My youth
My hopes
My dreams
Wash away
Like blood running
Into the gutter
From the gaping gash
In the throat of the murderer's victim
His voice and mine
Both forever silent now.
All the cheesiest poetry in the Blogosphere, all the time! Guarded vigilantly by Edgar Allan Poe's own pet raven, Nevermore.
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Dark Poetry
Before you tell me to call the Suicide Line or "get on meds," keep in mind:
1) I acknowledge that I have bipolar disorder. The meds thing is between my M.D. and me.
2) Almost all of the poetry I write is dark. The other stuff that I write is humor, unless it's shit. I can't write happy poetry any more than I can write good romance novels.
That being said, if this is the kind of thing you like to read, enjoy. If not, find something else to read. You might enjoy the Happy Tree Friends.
1) I acknowledge that I have bipolar disorder. The meds thing is between my M.D. and me.
2) Almost all of the poetry I write is dark. The other stuff that I write is humor, unless it's shit. I can't write happy poetry any more than I can write good romance novels.
That being said, if this is the kind of thing you like to read, enjoy. If not, find something else to read. You might enjoy the Happy Tree Friends.
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Lost Beneath the Surface
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Horror Fiction Meets Metaphysical Truth.
50% of the proceeds are donated to the World Health Organization's mental health division.
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Life's like wine, gets better with age. Or is that bitter?
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