Liquid People

I’m not solid, not in the mind, in thought, or in conscience.
Only bodily am I whole, real, hard and given flesh.
But my soul knows no shape or  reality
it feels the intangible sting of depression, and the acerbic bite of lost love.

My soul, my essence, is made from a copious amount of liquefied ether.
The stuff that fills the universe, unseen, untouched, unharnessed.  
And I fill this vessel, my body, sloshing, spilling, and overflowing.

But, this body cannot contain my emotions—what I truly am.

This body cannot contain me.

Inside I am drowning in that soul stuff, drawn down to depths so cold.
Outside I am smiling, watching and dying, watching and simply growing old.

We’re all just liquid people, fluid as we need be.
We’re all just contorting to this aspect or that form on queue,
heedless and reckless.

We’re all just liquid people, man.

Our bodies are asphalt,

our insides are an ocean,

our souls are forever,

our minds infinite. 

I wish I were concrete, sturdy and strong. 
But really I’m just soul stuff surrounded by bone.  

I don’t know how to finish this, so I’m just gonna post it. It’s been sitting in my drafts for about a week or two.

Junkie Itch

I’ve got that junkie itch, a methamphetamine twitch, a pronounced cocaine-induced glitch. I’ve got that junkie itch, glossy-eyed and shivering in a ditch, freezing with a cold that no blanket can lift.

I’ve got this junkie wheeze, dope and smack making me seize.

In this dark room a crack pipe is the only light, glowing dimly, burning oddly, brightly it brings on the frights; shaking and quaking I’m muttering I’ll never make it through the night, but prayers and curses leave me as that stuff starts to make me feel alright.

I’ve got that junkie stitch, carrying it on my back like a cross-bearer with a hitch.

I’ve got that junk in my system and its causing bedlam, got that gunk from some hoodlums now I’ve fallen headlong.

I’ve got that blow in my soul, that dust in my veins, I’ve got that Crystal on my lips and its driving me insane. There’s powder in my eye and blood on my nose, I’m in another alley losing my religion for a hit of angel.

I know this junkie witch who died last week, her skin was blue and she had no teeth. She was part of this junkie clique, eight of us huddled together trying to get a single fix.

I live in a junkie home, a cardboard box packed with foam, got this junkie job earning cash any way I can from some old slob. I’m a man married to that junk, toting it on my back like a hope chest junkie trunk.

 I made a junkie error, overdosed my addiction and got filled with terror. But that junk makes me feel alive hides me in a haze and stops the tears from falling out of my eyes.

I got this junkie sorrow, snorting away my fears till tomorrow. I got that junkie security, never worried about anything, never in hurry.

This junk can stop time, this junk can stop time.

I’ve got that junkie itch but you see it’s a hard thing to scratch.    

The Conjecture of Infants

Youth is rebellion and youth is revolt, youths are hellions and youths are dolts.

Youth is uncouth and youth is contrasting, youth is aloof and youth is slow lasting.

Youth is opposition and youth is strength, overpower your unequal and leave your enemy spent.

Youth is power and youth is love, sweat paid for by the hour and pleasure fleeting; unloved.

Youth is Rock-n-Roll, youth is bad for the soul, youth is on fire and youth takes its toll.

Youth is beauty. Youth is defeat.

Youth means mistakes. Youth makes us unique.

Youth is sin. Youth is Paradise; tantalizing and pure, timid, a fallacy device.

Youth is anger that boils inside, youth is hoping against hope that you will never die.

Youth is tingling fear that’s hard to hide, slowly eroding and terrible to bide.

Youth is awesome, youth is pain, youth is flawless, and youth is insane.

Youth causes anarchy to the fullest, and kills adult reign with insurgency bullets.

Youth is hardcore, youth is demure, its a wealth without any sort of measure.

Youth means raw emotion; uncultivated and untamed, youth means having to deal with the inane.

Youth is misunderstood, youth is misery, youth is paid for in blood, and youth never sees clearly.

Youth is fire, the desire to strive; youth is unlimited and changes with the tide.

Youth is salt that’s poured in the wound, a double edged sword of, “you’ll understand soon,”

Youth knows no bounds, youth is immortal, to youth forever is a word that still feels corporeal.

Youth is ignorant which makes youth bliss, youth feels like an everlasting kiss.

Youth is a veil, shielding the young from horror, youth is a pail soon to be filled with cold water.

Youth is sorrow unrelenting, youth is sunshine all encompassing.

Youth is contradiction, youth is linear, youth is the past one looks on with grandeur.

Youth is our future, youth cannot be tapered

Youth is a pair of glasses, fashionable and rose colored,

Youth isn’t always don’t let yours be mediocre.    

