Howling Madly

wolfbittenpoet · 04-10-2011, 05:52 PM

I am madness
A screaming soulborn lost boy
Genderfucking anarchist with wild eyes
I hide it
Carefully conceal it
With gentlemanly ways and dark glasses
With expressive hands and 1930s grace
I am the son of my grandfather
The laughing trickster running from growing up
But desperately wanting to grow old
Saving pennies in a jar
For a life I think I'll never live
But embracing the worse of Pandora's curses
I hope

wolfbittenpoet · 04-10-2011, 06:01 PM

Mr Wilde just so you know
You still make young men feel
Untethered by the limitations of rigid societal obligation
You tell us we lay in the gutter
But you implore to stare at the stars
Well in paltry words and feeble phrases
I reach grasping at ink dark eternity
Where crystalline brilliance twinkles
Fighting impending madness by embracing it
And laughing in my shallowness
Still your words delight
Pervasive comprehensible dribble
But deliciously decadent in thought
Let me hide my paintings so I may live forever
Wrapped up in a serenity of words

wolfbittenpoet · 04-10-2011, 06:51 PM

I write in the shower
At 3 in the morning
Because I can't sleep
Little kids markers that wipe off the wall
That bleed from the spray coming off me
Sometimes I wear my clothes
Family doesn't ask anymore
Quite frankly don't want to know
It's hard to explain but it's nice
A way to let out angry jumble
Wash it down the drain
Works better then scribbling on envelopes
With a pen run dry

Gemme · 04-10-2011, 10:20 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by wolfbittenpoet

I am madness

I really enjoyed the whole poem, but your first line is incredibly striking.

wolfbittenpoet · 04-12-2011, 12:19 PM

I’m screaming raging in the night
Laughing in the maddening delight
Searching for ectasy down a bottle
Breaking down insanity on typewriter keys
Sitting in the buggy humid hell
In boxers and Converse
Chest bound old school
Speedtyping oblivion
I am a trans queer madman
Lost in my own mind

wolfbittenpoet · 04-12-2011, 12:50 PM

I am no poet
I am a fire eyed fraud
Who taps at letters
Rambling mumbling
Incompetent
Nothing I create
Is Shakespeare
So I can not be a monkey with a typewriter
No I am ruled by emotion
So in the world of Wilde all I make is bad poetry
I have no sense of form
No concept of structure
I have never had a conversation with a comma
I am a grammatical anarchist
I am no poet
I simply sit down at a typewriter and bleed
So maybe Papa would say I'm a writer

wolfbittenpoet · 04-12-2011, 03:31 PM

My imagination is in a box
It sits on a shelf beside my heart in its cage
It has a lock on it
But it breaks often and escapes
Then it roams doodling on the walls
In a magic marker that won’t scrub off
It makes funny faces at me
Trying to get a response
Some days I ignore it as it babbles
Incoherent in the back of my mind
Others I embrace it and we laugh like jackals
Dancing about like we dwealt in Bedlam
And sing out the troubles of the world
For the vorpal blade to slay

04-10-2011, 05:52 PM	#1
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	I am madness A screaming soulborn lost boy Genderfucking anarchist with wild eyes I hide it Carefully conceal it With gentlemanly ways and dark glasses With expressive hands and 1930s grace I am the son of my grandfather The laughing trickster running from growing up But desperately wanting to grow old Saving pennies in a jar For a life I think I'll never live But embracing the worse of Pandora's curses I hope __________________ Burn Burn Burn

04-10-2011, 06:01 PM	#2
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	Mr Wilde just so you know You still make young men feel Untethered by the limitations of rigid societal obligation You tell us we lay in the gutter But you implore to stare at the stars Well in paltry words and feeble phrases I reach grasping at ink dark eternity Where crystalline brilliance twinkles Fighting impending madness by embracing it And laughing in my shallowness Still your words delight Pervasive comprehensible dribble But deliciously decadent in thought Let me hide my paintings so I may live forever Wrapped up in a serenity of words __________________ Burn Burn Burn

04-10-2011, 06:51 PM	#3
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	I write in the shower At 3 in the morning Because I can't sleep Little kids markers that wipe off the wall That bleed from the spray coming off me Sometimes I wear my clothes Family doesn't ask anymore Quite frankly don't want to know It's hard to explain but it's nice A way to let out angry jumble Wash it down the drain Works better then scribbling on envelopes With a pen run dry __________________ Burn Burn Burn

04-12-2011, 12:19 PM	#5
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	I’m screaming raging in the night Laughing in the maddening delight Searching for ectasy down a bottle Breaking down insanity on typewriter keys Sitting in the buggy humid hell In boxers and Converse Chest bound old school Speedtyping oblivion I am a trans queer madman Lost in my own mind __________________ Burn Burn Burn

04-12-2011, 12:50 PM	#6
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	I am no poet I am a fire eyed fraud Who taps at letters Rambling mumbling Incompetent Nothing I create Is Shakespeare So I can not be a monkey with a typewriter No I am ruled by emotion So in the world of Wilde all I make is bad poetry I have no sense of form No concept of structure I have never had a conversation with a comma I am a grammatical anarchist I am no poet I simply sit down at a typewriter and bleed So maybe Papa would say I'm a writer __________________ Burn Burn Burn

04-12-2011, 03:31 PM	#7
wolfbittenpoet Member How Do You Identify?: Typewriter Boy Preferred Pronoun?: He Relationship Status: Single Join Date: Sep 2010 Location: FL Posts: 534 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 891 Thanked 1,578 Times in 402 Posts Rep Power: 7303677	My imagination is in a box It sits on a shelf beside my heart in its cage It has a lock on it But it breaks often and escapes Then it roams doodling on the walls In a magic marker that won’t scrub off It makes funny faces at me Trying to get a response Some days I ignore it as it babbles Incoherent in the back of my mind Others I embrace it and we laugh like jackals Dancing about like we dwealt in Bedlam And sing out the troubles of the world For the vorpal blade to slay __________________ Burn Burn Burn