Shield weighted

My shame and paranoia

You blink I bleed

Please don’t laugh

I keep trying

To not do it

Again

The smoke that coats the floor

Issuing marching orders

And I’ve never rejected

The root

Of decay

Or depravity

Those who know

Shudder

And burn the book

Beyond salvation

In the aftermath

Of too far gone

Dope fueled

Fantasies

That if fleshed

Would find

Me a dead man

On the receiving end

Of the denim

How can you not

Amend or destroy

The compulsive

Nature of a man

Who begs to be excused

From his own

Orgy of fiends?

David Burdett

5/01/21

Those among others might see the introvert,

the hopeless woman stuck in her head who banters on about extroversion.

The sunken hope, the cost of the fallacy of her broken needs.

Interlaced in the works of others;

The hopes others might follow through and she might be bespoken for when they fail to do.

Cradling empty tears,

for the fears are very much, much more real.

She sinks into her slump, as if the reality is not near.

Drowning out the voices,

the Godded hurray's,

the 'fate will have its ways'

and 'impossibilities are fallacies' somewhere along the way.

She didn't say that.

She didn't want to hear that.

None of it.

None of it at all.

Damn it. Damn the fucking faithful for their words,

it's as if they speak that she hasn't any sense at all.

Words fall flat,

their temperatures mild.

It's like swimming in the kiddie pool,

but her endeavors are not so mild.

The cruelty of being let down,

the anger that makes her spell bound.

Cursed to fling the hated remarks,

the remarks that make her regret being herself.

Of putting herself in such a precarious element.

Of relying on someone not herself.

And fingers knead creased brows.

Tell me, tell me how.

Tell me how I cannot become bitter,

Jaded at the world so till I lift on up my expectations and shove them off.

Hackles raised, the shackles will finally fucking fall off.

How I tell the world to 'F off'?

Suddenly there's disgusted remarks and faces.

Like they can't believe I traded places

With the hopeful, jubilicious woman who turned problems into resolutions,

And born solutions from pulverized unworkable tribulations.

Tell her.

Tell her again, how shallow she's been.

Tell her again, the impossibilities are fallacies

And the fates are written in the galaxies.

And watch her, watch her turn.

Smile, smoldering burn.

Mirthless eyes, where embers churn.

She is among others,

But she is alone.

For the ones she feels warmth from,

Are far from home.

The blood may speak

So it may take her Will as meek,

But she is done.

Done and will no longer speak.

For here, she believes herself the freak.

I am not a poet!

Okay, the voice stated.

Then it waited...

...Patiently...

For the kid

To listen

To the sound

Of the gentle breeze.

I am not a poet

Alright, said the sage

Who sat with no rage

Quietly

Beside the kid

Waiting to

Hear what more

She had to say.

I am not a...

Aha, I heard you

Like for the first two times

If you are not a poet

Then...what are you, kid?

At this the kid

Stared, gazed,

Into the sage's

Supernova like eyes

All three (oOo)

(the third eye was open, too).

The kid picked up a pebble

And tossed it

That pebble bounced

Across the water

Like a tiny, smooth ball

Until they finally heard a

*plop*

The pebble went

Deep into the belly

Of the pond.

The sage chuckled.

Smiled at the kid,

And then said,

You are not a poet,

But a good pebble tosser!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NDk4P5pzC_E

All Rights Reserved.

Written on Juneteenth.

I caught him

As he tried to extricate himself

From the burning wreckage

It took everything in me

To shove him back behind the wheel

And make him understand

That I only had his best interest at heart

And that if I could see it through

So could he

David Burdett

9/17/2022

This moment of silence is just for me.

Cut out of a time when sleep's avoided,

I sit alone.

A bird chirps a song of morning dew,

and sometimes others join in—

A chorus ensues.

The sun has hours to arrive.

Once in a while, the hiss of a car zips through.

Moisture on tires ripping across asphalt

then back to silence.

There’s something in the silence that can’t be engineered.

Because it’s more a feeling than a sound.

There are always sounds, but not always peace.

and peace is everything in a world where there is none.

So, I sit alone and steal this moment for myself,

while you lay and dream of better years,

better days,

or better moments to come.

I wait patiently inviting the sun to peek its curious eyes over that mountain

so when you wake, I can greet you with a peaceful start to your day.

Your smile is worth the deprivation I endured.

No more now

That you're dead

Than I did

When you were alive

Life's funny like that

David Burdett

7/19/2022

The most broken people wear a disguise

And you’ll never guess if you try

Who has the mask before it’s too late

All the self-loathing

All the hatred

All of the thoughts

Complications

The mask seems to fall at the illest of times

People get hurt

Innocent lives

The wearer hurts people

Or even themselves

And after it’s over

Then, people see the audible cries for help

Messages, texts

Friends think they’re jokes

The signs are all there

But everyone chokes

When it gets real

They call the police

They do what they're supposed to

The person is released

In months, or even years

But no one feels relieved

So what do we do with the masked ones

And wonder if we fit the mold

Well I tend to complain about things I can’t fix

I just do what I’m told

But the children and teachers

Daughters and wives

Sons and husbands

Giving their lives

For a teenager with a screwed-up mind

Because of their parents

Or friends

It's apparent

That it never ends

So keep laws the same

And help unreachable

Internet poisoning

And kids unreachable

Raise a glass to the mask

Worn by kids, and adults

Schizophrenics and men

When it’s no one's fault

Just the situations they’re in

Raise a glass to killers

Of children and women

Because they couldn’t help

The blood on the linen

Raise a glass

To the kid in the mask

im odd

weird

wired

tired

of faking im okay

no one gets it

i bet it

wont get better

ever

because i want to die

tell me goodbye

all of me

not just the little parts

my body decomposing

beneath the earth

trapped in a small wooden prison

asleep

hopefully hell is good to me

i still love the ol JC (jesus christ) guys, im just depressed

It took me

51 years

To figure out

That I’d rather

Be a drunk

Than dead

Shit,

I’ll take a hangover

Over a poorly

Attended funeral

Any day of the week

David Burdett

6/28/2021

What do you know

About any of it?

Have you sampled

The poison you pedal?

Have you ever been to war?

How many graves have you dug?

How many times

Have you cried

Please and save me

Only to be told

No and fuck you

At what point does

One too many times

To remember

Become

One too many times

To forget?

David Burdett

6/16/2023