Archive for August, 2013

A Forced Post At Dusk

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on August 16, 2013 by themanwiththecowboyboots

It is ironic that whenever I feel like writing prose, all I can write is poetry, and whenever I want to write poetry all I can write is prose. Maybe I’m just going through a poetry phase. I know that I have to write something, but prose doesn’t seem to come, so here is a (very short) poem (not the best of poems but it seems to summarize my current mood so whatever):


Of dreams there are too much and far too little

And brokenhearted whispers carry hopelessness

Very little


Soft and brittle

The tea is sweet

I like it bitter

I like to taste the pain inside the leaves

It tastes better

Without your tears your face will never



Shit from my documents

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on August 11, 2013 by themanwiththecowboyboots

The following is not meant to be read.

Life is pretty much the same around here, it still rotates like clockwork. I heard voices some time ago, thought they addressed me. Soon I realized that very few of the voices you hear are meant for you, that life will make you think you’re important only to break you, and lay you down on a bed of roses and call you great, but deep down you will know that you are nothing but mud.

The inconceivable occurs when we forget who we are, when the greatness of the problem is so overwhelming that we realize that we can do nothing about it and therefore we are not changing agents in our world, but rather bystanders waiting to be dealt a hand. Our identities are therefore lost; who are we but innocent hearts stuck in the passage of time?


Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , on August 10, 2013 by themanwiththecowboyboots

I haven’t posted in a while. So here is an apologetic poem:

Rhythmic pulsating beatings

Of that veinful organ,

Tearful organism

Come eat dinner

You need dinner

You’re not dead; she is

You’re thinner

Than she is

You’re crying worse

Than she was

When you hit her:

Rhythmic pulsating beatings

Of that vengeful organ donor,

Tearful organism

Careful organism

She is irretrievable

As she always were

As you’re more than aware

Don’t be dumber

Than she was

Loving her now

As she loved you then

Your beating arm can’t hurt her now

Your beating heart can hurt you

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