twobadwriters

This blog features two young, uncultured children of the world, who have no talent or significance, who have found the need to impose their stuff onto the people of Earth.

Belief Envy

I envy the motivated;
Those who know
Their purpose
On this social cluster.
Charging at it
Without  attachment
Reaching fulfillment
Within themselves.

I envy those souls who
Put their fate in a God.
A figure they’ve never seen
Yet, know
With all the strength
Of their bones
All will work out.

How can they?
When I sell my fate to
A flickering  candle
Heating my heart as I
Fall down stair cases
Of  hope
For the muse of love.
I look for the burned
End of a blunt, believe
Love exists,
To escape the mildew
Bathroom tiles soaked
In water stain mileu
Of this world.

Mark J Blu

Options

Lovers,
Will rush towards you
A hoard ready to ravage
Your pieces back into place.

Soulmates,
Won’t wait for the words
Will work in the small crevice
While you’re free to fly in space.

Mark J Blu

The one

They were the one.
How are you to move on?
Well first breath till
your lungs sail south
to Argentina on one breathe.
Second forgive this lover
leaving you lamenting on
dew soaked moss facing stones.

Mark J Blu

Batch of letters

Dear Sam,
 
I’m sure you know, yet I never
Let the words fall from my mouth
Into your monitor.  

Left with all
This time to think
Thoughts just tingle
Throughout in tortures ways.
With 6 by 8 all I have left.
Hits worse than me
Or steamed vapors
Ever can.
 
I loved you!
 
Yet; I touched your lips
And cringed with crackled nails
Splintering my thighs
Because I knew,
My lips would touch her in
Moments
Proceeding.  
 
I loved you!
 
Never knew what I had.
Hugs with soft kiss kick-starting
More than what laid below
Beating my spleen to bruised 
Beat.
 
Yet, I needed the quick
Chases and cue sticks
Charging chalk upward
Behind the eight ball.
 
Just let me see you again,
Angry or sad.
 
Love,
   Jeff  

Dear Jeffery,
 
Why would you think to write me?
Melding myself back to our pipe dream
You without the tools to mend.
 
I loved you.
 
But, it has been six years
And you washed away with your Dirty laundry
Pampered with puce oil ornamenting the collar.
 
I loved you.
 
We battled, breaking bottles decomposing
Till entwining love drunk battering rams.

This was no life Jeffery,
Jousting with a pendulum beneath our feet
Fires in a flask to feverish for embrace.

Six years
Hearing from you now,
Gnawed at horizontal scars left on my wrist
Wrenching off flaks of skin, my dandruff in the wind
Re-witnessing footage left forgotten, news strips
Strung on lines before my face.  
 
Why would you do this to me?   
I have taken steps away
Averted myself from our past
I did love you
But not anymore.
 
From,
   Samantha
 
P.S
 We have a baby girl
Age of only Six
Slender with your eyes.

Dear Sam,

A girl with my eyes?
Hope she has your smile
It was what drew me to you.
Let me see her
Hear her voice
Visualize what could
Have been through her.
She can free me of
My mishaps.

Does she learn at school,
Stroll out through
The park?

My mind is a
Martini constantly
Shaken not  knowing
When it is just right.
How can I be a father?
Away from you and her
All this time, confined
Away in soggy dew.

What is her name?
Does she even know
Of me?

I promise to
Change and be
New.
No more short
Hits into my
Membrane
No more fast
Lies to get
Out and
Have quick
Burst.

It will just be you
I
And
Her.

From,
    Jeff
Dear Jeffery,

I told you not to pen me.
All you do and ever did was make things worse
Now I have finally loosened your hold
You hang yourself back on my lobs
Dangling yourself dirtying my home.

Our daughter’s name is Emma.
She smiles with silent whispers
Walking through where salamanders
Wonder.

But you won’t see her ever.
Not her smile, her button eyes or
Her burgundy hair.

Her life is not your right and fight
I will to keep you away this time.
We live together with my partner
Her name is Susan, she cares for
Me in ways you could not see
Or care to dream of.

So, please do not pen again
You will not like the outcome

From,
    Samantha

Dear Sam,

I will not like the outcome?
How are you threating me?
I will see you and my daughter,
My daughter who you have kept
From me these years.

