Tag Archives: poetry
I called him “Bukowski”, because he wrote with the same disdain as the poet, and succumbed to all the same vices. He loved to drink, He loved to smoke, and he loved women, one in particular, me. He wrote often. … Continue reading
I should probably put the pen down, because I might make a mess, but there’s a few things here, I want to confess. I just dyed my hair, because I thought I saw a random grey, I bought new jeans … Continue reading
And it’s Friday night, And i’m driving around, And “that song” came on, And suddenly it’s 2004 again, And he was going to be a rock star, And he played bass until his fingers bled, And his band became family, … Continue reading
You fell asleep, and I could feel the poem forming in my brain, the words trying to find their place, but I didn’t grab my notebook, I didn’t want to wake you, so I tried to stay awake, because I … Continue reading
He crawls upon me, like a hungry savage, searching for a soul to feed on. Our vocals are repressed, by voices of enticement, as we clutch the sheets, that cradle our bodies, as we move further and further, away from … Continue reading
Blinded by Bukowski, temporarily, instead of pen, i’ll write in pencil, to ensure my words are me.