dark morbid nights and early morning thoughts

[jakecaller]

two dark poems from my college days published in Rosset Maleficarum 

https://rosettemaleficarum.wordpress.com/2017/10/30/depressed-morbid-nights-by-john-cosmos-aller/

Depressed Morbid Nights

 

One of these depressed, depraved, morbid nights

I shall awake to the God damned game of life

 

And sit under the graying light

Of the foolish full moon

 

And laminate upon my luminance

And chew up the garments of past lives

 

And cry my soul

But no one will hear the plight of my mind

On strike for better wages

And more love

 

Thus, I will sit, and think and dream

Dreams that no one ever before dreamt

 

It is so very lonely being a foolish lunatic

But then as I drink to oblivion

I begin to think

 

Of all those things that I have not experienced

And wonder with a vengeance

 

Why God hates me so

Or is it only an illusion?

 

When will I awake

Or do we just sit waiting for more beer

To cover up

 

The stench of putrid rotting flesh

Waiting for death to take us away

 

To the Cosmic garbage dump in the sky

Trying to communicate across a gap

 

That is light years’ long

And will never close

 

For man was not made to know

The real thoughts of another

 

Man was made to suffer, cry and wait

For the party in Hell afterwards

 

Shit, let’s us die and be done with it

Or live without our God damned dreams

 

Running our thoughts

Into pits of depraved madness

 

 

Early Morning Thoughts

 

Early in the midst of a chaotic frenzy

I caught the fragrance of her sweat grin

And my heart did a swirling spin

When I saw that vision of erotic delight

 

There I stood

Alone in a somehow too dismal room

Full of vibrant people

I knew not what to say

 

So, I spent that dismal day

Thinking dismal morbid thoughts of lugubrious doom

Thoughts what might happen that day

And what might have been if I had the courage to say Hello

 

Thus, it went

Years after ever melancholy year

Days after ever gloomy days

Nights of self-induced torture

 

Months of nightly rancid beer

There it went

 

Now

I am sitting and thinking

Thoughts so gloomy

I still don’t know

 

Life belongs to the living

Not to the morbid mystic dreamers

Nor the poets dying