Over

My brave face is turning cowardly,
thoughts of death hourly. 
I really just can’t do it anymore.
Disappointment is depression’s cousin,
thought I was happy when I really wasn’t
and I’m screaming so hard my throat is sore. 

I’m tired of the fragile smile sitting just above the surface
And I’m too old to pretend not to know what hurt is
I don’t think I can feel this anymore.
The pangs of an empty heart
and the abrasions of so many scars
I’m wondering how it could have gotten this far.

I lack the words to describe my fears
I’m barely cognizant most of the year
Floating through the world on the wings that can barely support.
I can’t cry because my tears have run up,
But I’m so tired I feel like I could throw up,
It’s much too much for me to report,
and I don’t think I can say this anymore.

My body is an armor casing, 
welded around a soul that is wasted
I’m melting and no one even cares anymore.

Everything I do is my fault
So I can’t help having these horrid thoughts
They plague me and I don’t even ask for help anymore.

I never wanted sympathy,
Maybe just a little empathy,
But that’s not the case anymore.
Now I’m just numb, 
I’m lying, but it helps some.
I pretend like it’s okay and that makes life worth more. 

I hate to be a burden,
I never told you I was hurting,
That’s a point for you and I forget the rest of the score.
What happened to me, I wonder
Life I hear my mind murmur
I shiver as I close yet another door. 

Everyone needs an outlet
But I don’t have one, I regret
I’m fit to bursting, my seams are ragged and tore.
But then I try to rise up
Only to wise up
My heart and mind don’t need another broken encore.

I guess all I’ve ever been is weak, 
timid, unsure, skittish, and meek.
But I show you a lion as I roar.
I’m a mirror,
A reflection
The cracks in me can’t show what you want to see in me anymore.

I’m tired of trying,
Tired of lying,
But my inhibitions string me up so I feel like I can soar. 

I just want to break something
Where all I’ve ever done was think I could make something
My hands are shaking and I can’t hold on to hope anymore. 

I was just a mannequin 
A parrot, a mimic, and an unknown citizen
But now I really don’t know who I am anymore.

So I put back on my brave face
Though it’s turning to cowardice
And I’ll try, but I know it’s all over. 

Self Examination

Introspective, deep and reflective the streets are a hard lot to get your knowledge from; collective. From you I thought I got love, turns out its defective.

Defecting. Some nights are worse than others and I scream. My shrill voice it sings about a feeling long gone I thought was between you and me.

I dream.

It was a far off world where I didn’t get my heart robbed. And I sob, because these things are insubstantial though the thought of you still makes my heart throb.

Introspective, didn’t mean to get so overprotective. My soul resonates with you and I’m affected. Infected; deep down to my very roots and I stand in buried tombs just to get a glimpse of you.

Impressive, how you can still make me do what you want me to but it’s my life and I choose you. It’s not right but it’s so true. I’d be lying if only you knew; baby, please, I still love you.

Perspective: ain’t life grand when we’re all introspective? 

Just An Island

There’s an island surrounded by black waters. Everyday the island is beaten and broken by the obsidian sea, and everyday the island must bare the torrential current of its despot. The island isn’t strong, it was never strong, but it sits there in the middle of a lonely ocean all alone and it survives. All it can do is survive and think that maybe, some day, the oppression of the waves will lessen and it will be able to rest. 

The ocean is supreme, it is abusive, it is a great burdensomeness and it does not care. The ocean sees the small, lone isle and it smiles widely, its all encompassing grin because it derives pleasure from the island’s pain. The black swell looms forever around with no end in sight and the small patch of land despairs.

Upon the island grew a coconut tree, lush and green and plentiful. Soon the tree and the island were friends and the pounding of the sea around the haven is nearly forgotten. The island spent its new days talking to its new companion and was, for the first time in its miserable existence, happy, even with the daily pounding, the berating of the sea the island couldn’t be shaken.

One day the tree was gone, vanished and the island was lost again. 

There’s an island surrounded by black waters. Everyday the island is beaten and broken by the obsidian sea, only now the island takes its punishment in silence. Forever lost, forever crushed and overpowered. Never again will that island rely on another, because one day the others disappear and all that’s left is just an island on a lonely sea, beaten by the waves and breaking more everyday.

-Jermaine Underwood, 2011

Sympathetic Deity

I sit up here among the stars, past the space ships and far passed Mars. From way up high I watch mankind, forever with a sincere eye; but a helping hand is wrong, when humans call upon my Throne. They begin to think that I care not, but a word to say I haven’t got; be kind to your fellow man was as far as I got with My Plan. I apologise O Mortal babe, I was a new parent, naive. How could it have ever been perceived that your violence would make me leave? So I am a silent god, whose turned to lore by non-believing sods.

