Tyler R. Martin
A good mother weeps
When her little baby’s born
And thrown into the
Pit of vile snakes
And frothing hungry jackals
We know as the world.
And she weeps not for
Fact that he’s doomed to die
But he’s doomed to live.
bourbon, cigarettes and syllables
drunk, rambling and mildly poetic
Tyler R. Martin
A good mother weeps
When her little baby’s born
And thrown into the
Pit of vile snakes
And frothing hungry jackals
We know as the world.
And she weeps not for
Fact that he’s doomed to die
But he’s doomed to live.
Tyler R. Martin
I am spurred on by
Entropy, violence, and hate
For the world at large.
And yet I fail to
Confront the bitter blackness
Consuming my soul,
Tearing at my limbs,
Distracting me from my goals
Undermining life.
Tyler R. Martin
Misery ensues
When fear burns like a fire,
Ravaging your guts,
As faceless millions
Leer blankly at you in scorn
And you’re forced to ask:
Is it false to say,
Around every dark corner
Something evil waits?
Tyler R. Martin
Today is the day
All mother’s are given thanks
For their tyranny.
Tyler R. Martin
The splitting headache,
The bottles on my tableβ¦
I see what happened.
Tyler R. Martin
I was tempted, so
I popped a few of those pills
And now there is a
Fire in my skull.
My brain melts just like butter,
Eyes grow glassy-red,
Legs rise like balloons
And my hands feel just like leadβ¦
Am I gonna die?
Tyler R. Martin
Interesting fact:
Liter and a half of wine
Gets me very drunk;
Few puffs from a pipe
And I’m sent into orbit,
Drifting out in space;
Sip some cough syrup
And I see God on his throne,
Giving me wisdom;
These things I must know
If I’m to survive this world
With some sanity.
Tyler R. Martin
Weekends are a blur,
Mondays a total eclipse
And Wednesdays just suck.
Tuesdays I’m asleep,
Thursdays: always hungover,
Fridays I retreat,
Retreat into abyss
Until Sunday comes around,
Then I start again.
Tyler R. Martin
I don’t get birthdays,
Just waking up is enough
Cause to celebrate
Tyler R. Martin
I think that maybe
If God wasn’t such a prick
I would pray sometimes
Thank him for the joy
And the flowers and that shit
And tell him he’s cool
But God likes to take
And gives back very little,
So he’ll get my scorn
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