Diary
2-12-00
last night was interesting, I think.
a vicadin, a xanax, a flexoril and too many shots of vodka.
I believe I wrote another poem last night.
It was here today when I got off work.
and it was, like most of my shit,
quite disturbing.
I am very tired; Tired of this cyclone in my head.
Tired of these girls that mean nothing,
coming and going as they please.
I am becoming more of that which I describe myself to be;
A dark and evil motherfucker.
I feel myself slipping away,
seeking solitude.
My showers have become baths;
My meals, always delivered;
My couch, for sleeping;
My bed, for fucking the girl du joir.
I sicken of it all,
as Pierre Smirnoff becomes my god.
As most know already,
I work at a max security prison.
Today I supervised visitation.
I watched as one pretty girl after another,
came to see their boyfriends,
and brought smiles to the faces of the murderers,
rapists, and child molesters they love.
I watched them sneak sweet kisses
from the men who fuck other men for cigarettes,
and fight over the 'prettiest' new boy on the unit.
I see them try to sneak blowjobs in clear view of small children,
when they think I am not watching.
My life is a cornucopia of beautiful things,
yet you question why I offer my heart,
my deepest feelings,
my passions,
to those I find truly beautiful and innocent.
Come.
Walk a day in my shoes,
live just one day of my life,
and you would have your answers.
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