PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The world is telling me no.
Everybody is telling me what to do.
How to feel.
Questioning when was the last time you took a pill.

The people I gaze upon think of me as crazy because I don't want to do as they command.
They look at me as sad, with facial expressions of how grand I have failed, how bland I am.
The background audience jeers at my writing calling it the work of a Mad Ranger, a Adderall stranger.
I reply.

"It is not that I am mad nor am I sad, I do not confine to doing work that is portrayed as being bland".

"It is that I am product that was conceived from demon dreams".

In the days where I dream, I can't help but to utter wicked screams, I find myself in another corner where all I see is day-fiends and I am a witness to these crack dreams.
I find myself once again sleep walking through the break of the day. I am pointed out as the guy who has coke residue on his tongue.
At night I find myself coming alive. With a split personality that doesn't deny the access of dreaming where I am no longer having demon dreams. This split personality separates the inner-fiend from the inner-dreamer.

From a dreamer to a stoner, who can't stop laughing. Through the night he coughs up blood, his lungs are strong, tongue cock back like a pistol and now he is sprung.

The first breath of a new dawn excites feelings all around me, they begin to tell me it's time to get up and go.
I reply with a no, not without adjusting my nose and my clothes.
Everything on me burns!

The jeering audience mind calls me a mad genius, they do not know that I can read minds.
I recede back into the sea, to gain a better seat of learning how to see.
I can't help but to think am I a fiend lost in a dream?

There is a window next to my bed it sits still like samurai steel, cold and old this portal is, so afraid of being cut short. I didn't notice that the window is opening up a portal so that the world may gaze upon the image of a drugged out soul.
The way people stare at the emptiness that is my soul makes me wish I could teleport to another world and live above that world.

Above the clouds through the satellites,
Above the lights,
Through the negative,
I am not being allowed to live.

I wonder is this what I dreamt of when the closing my eyes are embracing the fact that I am a fiend who is trapped in a demon dream?

There is a shrink within me, he goes by the name dr.sub and when I am alone he speaks to me, crawling up the nerves to only whisper a soothing lyric of harmful words.

"It is not the pills, nor is it the weed, it could be the cough, but we will never know until I find a place where you can escape to..."

I reply that these worries have brought a beast who feast on nothing but the bones of the unborn.

This beast sits deep within me keeping my body in one piece,
As I begin to have fantasies of where my search for peace will come to an end?
I position my pen up right and I call through the other side,
To make an account for the uncounted hours of where I was stuck on my fifth line,
Doing hard bump and after hard bump tripping on my own mind.

I thought I was hearing voices creeping up behind me, talking about me and mine?

The days of where I am alone with my sober thoughts,
I am in search of a place I can call my own,
A place where I can escape the tapping at my chamber door.
A place where I can call my own before there enters a rapping Raven who taps at my chamber door and suddenly there is a knock on the window door...

I recall saying to myself, but not in the voice that is my own.

It is I The Rockstar Poetry spirit who has come to take you away, I am not your death, I am not the rapping Raven at your chamber door, I am not here to tell you a story or kidnap your Lady Lenore. I have come because of those worries you carry.

Of life..
Of writing...
Of flying...
Of living again and waiting to see the beginning not the end...

This may not be what you have envisioned but the audience will not call your writing mad.

If you let me spill out the ink from my pen.

If there is blood spilling from your tongue, a safe that resides deep within your mind, I would be sure to cure those worries that would prevent you from being yourself. There are thoughts that would keep you to the ground, while you lose all of your will, you will be at the devil request who has been lusting for your tongue to spill one drip of blood so that he can take control and imprint his mark upon your soul.
The fiend who is the devil made his way to offer a deal of a lifetime.
A deny I turned down upon his request but he would not stop until I was gone.

"In my bed I laid next to my Lenore as she was gasping for air, her head laid upon my shoulders as I leaned over to do a set of already broken down lines. The bump was allowing me to feel alive as I continued to search for my has been friends.

I carry worries, that makes me feel like I'm always be In hurry.
I carry worries, that makes me look at life in a fourth dimensional shape.
Through the bathroom window, I am able see all...

I see how we feel alone,
trapped in a world of worry,
looking from the outside in,
we all dream of seeing the beginning,
I see how we want to feel loved, but we can't seem to make the right decision.

I was told in my thoughts that thinking without thoughts would led to an onslaught where I would be slaughtered like a cow in the American Meat Industry.
No mercy, no sympathy, no good-bye, only a slit from my neck and a electrifying baton to render me unconscious.

You can my call fate a false slaughter suicide,
for this is not how I envisioned I would die,

But when I died...

These worries of life came to life in my dreams,
while In an attempt to make them disappear.

My fear of today's audience calls my writing mad, they think that I am always sad,
They words come to life and they hurt like a Japanese knife.

The only thing that was on their mind was how long have I been doing pills, and do I get ill when I am not being prescribe an Adderall pill?