Space is cold all alone, where once I had a pleasant home. My foundation is built on belief and nowadays there is no relief, sleep in my eyes I hardly breathe. I apologise, my sheep. You are man and I am He, and I have tears I dare not weep, for they would flood your world so deep, and I have a promise that I intend to keep. 

So I am immortal among the bright burning gases, watching you grow old as countless time passes, and I am sorry for my silence, but your world is not much too timeless and soon you are gone from Your Highness. On that fateful judgment day there will hardly be a soul who comes to Me, but I fear it is partly my fault as well. Good night world, have fun in Hell. 

I’m bored. I’m sorry. It happened. I don’t even know, I’m blasphemous at night for some reason.

The Impossible Youth

The Boogeyman, The Bogey Man, The Bogieman, whatever you want to call him, he goes bump in the night.

The Bogeyman, The Bogieman, The Boogeyman, he feeds on your fright.

Despite what you think my dear, light will not save you from him tasting your fear. 

He is a smoky mist, a viral disease, no antibiotic will bring you an ease.

The Sackman, some call him, because he’ll put you on his back, beware of old Boogie or he will stuff you in his sack.

So sleep, my child, remain blissful in your nature, because he comes for those of us are are tactless and abrasive.

El Bolo, El Coco, he hides under your bed, the only way to be rid of him is sleeping: so rest your head.

Close your eyes and dream, for he is quite real, and staying up late will soon lose its appeal.

He’ll scratch at your windows, and vanish you, GONE! The Bogeyman, so frightful, will carry you from home.

So be good, young one, for he punishes your mischief as well. Say your prayers at night and beg it wards off the hell.

Naughty little child you shall soon be on your way, when old Chownki Daar, the nightguard, visits to play.

He has many names, of that you can be sure, Lulu, Namahage, Nøkken, Jin Baba and more.

He is a gypsy that drive a black Volga with room, and if he ensnares you you’ll find it spells out your doom.

Tommy Rawhead, old Bloody Bones, he’ll get you for sure, if you stray from your parents or act out and or roar. 

Be careful, my children, how you handle yourselves, for Pashu Gaung Phyat is very alive and well.

This is my tale of Baboulas, the old and the eerie. Listen well, oh child, and you shall remain living and cheery.   

Fake

(wrote this a few weeks ago, just forgot to post it on here)

I don’t mean to seem so fake
From my dreams I dare not wake
if you knew it would be me you hate
tears in my eyes, the levees break

break/broke

I’m only human, it’s hard to cope,
True only God can judge me
but the way you stare makes me feel so ugly
Down on my knees I beg for understanding
my facetious smile was for you attention: I demand it
command it
my heart you stole like a bandit
without you I’m not whole and I’m screamin’ dammit

But you won’t hear me

You’re whispering “can it”

But I cannot
and then our eyes lock and with your fist you rock

my world this is not.

Feelin’ stupid as your words berate, I try too hard
so I seem so fake. 

Uncomfortably Human

(Everyone stand back, I’m going to try free form poetry!)

I am uncomfortably human.

From the nerve endings under my skin, to the follicles of my hair. 

I am uncomfortably human. 

To the beating of my bloody heart, to the way I always seem to care. 

Uncomforted human am I. 

From the mist in my eyes, to the crystallized tears I cry. 

Discomfort rocks my human frame. 

This can’t be real, in my mind life is only a game. 

Sorely, sorely, sorely mortal. 

Force can blow make a blow fatal, with enough sass every word makes me unable.

Tired, dejected, fatigued, and weak. 

I am shy, I am deaf to harsh, I am meek. 

Farcically real, and unabashed in my flesh. I keep on this road, till tired I get. 

Human. I’m uncomfortably so. 

Skin rot, teeth die, no hair will grow. Thoughts like these rip me with woe. 

I am uncomfortably human. 

No one said it was easy. But why human? Me? Why not something less sleazy?

I’m uncomfortably human. But I guess you know that. 

When push comes to shove, it’s where I’m always at.

Uncomfortably human, from the shell I wear to my very core.

I’m uncomfortably human, and I would not ask for more.

In the wickedness of my heart, where lie my true desire,

my human emotion make me want ire,

Want malice, and want hate.

I’m uncomfortably human because these feelings I must sedate. 

Being human is all I’ve ever known.

But why, oh why, does it have to be uncomfortably so?

Random Untitled “Verse”

I want to be the sparkle in your eye.

I want to be the trill in your laugh.

The pump of your heart.

I want to be the breath in your lungs,

The pep in your walk.

I want to be the tingle in our kiss, and the hand you hold.

I want to be the parent of our child, and the gray in your hair when we are old.

I want you.

(Couldn’t be a poem, cause it doesn’t follow poetic guidelines, so I guess it’s more of a verse)