Is it self-inflating to label one's own work as graphic? (It is kinda graphic, clickbait title aside.)

This doesn't even really capture the right imagery I was trying to go for.

Might just have to re-write this idea into a completely different piece, I'm not sure. (mfw literally "felt creative idk might delete later")

The "ball" was supposed to really be a watermelon, because we've all seen that YouTube video where they explode a watermelon with rubber bands, but I didn't leave myself enough space to develop that transition from ball to melon properly. (Brand new sentence?)

Why am I even posting this if I feel its unfinished?

Who knows.

Anyway let's get to the thing here it is vvvvvvvvv

slip.

twist.

smack.

10 rubber bands on a ball

all hold each other taut

the inception of a toy

that will quick be left for naught

but brings a momentary joy - its only cause.

.

work.

stoa.

sweat.

hustle on, man, that's your call

you gotta love your boss.

it's the struggle of a boy.

that you never would be caught

while feeling tears or overwhelm - lest you be mocked.

.

smack.

stretch.

strain.

100 rubber bands slap

starting slightly straining

its appearances are coy,

the ball slowly rolls to stop.

picked up and bounced against the floor - it doesn't pop.

.

work.

stare.

grind.

expectations are my all.

you dream of taking off -

escape makes you overjoyed

daily grind just puts your off.

your brain it strains against the skull - stressing nonstop.

.

pop

waste

spill

500 rubber bands smack

crushing and constraining

such a carnage to enjoy

they start rolling out the mops.

the ball explodes onto the floor - as if a prop

.

rip

slice

tear.

my fists crash into the walls.

my skin, just rip it off

rip out the bone, leave me void

naked muscle growing moss.

wrap rubber bands around my head until it pops.

What a beautiful night
the stars are out
like tiny pinprick holes in the sky
illuminating our soft gray subtle shadows
as we chat about life and random fluff
and the moon shines through your dress
    making it
            transparent

Back to my car
a night full of passion.
Come the morning: I stop and reflect.
What could my life have been?
If I had missed all this,
            this artifice and sin?
For you are only silicone,
your dress a splotchy sheet
The stars are a cheap plastic disco ball
I bought it from goodwill for 97¢.
My car's no more than a fluorescent-stained couch.

Alas, alas for me
I must do better—yes, I will!
(I steel my resolve)
(I know what I must do)
(my heart, it pains me so!
For you have been so good to me, and thus I will repay you?)

I did it, threw you in the trash;
I'll hire a human whore tomorrow

You know they’ve got poetry on Spotify? That’s some cool shit. Ended up following John Cooper Clarke into a rabbit hole of other British poets.

Decided to bite and try writing a bit of poetry for poetry’s sake.

Anyway. ‘Ere go. “June.”

I thought your voice was music

And your beauty - work of art.

I found your jokes amusing,

Ponygirl, a golden heart.

Your company, a journey

Which I never could depart

I really felt I loved you,

Well, I did once, at the start.

.

See, music can be different

Some songs good, and others crap.

Some begin melodically,

Then get crashing in a snap.

Starting subtle violins,

Then it blares with metal scrap

They lure you malevolent

Some music is a trap.

.

Some artists Donatello,

Others Jackson Pollock.

Some art goes well with wine,

Some turns you alcoholic.

Some is deep and intricate,

Some is purely bollocks

Can’t call this a masterpiece

I’m not sure what to call it.

.

Thought your lips were pure cuisine

And your beauty - work of art.

I never thought the kitchen

Would have mold and rot at heart.

The oven sent asunder

All the counters ripped apart

You’re a diner with one dish,

And it’s a dry and sour tart.

Light it up

hit the stage

hit the dance floor.

Fight enough

start a riot

there's a chance for

love to grow

for the hate

to transform

Feeling these

knots in my head

am I deformed?

.

Feel like my

head, my heart,

a rock show.

Is this peace

or pain, I

do not know.

I can't close

my eyes and

the clock's slow

Pray I'll

kill myself

in Chicago

.

My head pounds

bass drum

memories of,

days when you

and I meshed

and we made love.

Wish that I

went and bought you

all your makeup.

Maybe some money's

all we needed

to makeup

.

Feel like my

head, my heart,

a rock show.

Is this peace

or pain, I

do not know.

I can't close

my eyes and

the clock's slow

Pray I'll

kill myself

in Chicago

.

With hate your

voice went shrill

you went cold.

Who's this girl

beside me

don't know.

Wake up in

the morning pain

or comfort?

All your screaming

I wanna go

Van Gogh

.

Feel like my

head, my heart,

a rock show.

Is this peace

or pain, I

do not know.

I can't close

my eyes and

the clock's slow

Pray I'll

kill myself

in Chicago

Father God

I've got a favor

to ask of you.

.

It is said

you can justify

the hell I knew.

.

So now I raise

my tired eyes

to the morning blue.

.

God above,

I've got a favor

to ask of you.

.

If I don't wake up

dead in the morning

could you stand by me

if just for a moment

give pause to the pain

put a break to the moaning

while I'm stuck in this mind

and I just can't control it.

.

If you're gonna drag me out

of my bed in the morning

then I ask I wake in

a place I feel at home and

I can pour a little brown, light

a green, and get to hoping

that I'll find good work,

good love, and consoling.

