Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Nausea Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Wednesday 4/23/2008 12:02:00 AM

Life is always ready to happen. That you are the vessel is irrelevant. Life will happen with or without our consent. That's the fundamental principle that people overlook. We don't give life. We receive it. Or rather, are force fed it.

We don't love life. We fear death.

People aren't strong. Or smart. Or anything worth mentioning. Except violent. Destructive. And careless.

If anything, mothers and fathers should be penalized for making more people. In a world where too many already exist.

God, by whatever name you call it, is just a way to pretend you'll never die. More so to convince yourself you deserve to live.

You don't.

Deserve to live.

No one does.

You don't have the right to have children.

Your existing. Your beliefs. Justify nothing.

You are extraneous matter. Nothing else. Gas cramping the bowels of the universe.

One big fart and we're all gone.

People.

Diarrhea flowing incessantly from the ass of the Earth.

4 comments:
Dämmerung Anblick said...

you're wrong

geek-betty said...

ouch!
I have to admit I laughed at a few of the lines, like the "one big fart" line.
You don't have such a great view on humanity right now, huh? I'm sorry.

Anonymous said...

I loved this.
I especially loved the image of the ass of the earth.
Well said, as always.

alcholic poet said...

dammer: it's an opinion. it can't be 'wrong'. but your opposition is duly noted.

geek: i really don't like most humans very much, that's true. evenso, it was meant to be hyperbolic and excessive. a farce, but an honest one.

veronica: the ass part, yea. that's my favorite part too. nice to know you appreciated it.




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