Crimson Prose

Dead End Job.
Artist aka Always broke.
most days I hate my enemies and i love my friends. sometimes i love my enemies
and i hate my friends. But i always both hate and love myself. i guess thats just how the world works. (sigh)

The Little Boy That Couldn’t

consider me a hopeless wreck 

my mind has melted and my heart’s a mess

i’ll say these words a thousand times

all under baited breath

waiting for the constant disrespect

only a family can bring

stemming from a young age

i have this crippling desire

to be the beaten

the broken 

the unfortunate one

just a middle son looking for someone who will shut me down for good

did you cut open the chair

don’t lie to me because liars go to hell

did you steal money 

don’t steal because thieves all go to hell

what did you say to me?

is that back talk? i see….

respect your elders even when they’re wrong

because all punks will go to hell

don’t smoke cigarettes

don’t regret regrets

don’t swear don’t fuck don’t think for yourself

one day you’ll understand son that i do this for your benefit

one day you’ll be married with a wife and child to call your own

fuck the things you say

why don’t you go away 

i still hear your disapproval in the back of my brain

when every attempt is met with disgust

a mistake that was punished 

not by the belt

but with words

now i’m crippled and i sure hope you can realize

that your overbearing has made

my life a living hell

you can rest easy now

knowing some way

some how 

that after you pass 

i’ll be pissing on your grave

holding back my tears 

for all these countless years

i’m a closet homosexual


i can’t wait to see your face

when i come out of hiding

and i’ll laugh when you die 

because i’ll finally be free

Every Promise Is Poison

when every waking moment

is spent in utter panic

and i tried to quit the bottle

but the bottle just won’t quit me

i try to uphold my promise

of no drinking in the winter

but how can i keep my word

when you really don’t deserve

yeah yeah

so what 

we got high and forgot about our problems

opiate addiction is a bitch to fucking kick

but that was never my game

but i’ve grown gradually insane

as i try to piece together 

what is real

and what is fake.

I wouldn’t say that I have a real problem with women….I guess I see it as a sort of competition stand point. Is that wrong? 

I’m a person, not a posterboy.

lets start off acting like we’re still friends
build up the pressure playing pretend
i’ll say the words waiting on baited breath
and you’ll be accepting to a fault
even these feelings you can’t stop 
but oh wait there’s a little part you forgot 
to mention
is it okay is it okay
are you okay are you okay
is it okay is it okay 
if i don’t want to sound so gay
the way it sounds to me
is you’re not satisfied with who i am
well that’s not fine with me
i need your acceptance so desperately 
and if it all comes down to this
an unfulfilled and undesired lisp
then you can read my lips
i never want to see your face again
is it okay is it okay
we’ll be okay? we’ll be okay?
is it okay is it okay 
if i don’t want to sound so gay
i didn’t think that i needed to fit in
i just thought you were fine with it
i guess i’m sorry i won’t act like a bitch
a bitch 
your bitch
you bitch
if you wanted it this way 
for the whole time
then i guess you just got your wish
you made me fucking cry
if you want a bitch 
then you won’t have to wait in line
i hope you see this 
i really hope you do
because the only friend i had 
i feel like i just lost
in you

A slight ASMR joke at the beginning. But this is just me reading a poem I wrote like 6 years ago.

My brief attempt at covering the Smiths. Also a test of the free recording app that I downloaded.

chants beside the pillow

in trying to touch the places 

that are hard to reach

i’ve got to know do you really feel the same

do you really feel the same way

or is it all just a mistake in perception

from the wrong end of the sheets

excuse me for wanting to progress fiscally and physically

i guess you want me to stay down in the rut you dug for the both of us

hopelessness comes to me in waves

officially we’ll have none of it

but when we sit alone in the shadows of desire

with that last beer in our hands and a cold wind blows the fire

we all just want to love and be loved

and to feel for the first time that life isn’t hopeless

that maybe we’ll make it 

and that all the times you’ve felt like giving up and putting the barrel to your head but didn’t

were really worth something to someone other than your cowardly existence

i’ll spend my last six cents on

gasoline just to burn my feet clean off

and i’ll sell all my drugs to kids to pay for clean socks

because in my mind 

the laundromat is where i’ll meet my end

to sit around for hours and listen to your kids

complain about a free chair

and how you make them wait

to fuck around in the streets just waiting to be hit

and all this i said

oh yeah i said it in my head

as i sit on my porch and light up my smoke

and look down on your brand of cigarettes 

i guess i wander and i wonder

if i’ll ever find my home

even though here i pay rent 

and all my money is spent

on interests to do alone

so that makes me lonely

and when i’m happy i’m really sad

just a sad sack of shit with no vision for the future

and the realization that i’m just like my dad

and that everyone who’s died in the last ten years

can honestly be disappointed to have known that i’m alive

and what i touch will fail

and what i see will all die

at least thats what they taught me in the small town that bought me

my first car and my first group of friends