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a masochist walked into a barten times.
a joke walked into a bar[punchline goes here]
a paraplegic walked into a barand everyone yelled,
Fraud !
insert slew of fbombs here:___if i printed this poem and
slammed it in your face,
you would just complain
that i'm killing the trees
21th century transcendentalismher thighs are too big,
and her breasts are lopsided;
let's cut this tree down!
helen keller walked into a bar 
satan threw me a slumber partyi’m tired
of you, and
i’m tired of
Miss Irony;

i’m tired of OCD,
i’m tired of poetry,
i’m tired of counting
and miscounting sheep,

i’m tired of losing my mind
to cosmetic con artists who make
more money than banks,
who make more sense
than a vending machine;
who make their mind up,
down,
not minding their dirty,
shady business.

oh, how i envy those poisoned Disney Princesses

i’m tired of blitzkrieg alarm clocks that snooze louder than me,
and
i’m tired of vinyl pinups (un)dressing up my hypnophobic lids
and
i’m tired of the poltergeist who keeps fucking up cushion clouds
and
ugly hearts of beautiful poets"Oh, how shattered thou hast made me;
thine eyes circumvent mine,
and my archaic tongue fears thy truth so much,
it's hiding from thee in the early 1600s"

and this is the part where you say:

I'm sorry, but look on the brightside

what bright side?

I may not love you, but broken hearts create lovely words
a taxidermist in my spare timeit's always the last week of november when i'm making up statistics to say how awfully uncomprehensible i am.  and it's always at exactly a quarter to eleven when i'm writing about nothing except for the vomit in your eyes or the blood in your mouth or another cliche of how pissed off/upset/overdramatic

i am

not in love,
and i am not dressing corpses in your clothes,
and i am not in love,
and i am not lying to 500 strangers right now,
and i am not in love,
and i am not pretending that the sweat in your hair or the vomit on your skin or the blood on our tongues is anything other than some absurd metaphor for

 fuck you
disturb projected crime scenesi'm tempting fate:
i swear you sighed
when you saw me,
or saw through me
(but)
analyses point to no,
inkblots point to yes;
but only fools put faith
into Rorschach tests.

{double take:
you don't see;
you don't, see

repeat what i said:
repeat after me:
repeat me:
repeat:
fuck

i echoed bloodlust,
stole your words
like you stole . . .

my primal heart
crossed viaducts
for you, you, you
andandandandand
other conjunctions
butbutbutbutbutbut
this isn't about you
as in part of speech,
but you as in YOU,

and how YOU
don't know ME
or at least care...

i could spit the same cliches
that i've told your past lives,
[but wh
but they glue-gunned the pins,the circus is in town,
so maybe if i knock
down bowling pins,
i'll win a cheap prize.

and maybe if i trade in
enough prizes,
i'll find a soul
to share;

but rigged carnivals
and poisoned apples
and trick mirrors,
they don't quench my hunger
or raise my self-esteem.

--

if i took you,
well, i'd pretend we meant more
than cotton candy that tastes like hair
and funnel cake that goes straight to your thighs,
but i know a fair is anything but . . .

the moon looks beautiful tonight,
you'd say in your most Tragic accent.
it's got nothing on you,
i'd lie to you just to lie with you,
and kiss you at the top of the ferris wheel.

b
the man on the moon felt me upWhen the Moon proposed,
placing Saturn’s ring
on my lonely finger,
I pictured us as spouses,
happily married,
but those images soon
warped into mayhem;
I choked on Lunar asphalt,
and flamed the dove wings.

sweat stars facing
your
cold feet chasing
my
heartbeat racing
our
Wristwatch Romance

crescent Lust,
eclipsed the
Sunshine
from my
burnt out,
rocketship
rays.

--

On our wedding night,
you were hogging up the sky
while I was at the church,
waiting for you to show up.

But you never came.

down the Celestial aisle,
it was anything but Heavenly,
anything but Beautiful.
After all,

i am just a star without a co
I was Hercules in a past life,Set the clocks four years back?
Check.
Turn the fucking television off?
Check.
Adjust the volume on the radio?
Check.
Know what it's like to be you?

Well, let's not get carried away...

--

Yesterday,
I invented English;
I discovered Spain
in a hot air balloon
and drove to clinics
to patent electricity.

Yesterday,
I channel surfed the English channel
and developed an allergy to royalty.
And even though I had everything,
I still went bankrupt over medicine
you told my pharmacist I deserved.

--

Today,
I am the King of Clovers
and the Emperor of China.
I am the laziest kind of poet
and the worst liar since Socrates.

