Horror Author
She’s my cat
She’s older
10 years old
She doesn’t play
As much
As younger cats
She sits
And judges
Everyone
And everything
She rubs
Her face on
Walls and tables
Her favorite place
Sleeping
On my lap
For hours
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
earn your right to talk to me
earn your right to laugh with me
earn your right to comfort me
earn your right to be my friend
we like you in ways that benefit us
we hate you in ways that discredit us
we’ve known you long we’ve known you a while
but still, unfortunately you are not a friend
they talk to you occasionally, they talk to you often
but would they care if you ended up in a coffin
earn your right to talk to them
earn your right to be their friend
he has many friends he’s always with someone
but inside his head he’s by himself with no one
he shows this to you not with what seems like effortless ease
but within his mind, he’s crying on his knees
though i’m surrounded by people, i’m lost here alone
i feel i have no one, not even at home
will you walk with me, will you listen to the end
did i not earn the right to be your friend
Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.
I feel it sometimes
Well– all the time
Alienated
Broke and alone
Mentally fractured
An empty shell
In an empty shell
Covered in skin
Gliding through life; death–
What is the goal?
To die or to feel?
What’s the lesson?
And what should I feel
Trapped in the void?
There’s only one person I want to see
She’s a beautiful dream I can’t believe
I think of her, but does she think of me
She gazes with those blue eyes intently
Within my mind’s eye on this very eve
There’s only one person I want to see
With her, the only place I want to be
A fantasy, will I ever achieve
I think of her, but does she think of me
Bursting from my chest, my heart wants to flee
This all feels like way too much to conceive
There’s only one person I want to see
I just want to hear from my addressee
The only news that I want to receive
I think of her, but does she think of me
It’s wrong for me to ask for guarantees
Can’t get my hopes up; can’t be so naïve
There’s only one person I want to see
I think of her, but does she think of me
From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.
James Pack 