Thursday, January 17, 2008

On a dead body....literally.

Coagulated love

I am so very alone here tonight.
Must suppress any unnatural urge.
My morbid curiosity, a blight.
Tired of work, my guilt begins to purge.

Finished my work with anticipation.
In the freezer lies my object of pain,
and yet it brings me such adoration.
A trip to hell on a one way train.

My morals go right out the window.
I deserve this minute fidelity.
Cold to the touch...I reap what I sow.
This for certain is a delicacy,
And what's best is she can't even say no.

Her silky clumped hair and twisted smile.
Brings me an endless joy from the unlife.
I feel like i've brought this girl down the aisle.
Her tenderness reminds me of my wife.

My pleasure finally comes to an end.
Object 3201, a real pleaser.
A real live woman could never contend.
She's a little warm, back into the freezer.

At my awful house where I am alone,
anger seething.
My wife is asleep, an unworthy clone,
just a teasing.
In our garden I grab a heavy stone,
my heart's grieving.
You see my wife, I do not life her tone,
She's still breathing.

-Your Buddy

winter poem

Scriblings at 4:47

The bed's cold
The bed is always cold.
The bed has always been cold for an eternity.

Winter is cold
Winter is alway's cold
No matter what year, there's always winter.
The bed's cold,
the heating blanket isn't enough

life's cold.
life is unusually cold.
a liquid nitrogen of cold.
Ready to shatter into a million snowflakes.
Snowflakes are underestimated.
the bed's cold.
The are nothing one at a time,
but together they kill.
One snowflake can turn into an avalanche.

The bed's cold, life's cold.
The poor bums outside, fighting snowflakes
one at a time.
Both their life and bed's cold.
The cement is frigid.
Hopelessness is futile, it won't get you warm.
Only liquid fire to fight with,
and unlit cigars, no lights. Just a drop of liquid fire.

One snowflake into an avalanche,
life's cold,
bed's cold,
life's frigid.
Learn to hibernate through winters, or starve.
When things are summery.
Star collecting acorns....
Pessimism is best, your always prepared of winter.

The bed's cold.
The bed was cold, now it's emotionally chilly.
The winter has just started.
It will indulge it's hungry appetite for bum children and emotionally chillybeds.
an ongoing monster

The winter eats you. The winter inside feed's itself.
Late nights and cold beds shouldn't mix,....oil and water.
However hopelessly cold beds make good poetry.
Cold beds make frigid poetry, a winter of words,
and blankets aren't enough.

-Your Buddy

Writing style inspired by the j beck. Subject matter inspired by Thoma's Blake

To Winter
By Thomas Blake

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors:
The north is thine; there hast thou built they
Deep-founded Habitation. Shake not thy roofs,
Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.
He hears me not, but o'er the yawning deep
Rides heave; his storms are unchain'd, sheathed
In ribbed steel; I dare not lift mine eyes,
For he hath rear'd his sceptre o'er the world.

Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings
To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning
He withers all in silence, and his hand
Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail lie.

Thursday, January 10, 2008


Your mouth runs of
gossip and ignorance.
Don't you realize
you've changed?
Do you want a treat
for creating deceit in
our friendship that's sweet?
Feel the heat, you make me
so mad and I can't keep my seat
I just gotta beat, beat something
or tweet, squeeze something so tight
until the breath dies and I've saved
the world from lies, lies you comprise.
Yeh, go ahead, roll your eyes,
but you know deep inside that it's

Me to a "friend"

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Sun dried Kisses

I crush these oranges
upon transparent paper
with rose petals marinated
in perfumed water...
I leave it out to dry.

I love the ability to take
something and make it stay

You kiss my lips and I
leave them to dry.
Sun dried kisses

Monday, January 7, 2008


The ticking of my clock is the only noise I hear.
Is this all there is to my life?
Deceptions, confessions, corrections...
Now I hear pitters.. patters, patterns swirling
through like they always do. Momentum of
the heart still churning, yearning for some kind
actions by a human soul to shed some feelings to fill
the hole, a hole not deep but needs some completion.
It comes back to this, it always does. You care
or you don't, but don't lie to the face that's always
been honest to you. Don't lie, don't feed it bullshit
like you do with the rest of the world. Be true, it's you.
Come on, now do. Don't think it through.
Pick up your life and find anew. You always knew
you'd find a view.
You care or you don't, but don't lie to you.

to me...from me

Sunday, January 6, 2008


Oh, the missing and
the kissing and
the beautiful reminiscing
of reunited lovers!

And everyone is happy, but
I must say I feel crappy and
the moment of the bliss
makes me PISS.

from me to a guy.... yes, I'm venting... what better way to do it, than through poetry?

Paper Clip

Our relationship
Is like a paper clip
bending back and forth
until it gets agitated
and hot and I have to

To a guy from me...