.

Ya Allah

Ana mish aerif

Ana riyeh feyn.

.

My head

is clouded, dark

and the sky is grey.

.

I've found

I hate the sun,

and dance in the rain.

.

And at night,

I close my eyes,

dream of the grave.

.

If you're gonna drag me out

of my bed in the morning

then I ask I wake in

a place I feel at home and

I can pour a little brown, light

a green, and get to hoping

that I'll find good work,

good love, and consoling.

raindrop

on the tongue

of the parched, de-

flated beach ball

in the hands of the young, lit

cig 'tween the fingers

of a nun,

one sin's never gonna be enough

fuck the prose

words will never be enough.

the writing's on the walls

but you can't read it

you aren't here

i need a sign you

can't ignore or a call

you're bound to hear

.

the words just aren't enough

on their own

to pull my heart strings

i can't find peace

without my blood

on guitar strings.

.

the words are going cold

the poetry has not a heartbeat.

i need to take the stage

and pray to god that they can't see me.

Not sure why I always feel the need to preface these with something.

Feels weird not to. As if I'm just "Hey chump, here's a poem, read it."

Y'all hear that Lil Nas X track "Old Town Road" yet? Never knew I needed to hear Billy Ray Cyrus on a trap beat until it happened.

If that blends your smoothie, you might also like "Like A Farmer" x Lil Tracy ft. Lil Uzi Vert

I like this whole hickhop wave coming through. Cool to see people playing around with genre-bending.

For all those "that's not real country" folk, here's some Cody Jinks and some Brown Bird (technically blues I think, fight me.)

Anyway, here's the thing. Feel free to read it. If anyone here uses one of those e-reader speech things for the vision-impaired, how does this sound? Does the reader have any rhythm to it, or does it just feed you line after line?

Alright closing out for real. Later.

I thought something strange

skeleton felt out the closet

In the house, the paint

kept peeling off the walls

and on the bed, decay

as the wood went rotten

Never could build a house,

made a life making coffins.

.

In the morn, I wake

and the skies are grey and cloudy

Turn to kiss my babe,

is it love me or get off me

and my head, it aches

the anxiety is starting

so I say fuck it all and I make me some coffee.

.

Lips on me -

desire.

Arsonist

with a lighter.

Feed my soul,

make the heart burn.

Where there's smoke

there is fire.

.

An infant strand-

ed out there in the snow

Sh'said "Babe there's a chill,

you'd better close the door."

Close your rain-

bow, there's no pot of gold.

And there's no one to sing

you any songs of your home.

.

Fill my art-

eries with bourbon old

Loverboy

til I am dead and gone

Rip off my skin

and leave my body cold

My son,

the devil

is a pretty blonde.

.

And I said

Mama

I’m tired.

My hands shake

My eyes burn.

Hair’s thin

Heart afire.

My lovely little lover was a liar.

.

Closed the door,

the hinge broke.

No chimney

house filled smoke.

Scents arose

of burnt mold.

A lake of blood and

guilt can't support a home.

Hi everyone.

Hello to all the new faces who don't know my name - (or how out of character it is that there are capital letters in this post!) This isn't really for you - or for anyone in particular I guess; I just wanted to write something to those who have followed my work on here.

So, you.

Howdy.

It's been a minute.

I just wanted to give you all a quick update; let you know that I'm safe. I've had a few of you reach out to me since my last post. I hope I didn't scare anybody.

For those interested - things... aren't all that better now, hahaha. Sorry.

But the good news is, they're trending up in a really good way.

I've decided to stop drinking for awhile; I figured that isn't really helping my cause at this point. I'll pick that back up when there's something worth celebrating, when I'm in better company, and when I'm back in control of myself.

I've started getting a lot more interviews for work; shouldn't be long now until I have a position landed and I'm back to being a functioning adult.

And uh - I started therapy. Been about a month now. I like my therapist, they're very sweet, very weird in a fun/eclectic kind of way. (My kinda person.) And that's been going well.

In fact, that's part of this.

It's not just Tildes I abandoned.

I've let a lot of very important people to be fall to the wayside lately - total isolation. Tonight, I started calling them back, apologizing, letting them know what was going on. And that's gone well so far.

Now I'm here doing the same for you.

I don't know if I'll be back on Tildes all too frequently. There's a lot on here I might just need to let rest.

So I just wanted to say that I'm here. I love you. I'm sorry. And, bye.

For now.

eyes crackle open

half past three

stomach on fire and

my body feels meek

i stumble out my chair

and here the creak in my knees

you're only in your twenties

and you're living ninety

.

my head feels funny

and i'm tired of the numbing

and there's too much week

at the end of my money

a little bumblebee lost

wishing for his honey

beat my head against the hive

until the world starts buzzing

and it falls.

.

and i

set

foot

down

on that unpaved road

step

forward like an orphan

on a search for a home

walk

forward hand to God

if he answers my call

honey (i'll) be

leaving for now

hope it won't be long

.

soul

full of gravel and

a heart made of gold

imma

face my music and

play my song

send

me down to hell

if it rights my wrongs

honeybee

i'm leaving for now

hope it won't be long.

