An Unfinished Poem I Wrote In The Mental Hospital

I told myself if it ever came to this that I would bleed oceans

But my heart isn't pumping anything worth swimming in

Just a few gallons of leftover tar and some noxious fumes

Everything moves so slow now it's like love's organs

Frozen enough to make you want to sleep for decades

This is the holocaust for the insomniac

Who wonders the alleyways of their own brain

Trying to find a dead stray to use as a blanket or cushion

The people behind the padded walls seem so nice

Though I probably don't deserve what they're giving

My only justifiable possession is a trash can overflowing with doubt

That spills on me whenever I try to set it on fire

Possibly out of fear that I would burn the world to nothing

A personal apocalypse can happen more than once and often does

Which is what Murphy probably thought when he drafted his law

I Attempted Suicide And All I Got Were These Lousy Medications

I have exhausted the limbs of salvation
By doing absolutely nothing with everything
Grandfather clock coughs by the seconds
We shall harmonize, he and I
Burning cancer to choke out desperation
Freight train in my guts derailed from the smoke
I shit out steel and bones after every meal
And then cut myself on the remains
This world would be dead if I wasn't drained
But the western hemisphere is going numb anyway
None of it really matters at all
These pacifiers in an orange bottle I suckle
They only delay the digging of an honorable exit

A Little Bitter

I hope this bastard world eats itself and chokes on the crumbs
I hope love hangs itself from the cracks in the sky
I hope my part-time friends collide into a pile of bones
I hope politicians are eaten alive by the streets
I hope the orange people fall apart in the snow
I hope I fall asleep under the sheets of forever

The Art Of Self Degradation

I am a maggot reflected in diamonds
My flesh slowly eaten by rotted bodies
Products of me, the boy with a closet graveyard
Reeking of ghost skin and suicide sweat
Existence put into question by a winged youth
When I disappear in his sniper sights
Sometimes I wonder If I even have a heart
Maybe the butterflies ate it years ago
And I'm kept alive by the tunnel's dim light
That's burning out for my own sake
So I don't have to see the crawling apocalypse

Lost Touch

I cannot relate to my fellow man anymore
The soil they walk on has more in common with me
(Stagnancy molded by foot prints and afterthoughts)
They're too busy worshiping invisible sociopaths
Too caught up in the heroism of poverty genocide
I prefer the poetry of a crimson-stained wrist
Over the delicacy of a three course meal of pills
It will put this garbage heap deep into the ground
To actually be stepped on instead of just feeling that way

Suicide Notes For Dummies

Hey Fuckers,

You're probably surprised at this gruesome mess before you. Never would have crossed your mind that it would come to this, did it? Now that I got that last bit of sarcasm out of my system, hi! How are you? As you can see, I'm not doing too well. I'm dead! Why did I do it you're asking? Well, that's a funny story (but not really).

You see, I've always felt alone. Even surrounded by close friends. It must be how Justin Bieber feels when he's not around prepubescent twinks. Speaking of him/her, why is it that people like it have so much money when people with actual talent and good qualities clutch pennies like a hypochondriac trying to keep a cold? Seriously, I've spent most of my life being terrified of dying. Which makes this whole situation ironic...maybe. I was never clear on what true irony is.

You're probably getting bored reading this. I was pretty bored writing it. So, here is where I give away my possessions. Or else I would if I had anything worth giving away. Someone might want an Xbox 360 with barely working controllers, an 8 year old PC, and a few pennies. But deciding who would get what would take too much effort and fuck that. So you can all bicker and fight for them. Kind of like what you did when I was alive.

Well I feel as if I've said enough here. That and I can't think of anything else that's remotely interesting to say. It was nice knowing you (okay, I liked earlier when I said that was my last bit of sarcasm). Have a nice life. I hope it eats you alive like it did trying to gnaw through my fat ass.

Fuck you,
Bobby

P.S. Sorry about the messy corpse.
P.P.S. On second thought, no. I'm not.

A Personal Choice

If I were to give myself to the steel
You probably wouldn't notice at all
If you did, it would just be an afterthought
A stuck thorn you use to gain sympathy
Then promptly pull out when satisfied
My depression is like the vine it came from
It grows until it strangles the child watering it
Then hangs his body high where no one can see
Except for the dying angels and vultures

Misotheism

If you're religious, you shouldn't read this. I won't be held responsible for the anger this may cause

I fit into this world like Mercury rain drops
A petty thief in Guantanomo's bowels
Inhaling stress then exhaling awkwardness
Filter tossed to the ground, never decaying
Fear stays when everything else dies
I hold it next to my heart like a bible
When praying to a god I don't even like
Sadistic player of emotions and health
I'll make sure to flip Him off before I go to Hell
Where the flames will weld my wounds shut

Sick Of Chemistry

The veins are drab and empty now

Contents dissolved to the airwaves

The sunshine is my rainy season

But I find solace in this dry wall prison

Consulting with my aluminum friends

We try to find the best way to kill wisdom

Tie a warm noose around its foundation?

Or feed it substance to keep it silent?

