my poems

i once wrote a poem
and called it punk love
because that was the name of my obsession
and that’s what it was all about

the teacher gave me an A
and a gold star at the top
Mum hung it on the icebox
till it yellowed and tore

i wrote another poem
and called it missus h
because that was the name of my agony
and that’s what it was all about
the professor gave me an A
and a strange, cold stare
it was never hung on the icebox
cuz my mum had died the year before

i wrote one last poem
and called it suicide
because that was the name of my actions
and that’s what it was all about
i gave myself an A
and a deeper cut on each damp, crimson wrist
i hung it on the bathroom walls
because i couldn’t reach the kitchen.

By The Dying Euphoria

I may not be the average junk addict, seeing as I still have a few things going for me, but I'm a slave to heroin just the same. I'm a sad sight, no doubt, but that's the way life is, and you can't help it. So whatever you do, don't try and fuck with it. I like it when people e-mail me and reply to my posts, so please, speak your mind to me, if you wish. I have a blood, violence, and self mutilation fetish, so I'll spend a lot of time in the Erotica section, posting and reading. I write poetry, and I'll be posting thousands of poems. So please, check for my name often. If I disappear, well, I probably took my fetish too far...