I have no care of your Susan
On your new life no more
But keep me out you
May not, now that
You have something
Of mine.

I will be out
The 6th of June
Joining Emma
And you.

From your,
  Jeff

Dear Jeffery,

Twice you have not listened, though your
Ears have never been your best tools.
Truth be told I’ve always known of
Your lewd and lascivious ways
Sneaking out at nights coming back
With hints of lilacs. Men don’t smell
Of lilac. 

The debauchery of your ways very evident
Red rings creating halos for your nostrils
Cuts on your fingers for all those missed
Steps spreading yourself onto
My silk dress.

So I did not need you to expunge your
Tales for I already knew. 
Now I will weave a tale for you
One which I warned you will not taste
So sweet on your tonsil.

Our last night together
We bedded quickly like was the
Regular you unable to last
Then it changed as I slip
You a Roxycodone in your vodka
Vanishing you from your mental state.
Staggering along you went to conduct 
Your daily deals.

Unbeknownst to you I told Susan
Of your ways and though you
May not care of her she cares of you dearly
Her being your arresting officer
Waiting for you in the cavernous cellar
Waiting for you to carve yourself out
Into a state of controlled hysteria.

So, now you what I have known
And why you may never write
For if you do again Susan and I
Will force you in ways you can not
Comprehend.

From,
  Samantha
  

 

Mark J Blu

Imaginary Love

I write shitty love Poems.
To imaginary people I
Populate my brain with.
Some act like Disney Princess
Others act like
Murdering tattooed covered Disney Princess.
Out of all these pretend lovers
either taking blissful adventures
where sex is magic
or
Chopping my limbs for a
Slightly salted Consommé:
they all have your fuckin face.
No matter how
Creatively constructed her character
My imagination may only view your face.
Every time it’s the contour
of your nose, eyes, and lips
These characters meet me with.
Ongoing practical jokes of
The muses not letting me breathe
Your shit out
Cleansing my line of Chakras.
But mind can’t let you go
Because my heart
Loves you eternally no matter the pain.

Mark J Blu

Mixed Emotions

You’ve raped
My best dreams
Into nightmares.

My hate for you
will fill flasks twice
over, dropping me to
my knees consuming
every bittersweet sip.

You’ve changed my
trips from white – bread
to ham on rye. Covered
me in a psychedelic glaze
to relish all phases.

My love for you
Is always
After all time.

Mark J Blu

Simple relations

By all accounts
she was a whore
of Parisian variety.
Gracefully she, sissonne
through crowds
always fulfilling
her lecherous wants
Yet I did not care.
All I felt was a
Longing for her
Lassoing my legs
Praying for  a
Quick dance lasting
Longer than I do. 
And I knew I wasn’t
The 1st to visit
But the past
Has noting to do
With the present.
So we loved
As we were firsts
Believing we’d be
The last. Yet our
Sense told us
That was
Untrue too.

Mark J Blu

A couple

Togther,
they made
a flaming sky
with dandelion rains.

Apart,
devotee strangers sailing
across pepper sweetened
patches of sand soaked seas.

Mark J Blu

I want to write

I want to write something
That’ll make Poe quiver.
He’ll shiver out his casket
Slap himself at my audacity
Questioning my sanity
Remembering his necrophiliac ways
Yet still believing I must go to
All fictitious heavens for salvation.

I want it to be
So vile
So audacious
adults become children checking
Their closets and door ways.
Religion shall sham it’s doctrines
Convict it,  placed on hit lists
Like Rushdie.

But how
to write such a tale?
When
It’s right
Outside.

Mark J Blu

3 by 3 fun

Against average assumptions
Among angered adults:
Boisterous battles blacken
Beaches;  bring battered
Charging children crying.
Consider creating chearful
Days, detailed drawings
dawning decipherable doctrines
Emphasizing empathic emotions
Enabling everyone’s engines
For fostering fully
Featured forebears. Forget
Grumpy grandparents galvanizing
Good’ol generations generators.
Happy history has
Honored headstrong hoary
Individuals in impressive
Ideological importance. Ignore
Jealous judges justifying
Jobless jargon juxtaposing
Kitschy knowledge knocking
Kindhearted kindergarten kisses.
Let lowbrow love
Lead lackadaisical language.

Mark J Blu