I like the idea of poetry, but I almost never actually read it. My knowledge of the form is pretty much limited to a handful of popular classics that I had to read back in high school; one or two poems each from Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Langston Hughes, Walt Whitman, and Shakespeare.

Where do I start if I want to dip my toes into poetic waters? What are some good poems/compilations for poetry novices? I'm particularly interested in modern, contemporary voices, but I'm open to anything.

April is National Poetry Month. It's also National/Global Poetry Writing Month, where participants write a poem a day for every day in April. I'm doing it this year, and was wondering if any other tilderiños were as well. I'm a little late on the post, but there's still time to catch up!

                                              #19 by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

So rent a museum
and see yourself in mirrors-
In every room an exposition
of a different phase in your life
with all your figures and faces
and pictures of all the people who
passed through you
and all the scenes
you passed through
all the landscapes of living
and longing and desiring
and spending and getting
and doing and dying
and sighing and laughing and crying
(what antic gesturing!)
And walking through the house of yourself
you climb again to all
the rooms of youself
full of the other lives & selves
who passed through them
Rooms rooms rooms
piled up haphazard
in the architecture of time
And all the bodies clinging to each other
or rushing to windows
to break out of the room
which they boxed themselves into
All the people of your life
in one house in the night
all lights lit
like a cruise ship at sea
And you run up and down
knocking on all the doors
through which you hear
all the once-familiar voices
laughing or sobbing or singing
And you run to the roof
and look up to the mute night sky
And in the wheeling template of stars
see the faces of the figures
of the lovely lovers who
had once made time stand still
now all fixed
in their constellated relations
motionless in time

So that
some day
as time bends around
to its beginning again
you find them all again
and yourself

Hey everyone, thanks to you who posted in the original Workshop Wednesday; I think it went really well! Here we are for week 2 (sorry it took me til noon, I was busy this morning!)

Some questions:

• do we need a new topic every week? Or will one be enough?
• any other comments/suggestions?

Please begin your comment with [META] to discuss these. Otherwise, I'll copy and paste the guidelines from last week.

What's a workshop?

Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

How this'll work (for now, anyway)

Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

So I was talking to @cadadr in this thread about starting a workshop on Tildes, and since today makes for an alliterative title, I thought I'd start one now.

What's a workshop?

Basically, a workshop is when you have a bunch of people with poems or stories they've written, and everyone gets together, reads everyone's work, and comments on it, sharing what they got out of it and what the author could do to improve the work for publication. I used to do a lot of them in college, and I've missed the dynamic since graduating. I thought others might also be interested, so here goes nothing.

How this'll work (for now, anyway)

Each week, I'll post a "Workshop Wednesday" post. If you have a poem or (short) story you'd like workshopped, post that as a top comment. Then, read others' top comments and reply with what works/doesn't work/questions you have/ideas you have for the piece that could make it better. If you post some writing, try to comment on at least two other people's pieces as well -- we're here to help each other improve.

Going forward

Since this is the first one, obviously we can change the format or do something else. Please start meta-discussions with the word [META] so that we know it's not a poem you're trying to workshop!

I'm excited. Let's do this!

hiiiiiii everybody guess who drunk for the first time this year ayeeeee

we're back

i love it

i hate it

i miss you

how damned lazy

is the poet

who only ever writes.

how wasted

is the painter

who drowns out his lines.

how atrophied

the pianist

who cannot bend the light

if this is art then it isn't mine.

.

a screw

driver is useless

when nails

are the nuisance

an easel

is pointless

with verbally

mindless rhymes.

.

to what length in an artist?

if you cannot wield

every edge of the

toolbox right?

.

not every thought

is at best

through emo

writings expressed

kid, sometimes

you have to

know your lines.

.

to better outline your problems.

(better outline your problems)

better sketch out your issues

(guarantee she don't miss you)

better sculpt out the tissue

and try to attend to

the shit you

can only rhyme.

.

what a waste of an artist.

.

what a waste of an artist.

.

you call your poems cathartic

but that's your only

medium, right?

.

you wanna be a God

you better step up

better learn to

do your makeup

hopefully you learn

to draw her thighs.

.

better off dead otherwise.

.

if you're not the greatest it's a guise.

ich lebe noch von dir

so if i won't be remembered

then by your God

i should prolly' die.

.

what the fuck is an artist.

.

wjo is reallt an aritst.

.

you call your poems cathartic,

but that's your only

medium - right?

God

put me at ease

deliver me to peace.

if you're above

deliver me to love.

there's not a sign

you're months without a call.

i begin to think

you never cared at all.

in winter breezes

hang me from the trees.

god i'm sick of

never feeling enough.

make me crease and

break me at my knees.

tarot prophet guide me

with your crystal ball.

.

read the names i've

written in my skin.

banish me to walk

alone in cold.

hit my face and tell me

this is it.

kill me, say you

never cared at all

.

screaming in your car

you said you'd call the cops

if i don't take my seatbelt off

on our way home and walk.

.

screaming in our home

you'd always slam the doors

and leave the silence ringing

in the halls

.

alone in dark i wailed

you didn't care.

as you sat there on your phone

and talked and talked.

.

always acting like

i wasn't there.

even asked me to pretend

that we were not.

