Poetry – Mathias Burner

It’s Just that time

Its 2:30 P.M,

Time for class to be ignored,

With all focus given to Instagram,

Like-scroll, laugh, comment,

“you’re so fucking cute Jen”

Class Starts! As do cellphone withdrawals,

Now Look at your laptop!

Like-scroll, laugh, comment.

Its 2:30 P.M (again),

Political Thought is the theme,

You know, where they preach theory and not facts,

Hopeless heads still fixed on screens,

Their eyes meet glass with Elmer’s,

Fucking Glued,

Passion erupts and knowledge pours from professor,

Silence, ignorance, scroll, click

Guess what time it is,

My breath wreaks of weed and tuna,

Honestly- a most common smell,

Jason is nestled in the left corner of the couch (as always),

Blaring ESPN on our 40 inch,

Naturally paired with a scrolling twitter feed,

With an open laptop charging carelessly,

Fucking Pathetic,

Weekends mean work at 2:30,

So I sneak off to Starbucks,

Already feeling snobby and overpriced (myself),

As I watch New Age Brooklyn hopefuls order,

Quickly and rudely, as they all are,

Rapidly rush to the other coffee shop,

For your black bean tofu (tofurito?)

Add to the yelp rating, 5 stars

Tuesday Afternoons

Lighter flicks twice- then catches,

The hot red flame bridges the bright green on all edges,

The stink of skunk and gas station cigarillo fill the room (delightfully!),

Pass to the left (as always),

Fingers touch and fumble (I swear if you drop it…),

Seeing the anxious face of Jarret,

Melt in pleasure,

Puff-Pass,

“All of this smoking made me need a cigarette”

Stumble back inside,

Laugh,

Split, dump, roll, repeat,

Purgatory

Where is my home?- I guess some things done change-

Amherst certainly makes me estranged,

HA!-

No clue where to loo-

14 Deering Street was a family home-
HA! HA! HA!-

Wouldn’t that be an exciEng book?

Or would it reveal my closet full of bones?

Anger, passion, secrets and lies are riddled in my growth-
A place once called home, I wish no Ees-

Long island was and will be my cancer, and I’m terminal of both-

Where!

Trapped with you

A psychopath

In every way and state

I feed you and clean you

You still look at me with disgrace

Time starts and stops by your command

Mind racing paired with a persistent pause, overwhelms

Scratching and pulling cause I don’t understand

Your pressure crushes leaving hope to be free

One of these days I’ll figure out

The psychopath is me

I Don’t

I don’t remember being born

I don’t remember when my dad first said,

“Love you”

or when my mom did,

I don’t remember almost anything significant

Dear Dad,

Do you understand weight?

Or your influence?

I live by you, and

die by you

I am created In your image, and

I crave your mirrored self

You’ve always made me anxious, and

you destroyed my mother

but I looked past all of that

because you’re my dad

and you still seem so cool

Fuck

Fuck you-
Again

Fuck off-
Sorry-
Fuck me-
Cause I’m desperate

“I need a cigarette”

and its raining

I’m fucked

so fucking fucked

Give up-
Ash cigarette-
Walk upstairs-

“Lets Fuck”

Ramblings

I hate my brain, cause logic dictates my brain , and the world widely hates logic.

If you lived on an angled curve, could you make sense of it?

Would you walk through a hell valley? If you were blind? Or deaf?

What are you most sensitive to? Is it for better?

Define your fears and excitements-now you understand yourself

If you could cut your fingers off and grow them back, would it make any sense to do so?

Fuck me

Fuck you Mathias

For all the petty bullshit

we get it-we get it

you’re sympathetic and passionate,

Very original in western mass,

But wheres the love man?

Is it lost?

Or just under a pillow somewhere?

Be the tooth fairy and replace it,

with a dollar,

cause you’re gonna have to pay,

for the angry and old,

weather you’re causing-
self gain or moral gain

there’s a flip side to this coin,

And its coming off your thumb

refrain from redundancy,

Oh so redundant one

and Fuck you Mathias.

Olivia at 3:12

She sits by the table,

attention attracted-that of assigned reading

assigned to her by a voluntary decision

an assignment with a given sign- in(one could say)

Similar to a physical “OK” Button (turned)

She Questions others thoughts, critics and views

Because soon you’ll have put your own name down (involuntarily)

Olivia at 3:17

The turn of her mouth quickly shifts,

in the positive direction-as if my correction was a D—A boost,

But, “Comeon Babe!”- everyone knew that shit (Ha)

“are you original?-or just another preacher-
Savagely searching for your pedestal,

As it lays in front of you overtaken with dust

I guess there’s always a waste…Somewhere