Pulp Poetry (1)

     Because sometimes, words look
     better in PULP.

     I hate you
     I don't love you
     I tolerate you (because)
     I'm too lazy
     and too afraid
     to do what is right.

     I am pathetic.



Copyright © 2010 Bill Friday

Whispers... Believed

Lies... softly spoken. A poem... with disclaimer*.

Brains on the bathroom floor
Gloating
Consciousness above me
Floating
Despair at life unlived
Responsibility relieved
Bucket made of bone
A sieve
Whispers of all doubt
Believed.

This poem is a companion piece for the article "With This Muse You Lose", which first appeared on Broowaha.com on March 28, 2007. This poem was written on March 21, 2009. Obviously, for the author, March is not a very good month.

* DISCLAIMER: Bill Friday does not endorse suicide as a "solution" to the problems of this life. This disclaimer should be read, and strongly taken into consideration (possibly with the counsel of a mental health professional).

Copyright © 2009 Bill Friday