.

remember back in college

when you made some friends

and tried to make me hide,

not show me off?

.

tried to tell them

i was just a friend.

and when i protested

god you told me off.

.

but when i made you mad

how mad you went.

and appeared inside my room

without consent.

.

i walked in and found you there

sat at my desk.

it should've ended there

but i regressed.

.

i said we would grow past it

never did.

always made me second guess

the life i live.

.

it's not my fault

that you stayed home alone.

why do i slash and cry and pray

that you'll pick up the phone.

.

tell me why i love you

when it's wrong.

.

.

.

tell me why i want you

when you're gone.

.

.

.

i want you to ignore me,

miss my calls.

.

.

.

if at least you'll speak

to me at all.

fuck you.

i'm sorry.

i love you.

fuck you.

fuck you too.

so i've just recently learned about this guy, and his work is quickly becoming a favorite of mine.

i'm admittedly crazy poorly-read (is that the antonym to well-read?) when it comes to...

well, anything besides self-help books released up to "The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck" by Mark Manson.

and his work has been concise and just fucking accurate enough for me to enjoy.

so i present you all,

a journey through love, with Richard Brautigan.

-2

Everybody wants to go to bed

with everybody else, they're

lined up for blocks, so I'll

go to bed with you. They won't

miss us.

in this first stage, we see that little Richie's met himself someone special, and off they go arm in arm to live happily ever after.

Romeo and Juliet

If you will die for me,

I will die for you

and our graves will be like two lovers washing

their clothes together

in a laundromat

If you will bring the soap

I will bring the bleach.

and here we see something that, personally, i found surprising from a poet who got his start in the 50s.

this piece emulates the incendiary, passionate, limitless love that some of us have been lucky enough to experience in the early years of our lives. the love where it's the both of you against the world. the love where the most mundane tasks seem incredulous solely because they're done together. the love that i have only seemed to find in life, through trauma bonding.

their love is powerful. their love is radiant.

I Feel Horrible, She Doesn't

I feel horrible. She doesn't

love me and I wander around

like a sewing machine

that's just finished sewing

a turd to a garbage can lid.

their love is over.

the crass yet poignant imagery somehow simultaneously flashing feelings of uselessness, self-loathing, and loss.

you are here.

Haiku Ambulance

A piece of green pepper

fell

off the wooden salad bowl:

so what?

the sheer stoicism here is inspiring to me.

this is the mindset that i want - and don't have the emotional energy to cultivate.

were Brautigan still around and kickin' today, i'd buy the man a shot of the best whiskey i could get with $7 and thank him for emulating the exact mindset i want, need, and desire

in four lines.

it's simple - the green paper is a fraud, illusory. from afar or even from near with a quick glance - the green paper is another leafy green of the salad. a leaf of lettuce, a bit of cabbage. even if you press your face into the bowl and smell, the paper will smell of salad and nothing but.

it falls onto the floor, you pick it up to throw it away. you notice the texture inapropos with more roughness, and frailty than a leaf of a vegetable. you test it - you tear it.

it was paper.

it was not the spinach you'd desired.

it was not real.

it was not what you wanted.

regardless of the time you've spent preparing the salad, chopping your veg, blending your dressing, tossing it all, and fixing it for presentation,

if you throw this paper out - it will be no loss, and your salad will only be better for it.

a green piece of paper fell off the wooden salad bowl.

so what?

Love Poem

the piece that brought Brautigan in to my attention in the first place.

It's so nice

to wake up in the morning

all alone

and not have to tell somebody

you love them

when you don't love them

any more.

resolve.

clarity.

peace.

the earlier bleach has gone unsipped. she has come, she has gone. he has suffered, he has grown.

and now, he is at peace.

his world back to...

normal.

this has been a journey through love with Richard Brautigan.

I'VE GOT

red wine

nicotine

fresh chocolate chip cookies

the plaid heated blanket that keeps me

cuddled up in the recliner that doubles

as my bed.

I'VE GOT

red wine

daydreams

moving to a different city with a different scene

i wanna meet new friends,

try codeine

find love or find drugs to console me

I'VE GOT

red wine

thin skin

pink like your soft cheeks when they're sunkissed.

haulover beach, you were naked

on a trip,

and you screamed, and you screamed, and i hate it.

I'VE GOT

red wine

ain't shit

except seven little boxes full of bullshit

old love notes kissed with red lips

seven boxes of evidence you didn't mean shit.

I'VE GOT

a lotta bit of lethargy

all my energy drained.

i remember the day where you looked at my eyes

and you said "babe since you met me you don't look the same"

you looked at the bags,

(beat.)

and you said "that was me"

(beat.)

and of course i dismissed it

said babe don't be silly

i envisioned us happy and said that "you make me complete."

I'VE GOT

red wine

white lies.

red wine.

red wine.

GOT.

red wine

no time.

it's time.

lifeline.

we met in a field

i plucked a fruit from your veins

you encouraged me to eat

i exchanged with you a name.

.

i kept you close inside a jar

and with time, you turned sour

you encouraged i add water

lest it be the final hour.

