Tag Archives: sarcasm




That light.
That God. Damned. Light
Everyday, it sees me coming and,
right at the last minute,
turns red. Every time!
I swear.

And the the weather, the air
Chilling only the days
when I’m working,
or raining when it obviously
knows there’s something
I wanna do out there.

Then there’s my car,
that useless piece of junk,
gives me hell on when I don’t need it to,
and breaks down when my bonus
finally comes through.

And then there’s life, that bastard-
Always against me, like fate.
Unforgiving, unyielding,
and straight up unfair.


Monday again, Folks. I’m hoping that yours is working well for you. Got a little something else for you to browse if you’re needing a break, too. http://www.pinterest.com/Procrastitorian/make-monday-a-little-easier/

Anything Less

Anything Less

Anything Less

I’ve got a nasty little
case of wounded pride
and dreams of grandeur
welling up inside of me,
and you can’t see it,
but it’s done gone
to festering,
poisoning my blood
stream and giving
me delusions,

of how I long to
spend my time,
and it’s an infliction that
won’t get better,
sorry friends
there’s just no
cure for it,

I’m heading down
a dark path
towards greatness
and its a crying
shame there’s not
a damned thing that
needs fixed and I’m afraid
I just wont accept
anything less.


Happy Friday, folks! Just a quick scrap here that I wanted to toss up before something gets in the way. It’s still a project in the works, but I like the idea behind it. Anywho, hope your weekend is awesome and that Monday takes a while to rear its ugly head.

Shut Down

Juliet's Balcony

Juliet’s Balcony

“But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It-”

“It’s called a lamp, you git, now shut your face!

People are trying to sleep in here.”


The End.


A much better ending rather than two teenagers offing themselves erroneously, yes?

As promised, we are returning back to fun and snarky-ness after a few serious poems. Coming next week, I’ll be starting a short story that will continue in two to three parts as well to my normal poem posts (just in case you’re worrying, don’t. It’s funny, too! I can’t handle being serious for too long or else I’ll break out in hives).

The Poster Child

I’m about as beautiful as a train wreck,

Chaotic, crazy, and a mess,

But I occur almost naturally, nearly

As an odd sort of reminder

That the world’s not always

What it’s cracked up to be.

I’m a caution,

A warning tune, set

The music so others can swoon

Over what they don’t ‘understand’

But strangely enough it, in the end,

Sounds a whole lot like home

To them.

A masterpiece of malevolence,

Ambivalent and precarious,

A poster child with no purpose, other

Than to remind you that,

Occasionally, people tend

to be worthless, and

that its a whole lot easier to

look without and be judgmental

than daring to take that nasty little

peek within.

So, really, in the end

I’m just another martyr then.

Pushed out on my pedestal,

risen above the line of normal, well

of normal society for others to see.

Seen as a bad prodigy

of broken homes and poverty,

Used as an excuse to keep in line,

restrict the mind from getting loose

and getting in to whatever hellish

vices I’ve let win and,  with that in mind,

let’s try this again.

I’m about as beautiful as a train wreck,

Chaotic, crazy, and a mess,

But I occur not so naturally,

manufactured rather intentionally

As an odd sort of reminder

That the world, like with everything and all it seems

isn’t ever going to be anything more,

than  someone’s really messed up scheme.


I pulled this guy out the scraps after abandoning ship on the poem I had today. Just wasn’t feeling it, so I  just moved on and logged it for a later day. This one does feel a bit too cumbersome in the end, but I think it works out alright.  You’ll probably be seeing another draft of this coming out eventually.

The Peddler

Heart holding hands

The Peddler

I’m one of those folks,

Got a heart full of gold

and a head full of air.

The aforementioned organ,

Not on my sleeve worn,

But in my hands, outstretched,

As I chant “Here! Here!”

“Here is what I have to offer.

Look, what you see on the out is

exactly what I’ve got on the inside!”

“No double faces, no tricks, no lies,

And, for what its worth, it’s mine.

One-hundred percent unique, genuine,

downright one of a kind.”

“Sure, it’s used, a bit bruised,

but it still works just fine, and,

when you give it a little smile, boy,

you just outta see

how that





“And you wanna talk about happy?

Laugh and, at the drop of a dime-

You ever seen a heart dance, kid?

Well, ladies and gents, just you wait

till you get a load of mine.”


Sure, the peddler seems open, but can you really ever trust someone who’s really selling themselves like that? I don’t know. I wouldn’t trust this guy if I were you 😉

Suicide Ain’t Such a Bad Scene

*An older scrap I found lingering in a file, I thought I’d toss it up here! Enjoy (And, yes, I meant to use the word ain’t. aka, it’s intentional)


Slice of heaven?

This cake tastes like shit.

We’ve got smog frosting,

Overpopulated filling,

And that’s not the half of it.

Nobody seems to want to swallow reality down.

Hell, the STD cupcakes get passed around

While our glass of life sits, untouched,

Half empty, or spilled over and out,

Onto the dance floor of insanity

Where the two left feet of politicians

Kick it around like last year’s bad gin.

Maybe they just can’t stomach it?

Whatever, I’ve had enough of this.

Slice of heaven?

You can have it.

I’m getting the hell out before

My hopes get too far in.

Through Pains of Glass

I could stop a bullet with my glasses.

They’re bulky, odd,

but not so much as my face is.

Whoever deemed this shape a heart

needs a good shot to the head.

Obtuse or abstruse would have been more blunt,

but that’s never the way the world wants it,

 is it?

Everyone’s all fake and frills and

I’d keel over and die if someone were ever really real,

and a change of pace would give me

a god damned heart attack.

And that.

What ridiculous name,

a heart attack.

How about saying it like it is?

It’s a heart faint from supporting your fat, unhealthy ass.

It exhausted itself from pumping around fry grease and bacon fat.

How about a glass of water for once,

maybe get a little blood flowing back?

Oh, but what’s the use of bitching?

It’s not like anyone’s ever really listened.

I’m a joke,

idealistic at best.

Too young to be taken seriously

and too old to be considered cute.

I’m that pound age,

Where I sit and watch puppies get picked

and charity cases go home to places without rent.

How life seems so meaningless,

all misconstrued, and bent.

Fucking animals,

couldn’t get a single thing right if you were castrated by it.

And now, I can’t even remember what got me started.

Oh yeah,

my glasses…

They’re horrendous,

all kinds of odd, and  they’re bulky,

and bent.


If there is anything that gives a good laugh more than anything, it’s a hypocrite. We all know ‘um and we sure as hell don’t love ‘um, but aren’t they fun to watch? So, in honor of the hypocrites out there, that one up there was for them.

*Note: that is my intended spelling of pains. Not panes.

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