Back in the 90's, I had a hobby of following my friends around at clubs and making them write bad poetry for me. The word poetry was used very loosely. Well, completely incorrectly would be a better term since it was also used for articles, completely fabricated self-help columns and random complete and utter nonsense.
These are the results of those (often drunken) ramblings.

Thursday, May 7, 2015

Absurdity and Untitled

This is one of those pieces where I'm pretty sure the author was taking this seriously and actually liked her poems. I never know what to comment on this as I know nothing of actual poetry, plus I don't want to be pooping on anyone's actual feelings.
Black was really nice. I wonder whatever happened to her? Her real name was Kris and we never met in person.We were pen pals back when that meant using an actual pen.

By Black

Sitting in the darkness
Blood trickles from my eyes
Only to turn to tears
Whenever you see me cry
Nothing left for me to do
I turn to you, but then you disappear
I touch the air you were just there
It’s still warm but then again
My mind is not clear

In the forest by the water
Your face reflected in the stream
Look again, it’s just a fish
As I wake up from a dream

Nothing left for me to be
This is just absurdity
But isn’t it the only way?

I;m going to go ahead and add the other poem Black had on this issue, since I have the same problem on not knowing how to comment on this one either.

By Black

This is pretense
This is not my life

Or what I imagine
My life to be
It is not a hot fever dream
On a hotter summer day
This is not a faerie tale
This is not a song
But the most elaborate lie
I ever told
Or even…Believed


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