.

my glass turned pink

with the hue of your skin

you explained - it's drink,

you encouraged me to sip

.

i never knew beauty

like your taste upon my lips

you are my favorite poison

and i have now, not a drip.

hey this is tildes so i should talk about code.

i dont type each > for the markdown individually.

got a tiny function i wrote that does it for me: https://repl.it/repls/HonoredRubberyProfessional

so there's that for anyone who wants an easier time formatting their thing.

stuff at the bottom. not necessarily inspo. just.

yeah

i just

want to go back

to normal.

normal like in 2016

when i had a little cash

and spent it all

on books, coffee, clothes, teenage shit

i was nineteen

we had yet to meet

back to normal

like the centuries

where i would never be

from the dawn of the earth

up to the nineties.

back to normal

back to friends

back to hobbies and dreams

back to having endless things

that i found exciting

back to normal

when i'd stay up a little late

and fall asleep, be up at 8

and make my coffee

not living in the night,

sleeping in the morning.

.

but the meds are all a hex,

cyanide with side effects

take this pill if you're depressed

now youre a narcoleptic wreck

and your car's a crumpled mess

so momma drives you to your check-

ups full of shit you never said

like how you wanna quit - dead.

because you say something she think

is wrong you end up in the shrink

with all the people with the bigger problems

thrashing as they shriek

and you wake up on a table

see the warden of the clink

shoving hands into your mouth

tryna feed you what they think

'll fix your fucking problems.

hooked - benzodiazepines.

and now you're mellow, now you're numb

for now your skin'll cease to bleed

and still you look around in envy

pretty people - normalcy.

.

i gotta get out this house

get back to normal

maybe she can't find me there.

maybe i can get a text

or get some coffee

breathe, not even care

'bout if i'll turn a cursed corner

see her curly golden hair,

and have a flashback to the nights

spend crying lonely in despair

as she would sit, a room away

sipping vodka in here chair

taking snaps and scrolling insta

for her modelling career

and i would wail my soul would bleed

praying that her heart would hear

and she would get up, come and hold me

stroke my hair like "mama's here."

and i could breathe

our love immortal

i want nothing but a world

where i am back in full control

through death or breath

just make me normal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5NB7RBZ1yGY

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NO5JLdsNxSk | Lyrics

currently 7 hours into a 24 hour shift that will see me through to the end of this project.

this song came on that helped me find catharsis when i last felt like this in 2014.

coincidentally, i'd just finished one of my few milestones in the project

i could take a break if i wanted to.

i could hear the words filling themselves in, treating the song like a template.

decided i'd take a minute to "remix" or "cover" this song for how things are going this time around.

here's the original.

maybe give it a listen, then jump into this piece,

out of words now.

bishop

[Verse 1]
You still cross my mind from day to day
And I mostly cry
Still so set on finding out where we went wrong
and why
So I retrace our every step with a bloodwet knife
Trying to figure out what your head thinks
And my head just ain't what it used to be
So I ask,

...what's the point anyway?

[Verse 2]

I remember bringing boxes up the stairs to your apartment
Knowing love was slipping
rapidly away
I remember the skin of your forehead
Your nose and your lips I'd always kiss when I was out of things to say
You held my hand, and you would always promise me
You'd promise me pretty things but I would never understand
I remember when you said you didn't love me
And I swear not a single force on earth could stop the trembling of my hand

[Verse 3]
I remember how you smiled through the smoke in a crowded little coffeehouse
And laughed at all my jokes
And I remember the way that you dressed
While we wasted all the best of us in alcohol and sweat
And I remember when I knew that you'd be leaving
How I barely kept up breathing and I bet if I could to do it all again
I'd feel the same pain
I remember faded driving through the city in tears
How I wept to god in fits, I've hated Texas ever since

I've found it's true what people say
That death and drugs can numb the pain
And every single day I want to fade away, cus

[Verse 4]
I still remember independence tricked us
And lead us helpless holding cash into a pit to be devoured
I still remember how we held so strong to this
Though we had never really settled on a way out
I still remember your blank face
And how we'd always find a way recommit the same mistakes
I still dream that it would all come back together
Just to fall apart again

[Bridge]
My dear
I hear your voice in mine
I've been alone here
I've been alone here
I've been afraid, my dear
I've been afraid, my dear
I've been at home here
I've been at home here
You've been away for years
You've been away for years
I've been alone
I've been alone
I've been alone
I've been alone

[Verse 5]
I breathed your name into the air, I etched your name into me
I felt my anger swelling, vision black, I can't see
I held your name inside my heart but it got buried in my fear
It tore the wiring of my brain, I did my best to keep it clear
So dear, no matter how we part I hold you sweetly in my head
And if I do not miss a part of you, a part of me is dead
If I can't love you as a lover, I will love you in my death
Anything to see you smile, keep you happy in my end.

hi i'm bishop
and i'm the guy you probly see
inside your dreams
who shows up for half a second
then i morph into a sheep

no wait im bishop
im the guy who's in the back
of that one photo that you
took out by the beach in
2018 out in cabo

hold on, no, it's bishop
it's the person that you messaged
when you posted up on tumblr
needing help with your depression

i mean

no

wait

i'm bishop!

i mean

i'm 1930s jazz superstar Cab Calloway.
i don't really play many instruments
but i can sing
i'm a throat player

hi my name is bishop
and i'm actor Matthew Lillard
hah like zoinks babe, i was shaggy
let me take you out to dinner

but then she turned to me
all worriedly
i asked her "whats the problem b?"
she said "i'm not some pretty girl,
i'm bishop! i'm your coffee!"

and i looked around like what the hell
and down onto my bed i fell
the pillow was my face
i was the bottles on the shelf

hi there pal, my name is bishop!
wait i lied it's Captain Morgan!
don't you love the way i
can't walk straight in my own Jordans
(that were actually pretty expensive shoes, like who pays that much for shoes? i mean i get the aesthetic and all i have some jackets that were kinda expensive but like

...dude.)

