why can't you
 

please

become yourself, your waterworks and watery grave
sleep when you die and resurrect when awake
recollecting shamefulness in hopes of a change
we lost our drive forward on the ride. so we stayed
open road, my comatose a sign of your mind
zeitgeist, ghosts of your scent. ropes in a bind.
open unwind, growth and design, i'm going in blind
coming out in pieces on linoleum tiles
spill my soul for a while. wineglass opal and diamond
my social assignment - write my poetry private
not a soul knows what i pursue in the silence
shoot me in the head and let me rest for a while.
crave you drip my mainline raindrop puddle you splash
skyline opalescent mocha coffee to crash
caffeine, maxine. cocaine break me in 5
thriving, simultaneously staying alive
throw a carpet down, now someone say we arrived
make me an offer, make me a legend, taking a dive

goodbye

Cant believe yall sleepin on ncs finest. Ups for feed.

This shit is dope as fuck black

i can hardly remember posting this

but thanks geno

Too sick man.

Were always my favorite writer on this site. Soo surreal, amazing vocab wording and imagery waa magic.

reads unfinished. still good, but, just seemed like... it was shortened on purpose. crave my mainline raindrop was confusing but intriguing line. liked he way it transitioned. mocha to splash, everything before that was almost too acute for the aforementioned. exquisite taste...

linoleum tiles was bonkers. i would've spilled my soul on there, instead of the stanza after... but that's fine.

shoot me in the head was very direct. no beating around the bush or anything. make me a legend. was dope. i connected it to the where, artists becomes figures only after their death or their eventual collapse. amy winehouse comes to mind. cool piece!

Uhmmmm let's break this down. Well, let's try to at least.

*scratches head*

How do I interpret this? Let's see. Better yet, let's wing it. So basically what you're saying is to become your passion. Your true self and interest. The things that give you purpose. The things you love to do so much you get emotional over. Maybe even shed tears enough to drown in over. Or something like that. I guess.

So this is like enlightenment. True consciousness and awareness. Kundalini rising and/or rebirth. Rebirth of the person you were always meant to be. To know thyself.

So complacentness. Contempt. Comfortability. Apathy. Love lost and fatigue. Thus, are the obstacles of life and henderance of greatness. The exsistinal hurdles we face along our journey's road.

So reminiscent of a tile floor your life's path is broken into my different roads and parts. Each square representing the zeitgeist of the moment. I suppose.

Damn, bro. You sound like Dracula sipping from a chalice of blood.

And as a reader/writer I now feel connected to your words and frame of mind. Like Bluetooth pairing sychronized.

Without condoning your emo suicide outcry. I must say, in a figurative way, I currently feel exactly the same as you did here.

It would be gratifying to one day see this muse - this ghost of a faded dream that forever lingers in your memory - you so often seem to write about in loving, heartaching, obsessive and poetically enthralling ways.

"Maxine"? As in the coffee loving granny from the comic strip?

In any case. I think with these lines you encapsulated a man on the edge. Stuck in between the mundane and the extreme. A real Hunter S. Thompson-esque type of guy.

This transports me to the 1970s. To the Disco days. The hight of the coke area. Which ties in perfectly with the lines that proceeded it. As well as the underlying theme of your archetypical stickman.

This read like the quentiessential tragedy of the most eternal of Rock&Roll icons.

Confusing. But fascinating piece, per usual. I enjoyed it, dead. Peace.