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Doktor Archibald FroggDoktor Archibald Frogg
The Mad Scientist
Evil, Menacing, Strong
Blue, Transforming, Super-Smart, Fairly Sweet
evil, genius, talented
hot, cute, skinny, fashionable
a poem by TDS411
Memo: Search Doktor Frogg? TDS411 in.
For me and the fangirls.
Changed DailyChanged Daily
stubborn, think, leadership
intense, handsome, dapper, good
Professor ProfessorProfessor Professor
thinks, nosy, fashionable
German, happy, stress, mad sciencist-act
Daddy Don'tDaddy don't
Come home from school. It's already starting- the noise of yelling, glass crashing across the wall. Daddy please don't. Please don't do that- don't hurt mommy. Bruises have fade but the memories still remain.
Battle towards children eventually. Hidden in the closet when daddy starts stumbling. Daddy don't . Back up please out of my face Daddy don't. Don't spit at me. Daddy don't. Don't hit me. Daddy don't. Please that hurts. Daddy please. I cant take it anymore. Daddy please. Please stop I'm bleeding. Daddy don't. I cant see. Daddy Don't. I'm fading. Daddy don't. I cant hear. Daddy don't. Bye Daddy. Hi Father. I will protect my mother now.
Briny HymnBriny Hymn
as I bathe
all that is
in silvery light,
I lure the tide
to lap the shore.
and the moon
calls out to me
to caress the sand
in a watery blanket.
so I filter through,
washing every golden bead clean;
sand resting soundly
in my crevices.
I shimmer upon slumbering forms
far below, on the firmament.
I conduct my nighttime symphony
in perfect harmony,
the wolves wail,
the cicadas chirrup,
the owls cry out
and ravens rove.
and I add my own notes
to the sound of Mother nature's tunes.
crashing down wave after wave;
the bass of the impact
echoes through the shoreline
as I leave records of the wind.
sailors and marine creatures alike,
understand the jagged beauty
of my blustering anthem.
only the foggy blanket
can dampen my spirit,
and immerse my song
in the suffocating depths.
I've never struggled so much
to be heard above the dissonance.
my frost smoke layers
are becoming too much for her.
I do what I have done to so m
AddictionDrink this it will help they say
Pop this it will make your pain go away
It feels good I can breath I don't feel the pain in my heart until I come down
Head hurts Feel sick Need more Do it all over again
Liquid and pills are my friends Need help Here it comes Sick Feel like something is crawling in my skin
No I got this Don't need it anymore
Don't need the people Don't need the liquor Don't need the pills
Don't answer the phones Don't answer the doors
I got this Now I can see life again Ain't going to be another statistic Don't need them
MeId rather be me and have few friends then have many friends but don't know who the person that is looking back at me in the mirror
danse macabreIn the end they were all the same
they sat on whitewashed church steps,
toeing the ground in resignation,
hoping their furtive glances
to the left and to the right
would go unnoticed by
the stronger and more stable man
a few steps closer to the doors.
The flood of people became a trickle,
just a dribbling until
the last man -
somehow they knew he was the last
settled onto the lawn
and in unison the crowd rose.
There was no leader to the band, though
the closest was the beggar
who had expected this day
more than any other.
He was flanked by a lawyer,
a doctor and a thief.
They exchanged silent glances;
a new clarity reflected in ancient faces
as they lifted their heads together and
trudged on as one.
Here they gather,
scuff and shuffle;
lock eyes and make peace with equality.
Where did you go?Where did you go? I miss you so!
Where did you go? Do you remember your family?
Where did you go? Why did you have to pop that one pill which started everything?
Where did you go? I don't recognize you anymore!
Where did you go? All the black outs, fights, stealing from your loved ones, stealing your daughter's Christmas presents just cuz you needed to chase that stardust.
Where did you go? You couldn't get enough.
Where did you go? To heaven.
Where did you go? What am I going to tell our daughter?
the callingit begins with a few store-stolen profundities to be chewed
and discarded, to be contemplated
along with the patterns in the tobacco-
you know none of this will help you against
the sewage tide, the addictions
that cling to you like a bur to
the fur of a stray shepherd dog,
the mind's liquidity as it seeps
into the nooks to find excuses.
still, you begin to toss and turn at night,
thinking you might have something to show.
maybe there's a charm to your myopia,
"can you see jesus
"in my gangrene? ah, forget it."
"hey, check out the way my tooth wiggles in its gum."
the discoloration of the nails, too,
perhaps could be of use to the future generation.
they say you revel in the garbage you process,
they meaning mostly you, the phantoms
gathering by the bedside to chat about
the weather and you, oh, you again.
still, it is alright. a starry night
tickles the tear ducts the wrong way,
a familiar tune rouses the rudiments of soul.
you make plans.
Is that all?
A burst of
and all I get
and all I get
Give me more
I need to know
what to improve
what to change
what to try
Don't give me
How To Be A WriterMy parents said I shouldn't be a writer,
and throughout the last few weeks
of scarcely sprawling stray thoughts
on the napkins that line my trash bin,
I'm inclined to believe them.
Without a medical degree folded in my back pocket,
my wallet's looking a lot thinner;
I'm left with an abused and worn vocabulary
sagging on the edge of its seat,
stinking of whatever poison-laced shock value
I inject into my phrases,
and festering in the melodrama
of a teenage conspiracy theorist's soul.
(It smells kinda like rebellion, miniskirts, black nails, and rolling eyes.)
I hate to be the cliche of a struggling artist,
But a cliche is better than a nobody, or so I've read;
So at least it's something to hold on to.
My notebook is growing blanker by the sunrise,
and with every passing week,
my head falls on a layer of bills
instead of silk-lined sheets.
My pen's ink has started to boil and rot
on the other side of my writer's block,
and though my thin career is a hard pillow to accept,
even harder wou
Our Love in the Snow
Under the clouds in December,
We walk downtown, near the creek.
Why is the water moving on?
The cold may be present, but why does it never reach our fire?
Years of memories to remember
No matter the jealousy, battles, and mental wrongs, the journey to the top of the mountain is nearing to the peak.
Why do we need to stick as opposite friends or ions?
When the time is urgent, our bond is the most dire.
A mad man, a childish man, and vivid woman
The winter is our friend
To burn our fires, on the coldest night in our town in December.
to crumble up
the remnant pieces
of my love for you
and throw them in the trash
but I'm such a bad shot.
ViolinI remember the day
you told me violins
were strung with cat gut
and that is why
you hated music
(who says that to a child?)
I followed you
all that summer.
I watched you
grow away from mother -
your whiskey held better conversations
and all she did was cry.
We'd sit cross-legged on the porch
and count the horseflies
settling on our lunch.
You would drown tadpoles
in a bucket
surprised they could not swim
and I would dream
of cherry popsicles.
And when night would gather
on the sidewalk
I'd hold my breath
until a star appeared.
Don't bother making wishes
you'd tell me -
stars are dead weight in heaven
and God has cloth ears.
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