(cough)

hi my name is bishop
but i'm really Roddy Piper
and i'm feelin hella Rowdy cus my
ex she made my life hurt

i mean wait
no

i'm Bert Kreischer!
i'm im a machine!
and i'm a funny guy!
i'm hella rich, i'll slide some money by
if you can sing me beddie-bye

no fuck
i'm Tyler Perry
i make really funny movies
and i think you'd probly like me
if you ever really knew me

i mean

im bishop
and i eat a lot of fruit
but i still cant seem to get rid
of my stomach
i've considered "fasting" before and i used to but i like to cook too much so i end up like not eating for a day and then cooking a lot (like a lot) and really enjoying that meal and the whole process but it kinda nullifies the whole thing.

i'm gordon ramsay.

i'm

im chef Joel Robuchon and i have hella Michelin Stars

and my heart burns

i mean fuck i ate too much i'm

im'm larry the cable guy, do you have heartburn? i could

*sigh* sell you

Prilosec

i'm bishop

i'm

....

anyone but me.

cheers

y'already know who it is
bishop - little punk bitch.

's go. no need to comment or whatever. just yelling at the internet today.

Xes On My Eyes For Life.

tw: self-harm/suicide/alcohol/drugs

startin off the year all
alone inside my bedroom
lookin back in the past
what i been through
how you'd pet my hair,
cuddle close in my bedroom
now ain't nothin but depressive
air in the bedroom
look what i get up to
xans and the mushrooms
body don't have much room
left for me to love you
it pushes all the air out
in case you maybe come thru
you took all of my breath out
and i can't even speak you

name into the air
with no fingers in my hair
sippin whiskey in my chair
i can see your shadows here
you told me "lay it bare, give
your heart and boy i swear"
from now until the day you die
i promise i'll be there."

now i'm broken down
and wearing out
your voice in my head
get it out
i'm gettin up and pullin down
the liquor off the shelf

my empty bed is
screaming out
i'm praying that you'll
hear me while
i'm masturbating moaning out
"I'm gonna kill myself."

Прости меня,
Пожалуйста
now is my time
убей меня
princess - зайчик
i can't take it
baphometic
angel - wrists slit

cus i'm broken down
and wearing out
i know the truth you
hate me now
i'm gettin up and pullin down
the liquor off the shelf

my empty bed is
screaming out
i'm praying that you'll
hear me while
i'm masturbating moaning out
"I'm gonna kill myself."

BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER - UNTERGANG 2019

Xes on my eyes for life

seems like some people 'roudn here tdont know that bishop an emo rapper on the comeup 👀

so lemme introduce myself

bonjour

im bishop.

i write hella poetry, and i just got a midi board and a expensive-ass course on Logic Pro X so imma learn how to produce as well.

imma kind, lighthearted fella, but poetry is my muse to get the dark shit off my chest

and rap is the zeitgeist now so i dont gotta feel ashamed of that anymore lmao

i sold my soul for love and cash, but that keeps biting back

we'll see how siht plays out

.

i love comments, and always peep my inspo tracks or we cant be friends

(jk but srsly)

much love, spread positiv y, all of that shit,

bishop

ps i also cook a lot so if u hungry for some plants hmu

peep tha inspo at the bottom

a wise man once said
don't let your dreams be dreams
so any time i go to sleep
it's always nightmares indeed
a lucid hellscape, i cant
move i cant scream
as i lay there unawake
my fists pounding at the sheets
it steady creeps, in my head
it lays dormant in the day
but still it's stench seeps out
constant suffocates my brain
as i struggle for a breath
and my heart starts to race
i just wanna lay down and
fantasize a better day

chasin xanny with the whiskey
give a fuck about my kidneys
life feels like a living hell
if the furnace isn't in me
so im steady blowin smoke
out my lungs like a chimney
my body like the house that
you used to live in with me
now it's empty and i'm starving
feelin ugly, i'm not eating
but the devil promised riches
thus, the dark, i will believe in.

---

So Spoke Zarathustra
we're in this shit again
as i built up another hope
and then i lost another friend
now there's demons in my head
i expose my skeleton
i thought that i could trust you
always swore you're genuine

but now i'm in this swamp again
and i be wadin' through the water
my skin begins to bubble up
my blood is getting hotter
and i can hear a voice within
screaming out with an offer
all the pain will end if i just
offer up my slaughter
let the water take me under
let the Bishop take me under
i could send my soul away
and throw my body in gutter
and i shudder in my slumber
fingers gripping at the sheets
and i wake up in a sweat
this is what she did to me.

