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I feel worthless

No shine

Others are silver

I’m made up of copper

Very little value

Laying in cars

Sleeping on nightstands

A hundred of me

complete a dollar

Often hear “Keep it”

when change is created

I’m not wanted or valued

I feel worthless

One cent says it all

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Wretched old whore
Dirty rotten mouth
No filter spewing garbage
Based on wishful thinking
Lack of knowledge
Using terms without no foundation
Facts just mildew in her brain
Making assumptions
Connecting blurred dots
Due to her ill sicken mind
I could publish her life on line
But that’s right I have a conscious
To have friends you have to be human
To go to heaven you have to have a soul
Let God judge that not a troll

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You call

yourself a friend

But you are not

One by one

Evidence is clear

Meaningless word

Slowly my contacts

are erased from

my mind that use

that word

Don’t worry

My friends are the

words that are here

before my

awakened eyes

I know where I

get the attention

that I crave

It’s from people

who don’t even know me

that see me in

a different light

I “connect” with those

that write from the soul

and the heart.

I can accept the loneliness.

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Conclusions arrived
Mentally strange and delirious
Verdict is in
Deranged and unsound
Distinctly clear
Erratic and insane
Shining clarity
Unglued and unzipped
Opaque personality
Cockeyed and unbalanced
Dull as a pimple
You are my taint
An empty vase
Violent torn shell
Fanatical and laughable
Incompetent and childish
Demanding attention
Cruel and heartless
She’s the semen
Filling up the prophylactic

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I’m a fabricator

A creator of illusions

Wishful imagination

that does not have a

shut off valve

In and out of the rush

Inside the blinking

castles in the air

I’m a architect of phrases

A vivid storyteller

Dreaming of what

does not exist

A innovator of scribble

Fantasy maker

submerged with words

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Psychobabble is drooling
Filth sliding off your tongue
To a world that doesn’t want you
Chaotic rambles spill
Flourishing idiotic sentences
To only a southern cult following
Despised and detested
The walking anti Christ
An asylum meant for your family
Raising children to scream
Not speaking with an ounce of intelligence
Your mother should have used a condom
So the world didn’t have to put up with
Your nonsense and illogical thoughts

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I am used

to color a fire truck

I am used

to color a stop sign

I am used

to color a red light

I am used

to color flames

I am used

to color Santa’s Claus’s outfit

I am used

to color a red ribbon

I am used

to color lipstick

I love the red crayon

Check out my books!

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Strutting contradiction

spewing selfishness

Child like temper tantrums

dilute your balloon ego

Even the scarecrows

don’t want you

A strolling blood clot

aimless direction

A rambling anthrax

Mindless and foolish

Even the soulless

don’t want you

A marching eye sore

Belligerent and foul

A corrupted delinquent

Hop scotching bitch

Even the demons from hell

don’t want you

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Never do I rest

Some are addicted

Always being used

Some abuse me

Rarely I am shut off

Some break me

I am full of so much

Some ruin lives

I can be a problem

Some people die

My purpose grew

I’m often used

at the worst times

I have a price tag

Unlike a human

Please use me

appropriately

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I wrote a letter to emptiness but lost the address. I sought out the curves of my stars. I ran toward apathy but saw scattered dreams in a coffin. I was told to be practical. I walked through a smoke screen and ignored my instincts. I saw a future of formality’s as passion sat in a cage. I wrote another letter to emptiness and it was returned to sender. A bold red stamp was on the bottom of the letter. Find yourself.

by on

Requesting peace

Uneasy separation

Raising the white flag

Just wanting to be alone

Clearly misunderstood

No need for drama

Let me sulk from your daggers

and just leave me alone

For you couldn’t see me

You take no responsibility

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Hello All,

Today I have reached a milestone of acquiring a 1000 followers. I have stumbled across many great people, aspiring writers, and have enjoyed this journey.

I also want to thank those who have purchased my books. Thank you for all the support.

– Braeden Michaels

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Eighteen is the magic number

Defines maturity and responsibility

Perhaps it’s just a digit

6570 days of being alive

But don’t know what you are living for

Answers and claims are unreachable

Eighteen is a number of legality

But not a number of wisdom

Talk to someone who has lived more days

Life isn’t about digits and numbers

It’s about the choices we make

Every choice from the 6570 day is critical

You just don’t know it yet ….

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Oh Poet the emperor

Shall I dive into your

18th century plagiarized manuscript?

It’s not as hidden as you

believe as educated as you are

I can read you like the pamphlet

Yes pamphlet – the size of

your sweet vocabulary

Diluted words of nothingness

Playing with Drama

Because you are the Queen

Not the King of Denmark

Despite the riddle you keep

reciting your manhood and strength

Keep taking a step further

with your playbook

I will rip apart and expose you

for who you really are

Lonely just the like rest

Minutiae among the minds

by on

Spastic clutter

Opening up a can of debris

Mixed up predicaments

A compilation of distress

Walking into turmoil

Gazing at a eyesore

A mayhem of selfishness

Mishmash of ideals

Seeking light in the wreckage

Tripping on hindrances

Overlooking headaches

Disoriented from the gospel

Ignoring the theorems

Forever searching the self