Angel With The Robotic Arms

Shitty Fact #2,847,942: I’m not the only unique starfish in the sea; there are many people who want to be a professional writer, a famous author. And we each think we’re the special one. We each think we’re the prettiest fucking raindrop gracing the earth with our presence. Doesn’t matter. We all fall into the same ocean. We all drown with each other. I’m not unique, creative, or the next Great American Author. I’m just another desperate bipolar schizophrenic with a pen.

Unrelated but related side-note: I finished a short story for NaNoWriMo. I was pretty excited when I started it, but by the end I realized it’s a piece of shit. And not because it hasn’t been edited. It’s just plain shit….It is an odd, out-of-body experience to read your own work and see it for what it truly is…

#woeisme #idon’tcarethati’mwhining #nowiwanttowatchmetropolisforsomereason #thisisnothowyouusehashtags

Angel with the Robotic Arms
JCD Kerwin

we’re all just broken ‘bots
that walk
in sad, grey lines,
in time
with each other.
but with each new tick
and metallic tock
of the Doomsday Clock,
we’re pulled off shelves
and bought,
second-chance
from second-hand
shops. we’ve got
no regrets except
that we gave up on ourselves
long before this world.

(Dec. 2014)

ruMble junglE

ruMble junglE
JCD Kerwin

I like spaceships and caffeine
and I have no idea
what “normal” means.

I laugh at puns,
and think we’re overrun
with assholes.

My baseball hat
is part of my act
to be someone I am not.

Airplanes give me panic breath,
I always fear dark water depths,
and crowds make me very
nervous.

I can’t live without blasting
my ears full of tunes
because I think music,
can save me.

And if I may,
I feel the rain
is worth a hellavua lot more
than to ignore
with umbrellas.

I don’t think it’s wrong
to act along
with my favorite cartoons.

I’m quiet on the outside
but inside I hide
thunderstorms.

I hate talking on phones
and sometimes I want
to be left all alone.

I think maybe books
are the closest to Heaven
that I’ll ever be.

I always fear
what tomorrow brings,
but I still want to know
what’s around every corner.

I’m friends with monsters
hiding under my bed and
deep in my head,
calling to me in low whispers.

The light in the hall
is the only thing keeping
this dark world from creeping
into my heart.

I’d like to swing from stars,
and I often wonder
if Ray is happy on Mars.

I’m sure I dream too much
(I know there’s no such
thing as magic),

but maybe somehow, someday,
I’ll build a spaceship, and
sail far away.

(October 2014)

HISS THIS

HISS THIS
JCD Kerwin

And there it goes:
my eye twitch,
my side stitch;
the way my tongue splits
open into a serpent’s,
spitting poison onto jerks.
The way my blood boils,
how this lashing tail coils,
and claws that scrape the walls
of my graying prison.
If I’m kept this way,
I’ll likely go insane;
I’ll gnash and munch
and bite and crunch
the hand that reaches in my cage.

(October 2014)

Busting Eardrums

Busting Eardrums
JCD Kerwin

My ears bleed
when
music rips,
matches the pounding of the tips
of my toes
on concrete.
Vibrations tangle
and
explore my organs;
they traverse the goop,
as I slowly turn
into acoustic soup.

I’d rather explode
than listen to
the cacophonic tune
of such a noisy world.

(October 2014)