---

don't let your dreams be dreams
let them be nightmares
when your soul's in the dark
you can trust that the night cares
upon a hilltop
there stood a white mare
who scoffed my direction
took off and left me there

taking an L like
fuck, i'm here again
Zoroastrian hell
as my heart starts withering
cut that bitch out,
used my last breath
to bury it
fell to the ground
as my life was
diminishing

send me to hell
then at least i'll be free of this

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxvLc2a6Iao&t=112s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ff0bq_ydEQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

if anyone would be interested in my top 10 emo rap tracks of 2018 lemme kno because i know what they are i just font have the everny to write a wholeass post on it but if yall want it i will

bye now

BISHOP NEHM MICH UNTER

we off the drink we off the emo shit

esskeetit

peep the inspo track sat the bottom or we cant be ffriends

sold my soul to the devil

so that i could feel valued

remember bein in a empty

home with a vacuum

former straight-edge

off the drink, off the valium

wanna go back to our

mornings with the cartoons

made my heart a whale

then you hit it with a harpoon

bleedin on the beach, staring

up at the full moon

sometimes life rains

down in a monsoon

i'd be glad to drown if

it means i can love you

.

but i cant even hug you

can't even text you.

antidepressooos

bishop 5'6" but he tryna

be big news.

.

tryna get big so you

cannot forget me

honey your love is a

xanny it's deadly

how'm i supposed to

forget about kelly

or bout all of those nights

that you called me, unsteady

wish i loved you correctly

shit got unsteady

i was just tryna get

us a few pennies

put you in a bentley

put you in the fendi

wasn't rich enough so

you got all offended

on the offensive

antidepressents

fuck that bullshit

it just makes me sedated

.

dont wanna feel shit

if i cant feel you

prayin that you'll text me

"let me heal you"

you got 50 shades of grey

i can see through

but somehow still

made me believe you

ignroed all the red flags

so i could keep you

mistook for an angel

whenever i'd see you

but now you a model

you said "i don need you"

looking for a camera

you can show your tits to

then the devil approached me.

said "i can guarantee you."

.

so i went to the sea

heard a voice, "take a knee"

so i nodded, agreed

and he said "you will serve me -

Boy listen closely

each one of your dreams

surrender control to

you want the money,

someone to devote to,

4-k square foot house

to go home to.

this, i can construe

if you submit to

living your life, all despite

where you'll go to.

i now control you

your soul - i have claim to

but think of all the things

that my hands can bring you.

so i bowed on my knees -

now this man, i submit to.

.

ave satani

i give you my body

my soul, it was drawn, he

took it, made a copy

forgot about mommy

woke up smelling coffee

looked in the mirror

did not hate my body

the sky was all foggy

and greyed-out, but oddly

i liked it enough to

not waste the day nodding

or off of the molly

or in my room rocking

with her voice talking

.

ave satani

the blood and the body

the dark it is calling

and i find it calming

it's sated the longing

lil bishop's evolving

let's go to the graveyard

i feel like walking

and talking

and nodding

inspo tracks: peep this shit

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w--D1S8SrCQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Ff0bq_ydEQ

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y17IQ96Zzjk

i headed home from
the store last night
hair kinda fucked up
red in my eyes
stared at the road
not a car in sight
looked up at the sky
sunset looked nice

drinks in the seat
drugs on the mind
looking for a way to
go numb for the night
then the clouds came down
sent a fog up high
couldn't see ahead
something didn't feel right

i was five minutes out
so i pressed on home
accompanied by another
feeling of alone
turned on the radio
put down my phone
tried to shake the nerves
with a half-good song

pressed on the gas
and the fog pressed low
saw something flickering
with shape unknown
it was just dead ahead
then a mile up the road
then i came to a halt
from my seat i was thrown.

--

front-end smashed,
not a soul was around
i called out for help
but nobody heard a sound
i crawled to my car
and i looked all around
then i looked up to god
and the rain came down

then my radio sang,
and i turned my head 'round
reached for the volume
my hand knocked out
heard a voice, "listen close"
as my back hit the ground
then the radio spoke,
in my head, heard it shout

i awoke in my bed
with no pain in my neck
rushed out to my car
no sign of a wreck
didn't know the day or
the time, had to check
8am again, the crash
didn't happen yet.

i tried to think back
memories on a thread
but something stood out
ever clear in my head,
the song that i heard
with the words i can't forget
had to write em all down
i ran back to my desk

i rushed the words down,
i almost felt myself mad.
the song made me miss
a love i never even had
that's when it clicked,
i finally understand
finally took a look
at the world in my hands

she was never perfect,
negatively drove you mad
all the pain, the hurt,
anxiety, you felt at her hands
you remembered all the exits,
and escapes that you planned
but you persevered through,
now she loves another man

but fuck it, that's good
she only ever made you hurt
all the times you felt alone,
and mistreated by her words
all the foolish fights she started,
all the stupid shit she stirred
look past all the beauty, boy
abuse, you don't deserve

it's a big-ass world, boy
you'll find a better girl
take a look back for yourself
and see how things really were
go on, my son,
you'll inherit the world
because the love that you miss,
you never had back with her.

