow man can hide their fearing of me

I’m all teeth and quiet malice

To run is a great fallacy

I thirst for the challenge

Just as I thirst for blood

No sudden movements, or life will come undone