My first time into poetry, dear readers...

I've only written, like, three poems in my life. I've always been way too angry at life in general, and the people who write poetry in particular, to give much of a damn. However, with my haiku project and the ability to express the anger and seething hatred I have in me, I figured why not? I could be a dark poet. An angry little screaming mouse in a world full of hungry cats. The following poem I've called "Modern Life Ten Miles Away," and it should be read in full shout.

Drugs?
Fuck yeah!
What kind?
Whatchoo got?
Meth?
CHRIST YES!
Here ya go!
What's it made of?
No idea.
What's it got in it?
Who knows?
How pure is it?
All I know is that the guys who made it
are dead.
FUCK! WHY DOES IT BURN!?
Battery acid? Dead babies? Aryan hate?
Jesus! You have anything to calm me down?

How bout some weed?
Homegrown?
None other!
Where was it grown?
Its my own shit.
Yeah, but where was it grown?
I grew it in my own shit.
Are you serious?
Yeah...
Never fucking mind.

Ok, got any pills?
What kind?
Painkillers.
I got morphine, methadone, oxycontin, hydrocodone,
dilaudid, oxymorphone, fentanyl, tramodol, percoset,
demerol, lorcet, lortab, percodan
and seventeen different colors of vicodin.
That's all?
Well if you want the strong stuff I'll have to call my guy.
Don't want to put you out, dude.
It's ok, I just need to get the fucking phone to stop moving.
What you on?
Enough mushrooms to choke a Whargarble.
What's a whargarble?
What's a what?
Huh?
Beer?
Yeah...

Fuck this place.
Only America
could dream up a place
like rural Kentucky.

Song of teh post: Where Eagles Dare, by The Misfits (No soy maldito hijo de puta!)
Poet of the post: Bill Hicks