Flashback Friday Poetry: The Craving for Insanity

sanity’s a drag
there’s no fun in life
what’s the point
of being normal
if you’re bored
out of your mind

everyone is crazy
if they really try
if they find
that they’re insane
they’ll have an
 interesting life

i crave for
the insanity
that captivates
my mind
lost here
within my head
and no place
to hide

the insanity
is captivating
it’s overtaking me
stay away
or you will pay
for i am provoking pain!

Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.

Throwback Thursday Poetry: Numb

there is no pain you are receiving
it’s in your head, you’re not really bleeding
another slash will do nothing
cut the skin and feel nothing

that’s not a vein that you are cutting
it’s only air, there is nothing
your whole body is slowly numbing
you cannot feel anything

the numbness is captivating
it’s now slowly spreading
you begin to feel nothing
for anyone or anything

you’ve lost your chance to be happy
everyone thinks that you are crazy
you go on feeling nothing
slowly, slowly everything is numbing

Early poetry from James. From the poetry collection Pariah Bound: The Lonesome Poetry.

Twofer Tuesday Poetry: Steve Awakes Recharged & Coffee

Steve Awakes Recharged

The store opens in 30 minutes
I must restock and sweep
I also make a list of orders
Today is inventory day
I count the shelves as I stock and sweep
I count the back storage after close
There’s already someone waiting for me to open
They see the sign and check their time piece
They knock on the window
“Hello, are you open?”
Did humans have this problem?
The history magazines don’t think so
They say humans only killed each other
Or procreated and not much else
Nona, the oldest robot in town,
Comes for her oil and fuses
She blows a different fuse each week
Her circuits don’t fire like they used to
Poor dear, I always give her a discount
She’s starting to rust

Coffee

The smell and aroma
The steam in my nostrils
The bold taste on my tongue
The caffeine in my body
The mug in my hand
The book on the table
Any time of day
With solitude or with company
Always hot; never iced
Cold brew is the devil
I like my coffee black
Just like my soul

From the poetry collection Men Are Garbage.