Toda
blowing my nose in scar tissuei am swimming in your ice-cold hips,
swinging from the crevice of your spine
which just so happens to peel like an orange
or lemon or other fucking citrus fruit;

you're sweet,
you're sour,
you're bitter
and spicy,

but the aftertaste of your tongue
matches the clichéd arsenic dancing
in your ice-cold tea--lemon flavored, naturally,
your second favorite only to skin-flavored
(but only when that skin isn't mine)

oh dear,
could this get any more ironic?
could i get any more pathetic?
could you get any more erratic?
could we get any more rehearsed?
could this get any fucking worse?

well, we are the world's best actors,
but
oh, if i could live in my headthe worst part about loving you
                          is loving you

the only thing worse than that:
you loving me,
me waking up.
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More from ~ChloroformBoy

things you find in a newspaperi'll admit it:
i killed you.

but i couldn't help it, i swear!
it was dark, and you weren't
wearing any clothes, and we
were making love
fit in a crossword
puzzle, like how i
fit my keys in your
glove department.
how i fit my heart
in your ribcage, or
how my hips fit in
yours, or how you
fit in my bedsheets
like some inflamed
contortionist, your
hands tied behind
my back.

i ricocheted off your leg;
you figured out 8-down:
what's a six-letter word
for 'a result of adultery'

you thought babies,
i thought murder

my ink mouth said:
"put down the pen.
draw constellations
on some other boy's
freckles,

because mine
are
shove a paintbrush up your assyou fucked my heart
like a colouring book:
blank pages, ripped,
thrown across the outline
of the bed or the balcony,

contamined by a chunk of green wax
scribbling a monochromatic platitude.
trace the veins with a felt-tip marker;
maybe a ballpoint pen the size of the
pacific ocean, the colour of the moon;
maybe an empty crayon box beneath
a toddler's pillow fort --- that kid, you
stole his crayons to colour something
else you stole.  but he couldn't colour
in the lines, and neither can you.  you
cut them, lying all the way to the front
of the queue.  you cut the silhouettes,
the ones you're too l
climate changes of your thighsplease understand
why you and the weather
aren't best friends anymore:
because you called a twister
tornado in bed.

please understand
that the rain doesn't
fall when you cry,
and it will not
snow on your birthday.

please understand
that you were born
during a thunderstorm,
and that's why your mother
named you disappointment.

please understand
that you will die
during typhoon season–
your last word: goodbye,
your voice shivering like
an electric whirlwind,
your last breath stolen
by a salty hurricane.

please understand
that when you left,
the sun still shone
like the jealous star it is–
a ball made of hydro
matchmakers ignite matchsticksif we were really
meant to be, Fate would have set
us up together

but instead, She set
me up like a con man, set
like a burnt-out sun
what's the point of a sundialmy arm is bleeding;
my hair is on fire;
i know where you live,
and this isn't leap year,
but oh, how i wish it was.

you see,
this isn't about what you know,
but what you don't.
like you don't know
how to tie a cherrystem with my tongue,
how to count months from me to infinite,
or how many days there are in february.

other things shall
remain a mystery:
which city you'll die in,
why i think about you,
may's birth certificate;
why your misleading
clavicular detectives
told me not to trust
spring or sunday or
the third of january

yesterday,
i ate a clock tower
and you dropped dead.
yesterday,
i shot stars in my veins
a

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November 28, 2009
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a minimalist walked into a bar

:iconchloroformboy:

He died.
The end.
Add a Comment:
 
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:iconcquake:
Mood: Love *CQuake Jul 11, 2011   Digital Artist
That´s great.
Period.
Reply
:iconchloroformboy:
~ChloroformBoy Mar 11, 2012
thanks!
Reply
:iconket-beta:
~ket-beta Apr 19, 2011  Hobbyist General Artist
So much suspens :)
Reply
:iconchloroformboy:
~ChloroformBoy May 26, 2011
bahaha
Reply
:iconmadamscience:
~madamscience Apr 11, 2011
this joke kills me. I think it might be one of my favorite jokes ever. I love it. you're a comedic genius.
Reply
:iconchloroformboy:
~ChloroformBoy May 26, 2011
bahahah thanks :3
Reply
:icongoutamer:
!GoutAmer Jan 15, 2011
:lmao: it's great!
Reply
:iconchloroformboy:
~ChloroformBoy Jan 19, 2011
lol thanks :3
Reply
:iconchibi-bearcat:
~Chibi-Bearcat Nov 24, 2010
So very emotional. Everyone should have one.
Reply
:iconchloroformboy:
~ChloroformBoy Dec 22, 2010
have what ?
Reply
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