Forget it, all of this fills me with a sick lust

I'll just give my body to the wind instead

Worst Poem Ever

Skin caked in Hell’s ceramic

And I do not give a damn

Impressions are for majorities

I’m a rusted needle in a landfill

An eclipse no one sees

Motivation is overrated

The crowd chants “Go!”

The mirror yells “Stop!”

The Only Reason He Hasn't Killed Himself Is He Can't Figure Out A Way To Do It With Pudding

Thought I was alone in this prescribed pill prison but asexual reproduction gave me the cliched horror child chained to my chest and he's blacker than the empty space that fills my veins from time to time.

Rainbows And Sunflowers

The healthy dog begs to be put down

Black and white world emphasizes bullets

Gunpowder sprinkled on an infinite rose garden

Divine conflagration spiraling up Eden's tree

It's a blemish that pops up every once in a while

The Art Of Beating A Dead Horse

Strewn about a rusted bucket
The grinder's teeth are a distant memory
Fading from life.
I'm so used to cinder blocks
And atomic bombs strapped to my back
That the ocean floor is now my lover.
My deep blue everything.
She injects disease into my skin
When suicide notes get too boring.
Another night snorting ashes of dead poets
Has diluted my blood to the point of enigma.
They'll never identify me among the waste
This gutted city screams with every gust
They carry the torment to daycare centers
And animal shelters for the sick
The mind is a labyrinth of numbers
I find myself counting cliffs like black sheep
Under the overpass and over the fence
Childhood wonders as if it's normal
I've satisfied the bloodthirsty onlookers
Now staring at my reflection in the sun

Bless Me, Yesenin!

Forget sunshine
Fabrication of Helios
Stalker's orange eye
Hidden when sought
The false cure

Dandelions bleed
Black ice drip
To grass undeterred
And a lovely oak
Dressed in winter
Sings “Boys Of Summer”
Outside my window

Damn the girls
Speaking in poetry
Sonnet love notes
Iambic break up letters
Thought I find the one
Twenty five times wrong

Damn this place
Dried shell off orbit
Ground to brimstone gives way
Weightless depression reigns
Pushing down the sky

Wave goodbye to Russia
I, who crumble
As ancient castles seized
World's last speck of warmth
Constructed to subpar knots

Watch me swing
Left
Right

Then stop

NO METAPHOR

The Boy took a quick gander at his naked room. White walls, beige carpet, and a solitary window accompanied only by a mirror, a wooden chair, and a dangling rope where the light bulb should be. His brown eyes looked over the slightly overweight and scarred body draped in a dirty metal t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans painted dirt brown. Outside The Boy's window the world is alive, something he could never relate to. Sounds of car horns and playing children led him to stand atop the chair. As the rope tightened around his neck he thought about money, women, time, and where all those things went (if he ever had them in the first place.) A chubby leg knocked the chair into the pearl wall with a loud crack. Remnants of two wasted decades poured through his cigarette stained teeth and faded away into nothing. He dangled there for weeks. The Boy finally lived!

The Brittle Dandelion's Last Vision Before Getting Trampled Underfoot

Fuck you all! I'm taking my cannonball and going to the deep end. You'll never stop me. The crows encircle a new moon and pieces of me are in each of their stomachs. Reality cracks to reveal two entities laughed out of Heaven, scarred and burned with stunted thoughts. Lord have mercy on the corner man playing marbles with his own bone marrow and the child who embraces nihilism. The bottle is pointless. The heart is pointless. The cross is pointless. Mr. Denton has broken his glasses on the front line of a personal apocalypse. I can't read the words on these walls with my cerebellum hogging the spotlight. Persistence is futile.

Euthanize!

Exhausted all resources
Now a wasteland of flesh
The mind is a chronic illness
Vomit stains on self-image
A cancer growth on sanity
And me, the walking infection
Trying cures of razors and pills
Daily therapy with a noose
Like trying to kill God
Suicide is not a physical thing
It always happens within
Long before the deed takes place
I've been dead for a decade now

Cigarettes and Anti-Depressants.

Summer, an exclamation point at the end of a sentence too long and written with immaterial words. Two decades of seconds drenched in midnight. Plastic reassurances are purged from black holes and splattered on extant murals of a fallen god. He's languid from cigarettes and anti-depressants designed to mold the mind into congruency. Eyes drip dust to a floor of ash and wrists seep rivers down canyons of flesh. A curtain is pulled over his coffin; the audience applauds. A life played in front of a insensate crowd, doomed to end in trepidation.

M/S

In a quick glance, we seem perectly fine
But cancer grips her spirit and regret grips mine

Chemicals cause her to purge it all to the ground
I can't help but cringe anticipating that sound

It's all left her with nothing but flesh covering bone
Her spirit is gone, and everything else she has known

Like the sun struggling to break through winter's cold
I can do nothing but watch her crumble and grow old

So many nights we sat, contemplating existence
So many obstacles blocking the light in the distance

There are only a few ways to take away this type of pain
But you can't accomplish any of them without leaving a stain

Tonight I'll take away all these negative things we feel
Lay it all to rest forever with two chunks of steel

Don't Bother

I gave Existence my entire life and dedication. All I got in return was a rusted bucket filled to the brim with dirty syringes. There's a girl in a black mask slowly creeping to my doorstep. I wish she'd hurry up and knock already.