“In Blissful Fog”

Tyler R. Martin

I’ll express myself in prose
And I won’t take it back,
I’m meaningless by nature
So don’t give me any flack.

Leave me in my fog of bourbon,
Let me embrace an inner peace
And sink into sullen solitude
Allowing all worry to cease.

To avoid the daily drudgery
And to spiral down so deep,
Existing only in my psyche
And the bliss of solemn sleep.

Let me sit secluded and silent
To ponder with purpose as I smoke,
Indulging in brief painless pleasure
Before returning to a life without hope.

“For my Love: be my Love”

Tyler R. Martin

Oh, your violet lipstick, dark eyeshadow, rosey blush;
The way gorgeous blonde locks drape from your skull
And blue eyes explode as I tremble
In the subtle gaze of your graceful glow.
Your Love will relish in the slow motion wave of your locks and the flutter
And the flit and flash of your eyes and dark black lash.
So tall in Doc Martens,
Hips so sexy in jeans fitting so superb,
Voice pitched soft like a pigtailed school girl
And a way with a walk that, for your Love,
Will worry and disturb.
Oh it seems it’s you I need, when for you I live,
I live and fight and fight and bleed;
For the thoughts of mine you occupy,
From seductive grin down to sweet thighs,
And loving lips and tender kiss,
It’s for your love that your Love exists.
Oh baby, baby from heaven above,
Oh sweet baby baby be my Love

“Sick Sick Sickness”

Tyler R. Martin

And you, sickness,
You vile disease,
You came to me as liberation,
Came to me as I bid escape
From the doldum of pointless
Efforts which one
Grows to accept
And those enlightened few
Choose to expel.
But not all those
Trapped in the hellish winter of life
Cling to you so ardent as did I.
Some bask in family, meditation
Homelessness,
Social security…
I unfortunately am not enlightened enough for
Such a conquest.
My basking occurs in sickness,
I relish in my own mortality,
My frown is my subtle grin,
I indulge in drudgery.
My whiskey, my beer, my wine
Are my family,
Intoxication, my meditation
My existence, my pointlessness,
My sickness,
Are my life in summation.

“Corpse Corral”

Tyler R. Martin

In a shroud of solemn silk,
The dead man lie amongst his ilk
In a cold corral of corpses
All silent, grey and still
In frozen darkness dreary morbid
As worms await to eat their fill.

Never again will they laugh or jest,
They’re locked in rigid, gloomy rest
No smiles as the dead decay,
In the cold corral of corpses,
Now bitter blackness holds it’s sway
In his sad state oh so sordid.

While far away a family weep,
Eating flesh of poppy in bid for sleep,
They miss the man, they mourn his warmth,
Passing their sobs back and forth
As he lie in the coldness now
Of the solemn, silent corpse corral

“The half-assed Method”


Tyler R. Martin


Simplify your life,
Do everything in halves.
Cut potatoes in half
Then cut the halves in halves
Then cut those halves in halves as well.
Eat half your steak now, half later.
Put only a half hearted effort into grammar.
Smoke half a cigarette time,
They last longer that way.
When you’re fucking, stop about halfway through;
Sure, she’ll get mad,
But the second half, about an hour later,
Will blow her mind.
When going somewhere,
Drive about half way, then stop for a piss;
Who fucking cares if you’re late for work.
Try to limit yourself to one half bottle
Of red wine per night.
Boring conversation?
Walk away about half way through.
Only roll your car window down
Half way when smoking,
Stays warmer that way.
Life’s easier in halves,
Hell, I’m even gonna stop writing this poem
Half way through….

“A Drunks Toilet”

Tyler R. Martin

The drunk’s toilet is a battered whore,
A used up coked out booze pickled
Bitch.
Stained and dirty, dingy and dreggy,
Unkempt and ill used.
Her pure white porcelain skin:
Long since bare of its bright sheen
Her plumbing no longer tight and firm
And piping’s pearly hue has lost its gleam.

But she’s always there, she takes the abuse,
Takes the hits her drunk imparts as he lash out
And withstands the foulness which booze induce.
When he’s wasted,wounded, when he’s whitered and
Sick,
She takes the vomit and the dark black shit
She takes it all and never wallows,
Even the strong stinking yellow piss
This too she takes and always swallows.
How did her life come to this?

“Useless Persistence”

Tyler R. Martin

If I can break through a wan demenior
And befriend the guard dogs guarding your brain,
I’ll chisel through your cracked exterior
And southe a fragile heart at it’s frays.
But there’s a fracture left from convalescence
Too many times your minds been unwound
Way too often long dead demons come to haunt you
Slip past your soul’s sentrys without sound.

Below your damage there’s a sweet little girl
Whose craving marriage and a man of the world,
Whose craving art work that don’t make her apathetic
And avoiding heart break from sad boys she calls pathetic.
She’s sad and lonely but in her mind she’s numb,
In her body she’s a tenant, and her arms and legs are dumb,
Drew under by the tidal wave her needs and her resentment
And her soft despair now is but fading remnant.
Passed out on the floor contemplating her existence
Seeking joy but she still can’t find the door,
Cause she knows that it’s useless her persistence,
Makes the decision not to try anymore,
The bitter end is now no longer in the fleeting distance,
Feels the joy well up in her core.

“Red Red Roses”

Tyler R. Martin

Red red Roses plunged into empty bottles of Jack,
They murky-up the water with their decaying stems
And stink up my apartment with their foul scent
Equated only with death.
The red red Roses seem to bleed into themselves,
Like a perpetual ulser of beauty maroon,
Or the bleeding lungs of a shrapneled soldier
Dying in the desert.
That’s the desert Rose, I suppose,
Blood on the sand, gang-green stems,
The compound fracture thorns,
The wilting of a last breath,
The sucking chest wound of the petals,
Receding to its core with the deep deep red
Curdling and slowly blackening gore
Of the red red the Roses’ rotting heart.
“It’s pretty,” she says, “happy Valentine’s day, thank you, love!”
While in my head I apologise again to a weeping family,
Hand them a dead son’s Dog-tags in a room that reeks of
Red red Roses…

“one day dying”

Tyler R. Martin

There’s a point in living pointlessly, in that living any other way is equally as pointless. Living with “purpose” is a stressful facade and it’s mournful denial of reality, even more tedious. One century spent breathing air and shitting, not quite a blink of an eye in the tear stained face of Mother Earth. Life is brief and without significance. The only purpose one has, is one day dying.