The mercy bulletI envy horses: if they break a leg and feel humiliated because they can no longer charge back and forth in the wind, they are cured by a mercy bullet. So if something in me gets broken, physically or spiritually, I would do well to look for a proficient killer, even if he is one of my enemies. I will pay him a fee and the price of the bullet, kiss his hand and his revolver, and if I am able to write, extol him in a poem of rare beauty, for which he can choose the metre and rhyme.

What is this thing you call substance abuse? All I wanna do is forget and get loose.Drinking and smoking over and overWhat's so great about a life that's sober?There's nothing cool about being youngWhen the monsters of night have stolen the sun.I'm tired of searching for words in the sky.All I wanna do is drink and die. Nothing is real. It's all a big lie. All I wanna do is drink and die. There's nothing cool about being youngWhen the monsters of night have stolen the sun.

Your printers have made but one blunder,Correct it instanter, and then for the thunder!We'll see in a jiffy if this Mr S[pencer]Has the ghost of a claim to be thought a good fencer.To my vision his merits have still seemed to dwindle,Since I have found him allied with the great Dr T[yndall]While I have, for my part, grown cockier and cockier,Since I found an ally in yourself, Mr L[ockyer]And am always, in consequence, thoroughly willin',To perform in the pages of Nature's M[acmillan].

Darkness I find myself set upon a ship of fools and cast adrift.Adrift in sea of madness, steaming towards a storm of uncertainty. Overboard, swirling, twirling tumbling.Engulfed in madness. Shipwrecked, marooned. Washed upon a rock of hope. Darkness surrounds. Within the darkness madness laps upon a distant shore. Morning breaks and sun rises once more.Darkness retreats into the shadows. Golden rays of light cleanse the mind and soul. A new day dawns heralding sanity, and hopefor the human race once more.

There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said. So much has happened; so little has changed. We have so many words prepared; so many words are too hard to actually say. A few days have passed; this pain has been here for years. We don't know where to go from here; our future has always been in our minds. Moments of peace with those who constantly argue; fights with those that usually bring peace. There are so many things to say; so many things that can't really be said.

The DonkeyWhen fishes flew and forests walked And figs grew upon thorn,Some moment when the moon was blood Then surely I was born.With monstrous head and sickening cry And ears like errant wings,The devil's walking parody On all four-footed things.The tattered outlaw of the earth, Of ancient crooked will;Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb, I keep my secret still.Fools! For I also had my hour; One far fierce hour and sweet:There was a shout about my ears, And palms before my feet.

A Book I Can Put DownI’m halfway throughand I’ve gotten usedto the way it wantsto be read. This writerwants to spoon it up,wants to watch meswallow it. This writermakes a point of gooddeeds, clean living,god and country,when what I wantis sin and shame,the rusty metal edgeof cruelty, varietiesof pain, his motherstill crying years later,just like mine. I wanta writer who’s given upon the moral of the story,one who’ll hand mea knife and sit backto see what I do with it.(Published in Anderbo)

Caleb dumped me on my birthday,Before I’d ordered an entrée,“What a dick!” some might say!But don’t you worry my little sheep,I am not sad and will not weep,For Caleb Jones is a cheat!He two-timed me with some ho,Whose name is Kacey ‘Slut’ Munroe!But I don’t care about my foe,For I have found a brand new guy,My Blue Eyed, Mr Berry Pie!And I know, he won’t make me cry,For I did fall under his spell,To him, I am his gorgeous Belle,So Caleb Jones can go to Hell!

I have a fairy by my side Which says I must not sleep, When once in pain I loudly cried It said "You must not weep" If, full of mirth, I smile and grin, It says "You must not laugh" When once I wished to drink some gin It said "You must not quaff". When once a meal I wished to taste It said "You must not bite" When to the wars I went in haste It said "You must not fight". "What may I do?" at length I cried, Tired of the painful task. The fairy quietly replied, And said "You must not ask". Moral: "You mustn't.

The Garden En robe de parade. - SamainLike a skein of loose silk blown against a wallShe walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,And she is dying piece-mealof a sort of emotional anaemia.And round about there is a rabbleOf the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.They shall inherit the earth.In her is the end of breeding.Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.She would like some one to speak to her,And is almost afraid that I will commit that indiscretion.

As a perfume doth remain In the folds where it hath lain, So the thought of you, remaining Deeply folded in my brain, Will not leave me; all things leave me -You remain. Other thoughts may come and go, Other moments I may know That shall waft me, in their going, As a breath blown to and fro, Fragrant memories; fragrant memories Come and go. Only thoughts of you remain In my heart where they have lain, Perfumed thoughts of you, remaining, A hid sweetness, in my brain. Others leave me; all things leave me -You remain.

My love, I have tried with all my beingto grasp a form comparable to thine own,but nothing seems worthy;I know now why Shakespeare could notcompare his love to a summer’s day.It would be a crime to denounce the beautyof such a creature as thee,to simply cast away the precisionGod had placed in forging you.Each facet of your beingwhether it physical or spiritualis an ensnarementfrom which there is no release.But I do not wish release.I wish to stay entrapped forever.With you for all eternity.Our hearts, always as one.

I put my faith in something unknown, beyond the moon, sun, and stars, one day I will own. I put my faith in something, renew. Beyond the rivers, deserts, mountains and valleys.One day it shall become new. I cannot renounce the struggle But yes, it’s what this destiny holds The pain is worst. My heart is whole and will not burst.I live on sweet nothing.I am tired of hope, when this dream is not in the scope. I told the pope, he told me to hold on to life and use the rope.I put my faith in you, this is too good to be true.

The dead do not needaspirin orsorrow,I suppose.but they might needrain.not shoesbut a place towalk.not cigarettes,they tell us,but a place to burn.or we're told:space and a place to flymight be thesame.the dead don't need me.nor do theliving.but the dead might needeachother.in fact, the dead might needeverything weneedandwe need so muchif we only knewwhat itwas.it isprobablyeverythingand we will allprobably dietrying to getitor diebecause wedon't getit.I hopeyou will understandwhen I am deadI got as muchaspossible.

His brow is seamed with line and scar;His cheek is red and dark as wine;The fires as of a Northern starBeneath his cap of sable shine.His right hand, bared of leathern glove,Hangs open like an iron gin,You stoop to see his pulses move,To hear the blood sweep out and in.He looks some king, so solitaryIn earnest thought he seems to stand,As if across a lonely seaHe gazed impatient of the land.Out of the noisy centuriesThe foolish and the fearful fade;Yet burn unquenched these warrior eyes,Time hath not dimmed, nor death dismayed.