By Mike Ill

Walking with my head by my side
My arms are thin
from the lack of manual labor
Bukowski would have brushed me off
and when I walk I stare at the past
mines, theirs, ours?
and across many streets
I see pain waving at me
but the stranger walking past
had those eyes
whose brown reminds me of the wind
that blew her hair
into the corner of her mouth
I lust for attachment
under false illusions
fall deeply in love with
those that don't,
blaming myself for
Need is my Drive
as I walk in the sun
my head at an angle
facing the ground.
It keeps the hurt inside
for it's my only chance
at being rich enough to buy
my own approval.


I'm 21yrs olds from Brooklyn NY. I wrote the four pieces I sent in for submission just now in like 30mins. Writing has been a hobby of mine for a while until I got labeled and thrown into a mental ward when it became a passion, and then Bukowski made it a dream. I don't read much. Infact I usually despise reading.


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