Not a Poem

This is a poem

No it is not.

Roses a red –

no the aren't.

They're scarlet.

Violets are blue –

No, they're not.

They're actually violet.

Poems are supposed

to create an image

 that the reader can

tangibly relate to.

Golden tears like –

stop it. Remember

that this isn't 

a poem.

It's not.

The Sun isn't red

like my passion.

Nor is the

Moon white like

my "pure" sympathy.

I already told

you that this

isn't a poem.

Don't you get it?

Stop reading this.

Just because

           the writing

                     changed in 

                             structure

                                    does not

                                          mean that

                                        this is a bona-fide poem. I take things and

                                               I like to throw 'em.  When

                              I am writing poems like I am

    not

                                                                        right now. I always write

 like this. It's just a habit of

 mine.

I did not just do a slant rhyme.

                                 I have a thigh.

DARN IT!

ARRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

That wasn't just

onomateopoeia.

                                Did I mention that 

                          this wasn't a poem?

I like not writing poems.

It's like blowing out candles 

on a birthday cake. 

Or sipping your first soda.

It feels

so great not

                       writing a poem like this.

Oh man.

                           

So good.

                   I'm done 

with this

pointless non-

poem.

It's over.

Hah.

The Low-Down

This is just an announcement -- My Poems are pretty much random.
Whatever idea I get, I'll just go with. So my poems could be about Schizophrenia,
Time Travel, the opposite sex, or, (one of my personal favorites)
the Jesus Man.
If you're not comfortable with my blog, then just don't visit.
If you like it, then stay.
That's All I have to say.
(The rhyme was intentional).

Steve

Tunes

Numbed and Addled

                                          by an airstrike of amplified electricity.

                                                    but there remains

                                                                             a clandestinely

                                            benevolent injury

                              bleeding peace and 

                                                                              complacence.

                                     trying to bandage it up with the

                                            gauze of insecurity

                                                 the ointment of doubt and the

                                                         bandage of facade

                    but the infection spreads.

                                                                 and I gladly let it

                                                            Amplify and Multiply.

                                 Hurt,

                                                             yet oddly satisfied.

                                           Sounds good, Man.

                        

                                 

And so it begins...

I have decided to post my writings and such on the interweb.

Yeah, well this is the start I guess.

Beginning.

Of.

Things.