Poor little burger
You were made with what was left
Being last is never fun
Your brothers laugh on the hot skillet
You try but there isn't enough of you
The cheese is the final insult
as it hangs over your sides and burns
Poor little burger

*chomp* *munch*

Dont really know if youd call this a poem as such...

Dont really know if youd call this a poem as such...
Yes, I do still write, but these days its only when Im particularly inspired to do so, and generally arent anything to be proud of. This is no different, but the little burst of poetry in recent made me want to share something back. So I went for a rummage and this is what I came up with. A product of my latest depressive implosion. I feel better again now, so dont go getting sympathetic and pitiful for lil olde me now, mkay.
I have lost the will to live,
or maybe I never had it.
I dont remember ever wanting to.
Just fearing not to.
Too scared to make it *stop*...
Its cheating anyway:
If you have to suffer,
why should i not too?
I just want not to exist,
in any time and space.
Is that so *wrong* a thing?
But I dont know how,
and death is not the same.

So here I live without the will to.
Where every effort is torture.
Where escape is the only fun.
Refugee from reality.
Procrastination delays the end.
I dont know what to do with this unwanted life that doesnt love me.
I would give it to someone else.
I would deny it in the first place.
I would break my hand...
just to make something happen.
To avoid the work I have no passion for.
But rewards are for people who are different
who have passion and faith
who make efforts for them.
i have neither passion nor faith.
I have not the will nor the effort.

I feel doomed to fail.
To waste a life given me.
to only ever feel the echos
the shades of emotions:
Hate & Love
Happiness & Sadness
Anger & pride
The feelings I get are these:
fear depression guilt apathy disgust anxiety.
all directed at myself.
Not that *my* self is a very defined thing.
Why do I slump so low,
when all that happens is *life*?
when other people keep going, and making efforts?
I cant be bothered.
Not 'I dont want to'
I cant.
Sometimes I do want to do it.
Whatever "it" is... life.
But I cant. I try, and I fail.
I dont try and its just as bad.
I try again and determination fades and dies and I am left behind,
to try again; to motivate myself.
But I have no inertia.
No momentum.
And the world has so much friction to stop me again
every time
at any time.
So give me a life I can use,
or just gift me death.
I am beyond caring
which you choose. 

The Nature In War by yours truely

As the ants march forward,
the grass is still green.
The hummingbirds fly
in the blue sky, looking for the flower.
The scorpions roam
on the brown earth.

The flower is seen,
and everyone knows
that in our garden
we have enough flowers of our own.
“What is the point of having more flowers?”
a naïve ant asked but nobody answered,
as if they were brainwashed to go on.

“We are next to the flower,” the birds report,
“and it will be ours soon!”
They all invaded,
blindly followed the soldier-ant.
Other flowers on the trail
were ruined and destroyed.
The birds fell from the sky.
The ants got stepped on.
But no one noticed
that the flower was already gone.

What It Is

I don't know where I'm going
But I feel free
I want to float in
What you do to me

Never leave it
Always stay
Whatever it may be
It's swept me away

I've found something
That I'd lost but never had
I want to float in
What you do to make me glad

Always looking up
Follow the flow
Let it wrap around me
Never let it go

Please don't let me
Break what we are
Please don't allow me
To go too far

It took so long
For me to find
If I ever lost it
I'd lose my mind

I want to float in
What you do to me
I don't know where we're going
But I feel free

Please help me float
Don't let me drown
Since you picked me up
I don't want to go back down

When I'm in it
I feel I can fly
If I ever lose it
I'll lay down and die

It's all there is
What else could I see
You're all there is
Who else would there be

Ignite the thruster,
Buy a duster,
fry a bee,
i gotta pee,
life is sweet
have a seat
sillywilly poem
rhymes with jeroboam
for all you fools
get your mules
we're gonna hike
before they strike
we're gonna travel
perhaps unravel
the magic of a certain place
make sure you got your mace
please try not to pillage
as we enter the unwashed village
leave your soaps at the door
you wont need em anymore
please stop at the gift shop
man, i really really want an op!

it cleans
it smells
its toxic if you eat a lot of it

it has shapes on it
it may be made of fat

the soap is your mate
its the thing you all hate (except several few)

*pointing at audience*
you know who you are

Summer Summer
What a Bummer
It has to end
and it makes me sad
I go back to school
and do real bad.