poem about despair

Tyler R. Martin

Cheap wine and cigarettes

Seem to hold some wisdom,

When a simple man can’t seem to bare

Life’s daily derision.

“Morning Ensues”

Tyler R. Martin

His dad’s ashes                 up on the mantle

Empty wine bottles            litter the rug

And there’s a mirror           above the dresser

For the poet to oggle         his own ulgy mug

A shiny Zippo                    he likes to flip up

Watching flames dance     up on the wall

And with just one flip         lights a cigarette

As his bottle makes him    ten feet tall

Old mellow music              hums in the background

Each puff of smoke            smothers the room

With each sip                     the wine’s less bitter

The sky is brighting and     morning ensues

“Every Fucking Day”

Tyler R. Martin

Ever wanna die so bad it hurts?
Ever wanna die so bad your tears
Become nothing but hot ash,
Charring your eyes with puffs of smoke
As your irises become clouded
In steam and stressed veins?
Ever burn inside so hotly you wanna run,
With screeching tires on unforgiving asphalt
Until they wear so thin they explode
And send you tumbling in crushed streel
And shattered glass?
You wanna die that way, sure, but know you won’t
And you bitterly dread the inevitable walk after,
Knowing you need to keep moving
Until your shoes are shredded and your
Feet blister and bleed?
Ever wanna die so bad this seems preferable
To living another day?
If yes, welcome to my world you dreary fuck…
… Pour yourself a drink, we’ll toast together…

“Attack the Day”

Tyler R. Martin

I am subsisting on Belgian beer and red cabbage as of late.
Certainly not a bad breakfast,
Apparently both are very good for gut health
And gut health is very important.
My father would tell me that you’re fucked if your digestion is outta wack and, with this diet,
My digestion is very good.
I wake up,pop a handful of various pills,
Crack a beer and take an incredible shit;
Hangover gone, a bit high, feeling ten pounds lighter
And ready to face the world.

“Burn The Polack at the Stake!”

Tyler R. Martin

When has poetry become political?
And poets devoid of emotional depth?
Why has color or creed or cock you suck or don’t
Become more about the syllables and structure and sentiment?
Does minority status a poet make? Or degree of social justice theme imbue a poem with worth?
Do you care about my sexual orientation when you read this poem?
Do you scoff at my lack of melanin?
From here I can hear you thinking
“How could Ty ever be a poet? Ty is white and white is wrong and I betcha he’s never sucked a cock,
he’s got to suck at least 50 cocks before he gets published, and some of those cocks better be black!
Hell! He’s nothing but a miserable, white, drunk! He doesn’t even take political stances! And if he did they’d likely be incorrect, his social justice score is in the tank!
Holy fuck, he might even be a natural blond!
Forget the thought of publishing, Ty, you Nazi fuck, you alcoholic, misogynistic piece of shit,
Your intolerance is intolerable!
Burn the Polack at the stake!”