Fantasy World

I'm sure we all have our fantasies. The things that make life seem a bit more possible and worthwhile. We see them in our daydreams, our doodles, and other tiny things that we do when we're bored. These extremely personal moments go by unnoticed sometimes as we rush through our busy days. In the spirit of stopping that, I've been typing up all the little dumb, serious, odd, etc poems that I write in my bored moments and begin posting them here.

[lycamp]

Poem 12

A candle flickers in a cool blue breeze, Dancing so that passersby see only movement, No still fire standing strong against the wind, Like a dancer on broken legs Struggling to smile under a hot spotlight.

[lycamp]

Poem 11

Four walls of beige sandpaper

Feels smooth to the abrasive hand

Sliding fingers and toes

To feel soft again.

Rub, wipe, glide, scrape, cut, bleed,

All in one line of thought,

Gripping while sliding,

On bloodied walls.

Four walls of crimson canvas,

Sticky and wet,

dragging nubs and gashes,

To feel nothing again.

[lycamp]

Poem 10

My pen is the perfect piece of 

Equipment to pry out my eye,

With maximum ocular damage.

My notebook lies lazily waiting and 

Wanting to catch my dangling eye,

It hangs from my socket and

Swings back and forth like a pendulum,

Occasionally sticking to the notebook,

Dragging and leaving a glossy spot of slime.

[lycamp]

Poem 9

My eyes drift downwards,

Not to my page, but down her shirt,

Hoping I fall asleep and then fall onto her,

Head first like a bosom seeking missile,

Hungry and wanting to satisfy,

I will always be one very horny guy. 

[lycamp]

Poem 8

Cut up the thrown away ribbons to make confetti,

They have no mind that needs them to be tied

No will that forces snipping off big pieces just to be thrown away.

Use the confetti to coat a bride as she walks up the aisle,

Still a solemn scenario,

There are still two things being tied together,

Needing less than scissors to be split into two.

Sweep up what is left and throw it away,

It has had its happiness

Its unwilled, unknown happiness,

Throw different confetti.

[lycamp]

A Fulfilling Manhood

Get everything right on the first try,

Spontaneously shout love in only the quietest of restaurants,

Spill blood, sweat, and brothers for the unmanly and women,

Grunt instead of cry,

Drink beer, don’t pop pills,

Eat Steak, enjoy cheap thrills,

[lycamp]

My life seems to have become an odd retelling of the "Boy Who Cried Wolf" titled the "Boy Who Cried Tears."

[lycamp]

Poem 7

They built an overpass, Finished by 6pm, Light steps fill its path, Brighter lights rush underneath, Orbs of light mark the pathway out, The dim lights find the easiest way, Imitating the falling stars.

[lycamp]

I feel like I write the most when I am supposed to be doing something else, like paying attention in class or studying. 

[lycamp]

Poem 6

The sweat on my brow cools my face

So I can keep on running in the rat race

But the pit in my stomach just won’t leave

Maybe I need a hot bath with some steam,

The feeling rises up to my throat,

Then I wrote my words down so I don’t speak and choke,

The sensation in my legs and arms come back

So I guess I can rule out a heart attack,

The entire world lost a color or a two,

But if I call out again I’m on my ass and screwed.

[lycamp]

Poem 5

Blades sharped against the dull bones of past survivors,

Sliding alone within the creases,

As the air fills with dead screams.

Numb watcher forever shattered

In a room so well put together,

With crimson floors and crimson walls.

[lycamp]

Poem 4

What breaks against the walls of our own world?

The image of a soft minded man,

Stalwart or not his picture is still swirled,

Forever known as the man without a plan.

[lycamp]

Poem 3

Lines upon lines cutting through the rhetoric,

Or holding up the words to the reader’s eyes,

Trimmed and light for quick discussion,

Any longer and the idiots will get a concussion.

 Words upon a page formed from a pen and rage,

Thrown around like a glaive, looking for a path to pave,

Possibly causing deaths, but without sending any threats,

Cleave someone’s head off and tell the parents to pray it off.

 The word hypocrite is used too much,

By hypocrites learning to lean on a crutch

Of bullshit to defend bullshit, it is brilliant

People are just mad they didn’t think of it.

[lycamp]

Poem 2

Look upon thy own soul and weep

tears of unbridled 

joy

slowly succumbing to the 

reality of the room

you are in.

Four walls painted black and red

Striped side by side 

Slowly the room starts spinning

Too slow to realize

Until you feel nauseous.

Get the nerve to punch a hole through the wall

Break down and cry about your broken hand

waste more time

Break down again,

And eventually die.

[lycamp]

About titles

In the spirit of my writing, which is essentially bored doodles in text form, I am not going to be working too hard on titles. If a title immediately comes to mind then I’ll use it, but if not I’ll just number the poem.

[lycamp]

Poem 1

Green grass on my mind’s landscape

longing for the browner, dirtier days

In which rain felt more than routine.

Fat bellies patted like a nervous child,

Echo with sounds of softer smacks,

and scarcer food sources.

Soft material patterned fashinably

fitting close to the skin,

With no holes to add character.

[lycamp]

(No Title)

Oh, half eaten sandwich, a prayer for thee, Separated at conception from one's better half, By a creator less perfect than thee, If you could appreciate irony, you would laugh, The world dictates that she, should live And you sit there suffocated in plastic dying, All the while these words are all I can give If anyone says anything different, they are lying. I'm sorry to say the only future for you is shit, so to speak, but there is also a reincarnation and oneness, You and her hunger will end soon by the looks of it, And I will stop feeling this odd fondness.