Fernando, I do sincerely extol thee.
You were as much passionate in symphony
as you were in death,

Galleon clouds,
Driven by winds
From strange horizons,
Sail towards a band of fire.

The sun

A soft blanket of blue rolls onto the shore
Capturing all it meets in a chilly tickled hug
Carving

There are a thousand stars embroidered into her sweater
Buttercups blooming from her

Waters spreading across valleys
From the Swale to the Danube
Bring out leaves, green in

And this time when I wake up from bed
I'm not going to afraid I swear myself
Then I go to the

It's olryt if this phase is not well and good,
Pass that out with your darlings,
Not every get the

By the dark trees
Watch-towers stand,
Guarding the forest,
Preventing escapes.

One seems

There you are,
I can barely see you
Lost in the fog
On the other side of the platform.

How did

I wish I could fly,
My heart is on Earth but on another side.
I wish there was no cloud in the

What are you looking for at the immense ocean?
An infinite love, shoulders that are hug and

I need sustainability in prose,
alcohol is certainly an answer
although not a good one.

I am tired,
lonely
sad
useless
work sets me free
yet Nazis took that

Yet brutal honesty remains:
I have no idea if this kid
and [OMITTED] are [OMITTED].
To wish for

A universal feeling is dangerous
because then people start to
be similar.
No conflict, no

Sober is too feel.
Turning to drink
for sentiment.
Oh. I guess it's time
for suicide.

I will be known as the poet of
self doubt.
Early to rise and late to bed
cranky, demanding, and

Why am I obsessed with [decitin]
Live for some years
die for the rest of them
Yet, bitches want

His name stood for
what he stood for.
Bravery, to face himself.
Surely his work will stand
in

A triumphant man lays dying.
Coffee breath
Frowning face.
Never got it off
on that
workaholic

At this point we have invented
a new type of writing:

Drunk writing, where you
FORCE yourself

Someone's going to read this
and get worried.

DO NOT FRET!

For Ethan [OMITTED] is too
much a

A flip of a coin
is more[lity] of a wine
Heads to pull the trigger
while tails to go to the rope.

Everyone that has reached
out to me hasa been
hurt.
That is not fair, I love you,

come back

Look I dated a girl, but
overly dramatic Ethan is stupid.
The girl hates me rightfully
so. I hate

Yet one girl keeps coming
to mind. This girl speaks of
trouble and bad times. I am
drunk yet I

A letter to all those that I have
met:

I am sorry.
Ethan is flawed. Greatly in fact.

He is

HAH! believe that, people
listening to me.

Yet God gave me an
unquenchable thirst for

I was never born into tragedy
yet God set out to
even the till.

So here I am,
Sorry, alone,

If I can only be true to
myself while drunk
why bother living?
This is not some cosmic
insight

Purging myself of broken
sentiment sure is a noble goal.
I have enough to feed
the starving

Round me up and
shoot me.
I volunteer myself
for the world needs less
of me.

I have wronged somebody.
A foul blow, cheap shot,
unfair hit, fucked it up
the worst is:

I

For a man as sad as me,
I need to be honest and
look in the mirror.
Sometimes this is the

What other poetry will you
compare this to?

If Leonard's is free
and Blake's is fluid,
then

Unfit to write well.
Unable to feel.
Unable to be happy.

The only shred of competence

The elephant in the room
comes from the empty bottles
in the fridge.
The ringing of

But I feel too much
And I hurt people.
God! I am so sorry.

Of course I never wanted to be a

Impossible to feel,
without burning yourself.
Consequently, we
are alone
or ash.

I chose to

Not poet but human.
I write like all writers to
feel.
like others
I have been sad.
So what you

I am not a poet,
but a human.

Words are not my strong suit.
Nothing is.

But I feel too

Sometimes I say
I have a good memory.
Truth is, only the stuff that matters.
Right now
it is a

I am a fuck who is never
happy
I hang on to a thread of
hope offered by the forcefully
kind

Those who refuse to be
creative and stare down the
void in their soul,
left by malaise
is an

[OMITTED]

Fuck now I'm a creep
the problem:

I DO NOT like you.
Merely, I can't ever beat

My problem is I'm not a poet
I'm an explorer
chasing a void.

An abyss of sorts
to find my real

Sure, I can,
Pander to the crowd and
Why, yes,
I will submit to the proud.

In fact,
I’ll just

Half of me is angry.
Half of me is depressed.
Either way,
I don't see the need to bother me.