The WitchI am the witch all covered in foil
Schizophrenic, bulimic, and generally insane
I watch as lovers parade around
On T.V. and on the streets
Leaning and loving and supporting one another
And rubbing it in my face
I am the witch casting spells on whoever will listen
I am old news and drunk again
Spitting up the same lies and fairytales I did last night
Everything is a lie, a spell I tried to make true
I am the witch again
Being touched and told it’s okay
Because I am not really here
I am told not to worry
I am told not to fret
I am told I’m not worth the real effort of rape
So what happens to me it just doesn’t countThe nightmares aren’t real
The flashbacks don’t exist
And the hallucinations
Well they’re just pretend
All because when it comes down to it I am nothing more than a witch
And I do my fair share of sinning
Boil boil boil
Fuck you I’m creating toil and trouble
Don’t hurt me I’m a witch!
But I’ll do what you want if I’m drunk
Because it doesn’t count
Because I don’t matter.
We should work together. Shoot me a message today!
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While I do not feel that poems are my strong suit, I do really enjoy writing them and I believe in versatility.
Writing is unlimited so writers should never confine themselves to a strict box of expertise. You could even say that it would be contrary to our nature to do so.
CachedScatterbrained and forgetful
Forged from the stuffing in the sofa
Stapled to the TV and couch
My thoughts are forgotten
Cut with coke
And left to frantically pour out of me
On silent lips
Distracted and wasted
They will never be heard
They’re like a blank CD you forgot to put music on
Scored by my upset stomach
And accompanied by the chatter of drums that comes from my teeth
The door stays locked
Double locked
Unable to cope with the world beyond
And the fridge is left to rot
My world is not untamed
But a domesticated housecat
Left to fend for itself
Eating the packet of fruit snacks that were left under the passenger seat
Even though they had been there for a month
Wasting away in the hot summer sun
It’s a song that’s been sung so many times before
The lyrics haven’t changed
It tastes hot and rubbery
Just like the fruit snacks
So what’s the point of singing it?
Just so you can hear something other than your own thoughts
Poetry
Releasing the song inside
Poetry
Rebel of the upper middle class
Sometimes life is just too easy
But you were spiking your Evian
And speeding from your metropolitan 9-5
Through your rush hour commute
You roll down the windows of your fuel efficient hatchback
And it messes up your recently highlighted hair.
Which you push casually away from your zebra print Raybans
Adding in soulful notes that aren't in the song
On the obscure Sirus xm alt nation
You're the daredevil rebel of the upper middle class
Too poor for an affair
Too rich for a midlife crisis
But there is something dangerously alluring
About the mingled scents of cigarettes and cologne
As though sex and cancer could erase your regrets
Dragonhead
Your snout is box with claws
Your nose has horns for whiskers
Your head is all filled up with sand
And you have a toucan
Sitting on a coyote
Sitting on a horseshoe
Sitting on you head.
You have antler tusks buried back on your skull
Like the ears of a frightened pup
Dragonhead you put on your mask of a man
And you go to war
Painting your face
And slicking back your hair.