I tend to write poetry when I am overwhelmed by some great emotion, and it is these moments that have produced my favorite pieces. Consequently, much of my poetry is written from a frustrated point of view, as they revolve around dark topics. I can never write anything when I’m happy; it ends up sounding cliché and annoying.
Thus, the following two poems are what resulted after witnessing a certain event that didn’t quite sit right with me.
Untitled
She stands in the middle
of the pavement
in her neon pink raincoat
The smoke from the cigarette
held between her fragile fingers
obscures her vivid,
crazes blue eyes
She screams one dollar
One dollar
One dollar
She travels to another street,
inflicting her pain
on all who pass
Counting Down
He’s obsessed with death.
In ten years, he says,
I’ll be lying
In a dirt bed
With pallid skin
And unseeing eyes.
It’s accepted in his mind.
He only waits.
He spends his days working
And nights resting
While the patient blackened hand
Threatens to seize him.