I'm rather sleepy, generally very reserved when it comes to sharing my work, and not a native user of English, but I have a couple poems in English, and I though I'd share one here and see what the folks think of it. I love the challenge of writing stuff in languages other than my native tongue.

a bird with no wings
a song no one sings
a sorrow when time brings
         nil.
ex nihilo nihil fit
et words have no wit
mouth knows only to spit
         nil.
time is scarse and gods wobble
in vain hurry naive men hobble
ignoring they will only nobble
         nil.

apathetic.
hardly wanna move, too
depressed to drink
pathetic.
see a demon's hand
on your closet door
forget it.
possession and a hell-
bound sentence better
than remembrance.
my uncle got so fucked
up that he passed, guess
it's genetic.

exhausted
tryna make depression
beautiful, poetic.
tired of this dance
between lethargic,
apoplectic.
brain on sober
tweakin every minute
schizophrenic. all
the thoughts i'm
barely eatin tryna live
up to aesthetics.

tired of my fucking
skin, a serpent's wish
to shed it.
i saw all the flags
drenched in red
how prophetic.
baphomet in
female form, they said
you'd be angelic.
my single dying wish
you'd be a little
sympathetic

-.

don't come
don't come
to my funeral.

don't cry
don't cry
at my funeral.

just know i
thought you
were beautiful.

even with your
knife at my throat
beautiful

.

where to go
no one's home,
honey can i call?

every day
feed the night
it's insatiable

i never thought
i'd come to say it
maybe its your fault.

i cant believe ive
come so low to say
that its your fault.

-.

i hope you kiss me,
hope you hold me,
when i see you in hell.
cuddle closely
and console me
when i see you in hell.
girl dont push me
will he? wont he?
boy how many pills?
all his poems,
magnum opus, testa-
ment and will.

if i cant know you
lay beside you
then somebody will.
dont wanna own you
or control you, you
do what you will.
i'll just sit here in
the cold, alone, and
write my will.
bottoms up a
litre wine a couple
hands of pills

peep the inspo at the bottom

i finnally found some shit i lvoe

fuggg i hate to post this much because i'm certain my shit gets annoying. i bet there's hella people on here who view my posts as "fluff" and want it gone but highkey idgaf.

i know tildes likes to be open to discussion and likes to look deeper into things - ain't my fault i don't get that many comments ¯\(ツ)/¯. i tried writing more secretive and intricate shit people could pick apart if they want, but those weren't received as well as some of my more blunt posts.

though that one poem i did where i referenced rocky horror did really well.

i dunno.

i just hope my shit belongs here 😂 but i guess if i've been allowed to make over thirty posts in the past three months that means i'm in the clear.

dont be afraid to keep me in check, and dont be afraid to comment on my stuff.

i invite your questions, your critique, your thoughts in general. i may be fucxed in the head, but i'm an artist above all else (is that true?). if you want to dig into my shit or have any ways i can improve on my work, i'd be so glad to know you have no idea

i write my stuff to express myself but that does no good if no one's listening lmao so i want to write shit people like. i welcome all feedback.

anyway i'm ranting again and i'm only tipsy. imma finnish this drink (kuinka voit?), then imma find a beat and ride on some shit.

y'all know the drill.

say it with me.

esskeeetiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,

i'm actually crying right now. i found a beat that sounds just like the kind of shit i want to make and everything is just rushing to me. this is insane.

this is the blues moderna i want to make. i feel like Taj Mahal

ain't nothing truer in my heart
than missouri blues
remember driving through St. Louis
sitting next to you
remembering the times you said you loved me
guess it wasn't true
told me you'd love me forever
now i'm feeling all confused.

baby where'd you go and why'd
you take my heart away from me
now i write pathetic songs and
can't stop thinking pitifully
wonder if you talk me good
or speak on me in mimicry
i can't stop hating myself
and looking at me critically

mirrors are the worst friend
a man could ever have
when a pretty blonde girl went
and tore his heart in half
when he's sure he's lived the best
years he'd ever have
what good is any man, girl,
without his better half?

take me to the delta where
a man can sing in peace
laughing at me, drunk
when i'm just tryna find relief
can't afford the therapy,
for shit you did to me
i'd let you take my life if
you just killed me in your sheets

(chorus)

baby please
tell me that you care a-bout me
promise you don't laugh at me
tell me that you'll come on close and hold me

-.

baby hear me howlin' at your back door
wonder what you're not talkin to me for
hoping that you answer and take me home
take me back before everything went wrong

take me back to days when i still loved good
it was us against the world but girl we endured
our thoughts were caked in sin although our hearts pure
we got all cuddled close and smoked a backwood

take me back to days when you still liked me
and my body wasn't cause for anxiety
wanna go back to twenty sixteen
eyes blue, hearts black, minds pristine

baby hear me howlin' at your back door
wonder what you're not talkin to me for
hoping that you answer and take me home
take me back before everything went wrong

(chorus)

baby please
tell me that you care a-bout me
promise you don't laugh at me
tell me that you'll come on close and hold me

i feel like if i write any more on this one imma ruin it. i don't like that.

peep the inspo

(iit's not rap. it's blues. actually peep the inspo)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4YPMiFaPWo (oooooof jesus christ, 1:13!!!!!!)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-iqTRNUOsFI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c0_eRVroLqs

i fucxing hate dallas, i fucxing hate texas.