Mick Tomlinson Poetry

through half-cracked eyes I see the sins of my life pile up like bones of war. some, neatly stacked. do they plan to assemble into something useful? I whimper in thought. the black inkwell I dip my tip into seems dry, but not dead. words head-on collide and crash straight over the table. more bones now, down around my feet where poetry meets the silence of my sin. I wonder if God still knows me... I fear the tenderness of his laughter and love, and the idiot emptiness I create feels like Nebraska in November, and snow poking through the month of June.

didn't wanna spend $$$ on high caliber chest plate, so i went to home depot instead- bought a buncha bricks & now i'm stacking 'em up 'round the window- (((bird's-eye ballistics))) shit   gonna       go down when laws against 30rnd mags get made in the moonlite- boogaloo playlist on blast, niggas come fast with badges and big gunz, but this dope mf'er ain't gonna run.

twenty five plus eighteen equals how many times i murdered myself tonight b4 writing this stupid poem for u to steal. i remember writing hard things on toilet paper while smashing my head against a bathroom stall wall five days ago. graffiti dreams and rape screams... nobody heard me crying, but i begged for more. i think i hate myself more than people who clog the road on my way to work- more than people who jog too close to white paint lines. i want to die inside a bottle of vodka while reading Ginsberg and puking my guts out to all the gay shit this world has become.

i stopped by a winery on my way home from work-- decided to stock up on stuff i never drink, now here i am two bottles into a night that feels like closet sex with a broom and a shy girl named Matilda. i am Benicio before becoming the Wolf. i feel this thing inside me growing larger-          wanting to rip through frail skin. it needs to breathe-- it needs to feed-- it needs to die-- semi-dry riesling wine tastes like white grapes with a kick             -i think i like it. yesterday, i took my gun into the backyard- fired randomly at t-t-trees while waiting for the shadow that hangs over me to reach 3 o'clock. it felt like forever. God got bored and bang-bang'd his back while crashing a tree behind me... i think he's plotting to kidnap the next sunrise. i hate inanimate objects more than wine, but sometimes they grow on me... i say as i open a third bottle and pour almost half of it into a red solo cup. i guess now i'm a wino with a bad case of the blues, and a pencha

if u knew who i wuz b4 u'd be trippin wonderin why i fell so far lost - my - way well i'll tell... i trusted too many people.. the OG of AP let AI in.. Please Master, can I stroke you off? show me how to write poetry right. faraway friend spread'n rumors cuz she hates the unraveling of life.. that's how it goes, though. libel me misogyny, even though she hates queen therapy and full frontal pomes, blast'n like grenade swayed guts post-pulling pin.

these voices in my head they scream at me-they want me to be less controlling         less intimidating they beg like three little bitches. i mock god just to rile them, play hardcore music when they sleep. these voices in my head- feels like sand snuck in after almost drowning at Jersey Beach. i listen to the mystery of the poets. maybe wisdom found face down equal to imaginary fetus born inside a brain still growing. these words are not poetry- more like a discharge of unholy breach. these voices in my head, i hate them- try to quiet them beneath pillow, yet they find holes to breathe while i write about hard-tempered madness in a house of muse, surrounded by slow-filled sorghum buckets.

Middle East murder show- bombs and babies holy shit, the whole world watches crabs crawl across coral- Mediterranean madness so many innocent Jews & innocent Arabs killing their fucking future- artificial juice bot tech billionaires spend money & send kids to ivy league schools, just to witness hair turn blue & commie pink. hey, let's squeeze acid from frog lips and get high one last time before all holy hell breaks loose, and we end up fighting ocean sharks bareknuckle beneath sea waves. this isn't the first time humans almost murdered themselves. we've done it a hundred times before, but history hates you and lies to you and will rape you                             every chance it gets. Hitler is a dirty word that nobody hears because nobody is allowed to say it. he drank the blood of dead rats two days after spoil, which doctors say is how disease spreads... but I've seen OnlyFans and beg to differ.