Beginning

I started writing pseudo-poetry in June. It actually has lines and stanzas and ish like that. I moved away from this type around August. But, hey, let's post a few.

Forever
I feel not alone
but almost.

It's alone
in the slaughterhouses
that I
wither
decrescendo
wilt
as the
final
cresendo
parallel
is played.

You said this
was a
duet
however you have
consumed my part
in a way
that
I dare not explain.

"Come quick, the eunuch is dying!"

It was
all
servitude.

Now
it's
all
ineptitude
even
in
the
swinging
slingshot
of tempo.

Holidae
Wind the victrola
my darling.
I declare
this
a national
holiday...


--
There's more where that came from, eventually... they're all that bad.