alternative, independent, literature, poetry, Uncategorized

Accelerated Decay

My poetry is rotten like my body,

Scared, scarred, and full of holes.

Deterioration of motivation,

A bargain deal for a soul


People pass by I once called friends

With silence and blank stares.

Nothing will matter to me in the end

I’m breathing but not really there.


Love is just another verb,

Another song I never wrote.

This life is a symphony of emotion

But I always play the wrong notes.


I couldn’t care less about love and sex,

Seeking a permanent fix

My hopes, dreams and ideals are all dead

And people just make me sick


Sometimes you get everything

Sometimes you’re left with none

A knock on the door but nobody there

Another fatherless son.

Jack Blare, 2o16


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