Chase Gagnon

Chase Gagnon Poems

I wanna be a poet when I grow up, Mrs. Evans
I want my past to terrorize me in my sleep
and die wif a needle in my vein.
I want ta be poor and impoverished
...

We're all equal in the eyes of the reaper
from the wild dreamers to the never-sleepers
once we're pulled up on his hook, we're all keepers.
He'll mount our souls in his rustic cabin
...

I miss the smell of the marijuana on your breath as we laughed at the world in the darkness of our filthy apartment. I used to hate the way it smelled, but I've been craving the contact high of your kiss. It's hard to believe that you're not breathing anymore, and your chest is motionless in the morgue. I refuse to believe that your lips are cold, and that you're lying naked without me there to touch you. Why would you leave me here alone? You were the only thing I had but I had everything in you. I found a strand of your hair on the pillow soaked in your nightmares, and then looked around our room hopelessly for your ghost. I don't know why I haven't cried… I guess there are just some things tears can never wash away, and I know you're one of ‘em.

I see the bottle of pills sitting on the nightstand. You placed them back so neatly before you drifted off, leaving only two in the clear orange container that glows like a grinning jack-o-lantern under the lamplight in an otherwise dark room. Two isn't enough to kill me, but maybe I could get a decent buzz and visit you in a hallucination of hell, where you sit before the devil's throne sucking his red ****. I'll vanquish him with the light of our love and take his throne, then get a boner for your lips that are warm again. We'll reside here forever and never get another eviction notice until the end of days, when we'll spiral into a never-ending darkness with the demons who scream almost as loud as you when I caress your **** in a world where sinners are saints.
...

I've seen Death — his shadow woke me
as he walked through the alley by my house
on his way to the gas station for a pack of smokes
and my neighbor who was bleeding out
...

I saw Jesus
on the corner of Lafayette and Chrysler
begging for change,
beard and all.
...

In a makeshift boat
I paddle through her enchanting iris
trying to reach the black island
of her soul,
...

I have a garden
with nothing but barbed wire
and dandelions
where ceramic gnomes
...

If suffering
had a color...
it would be periwinkle,
because purple sounds
...

As dawn climbs
up the flat horizon of
a sunflower
my dreams fan their petals
...

When I was young
I found the urn
of a fairy in the woods—
an empty beer bottle
...

I touch your face in the casket
and feel the bone just below.
Soon you'll be a skeleton in a blue dress
and the smile I loved since birth
...

When I return to the earth
I'll let the fairies play hide and seek
with my bones
in hopes that they'll hollow
...

I wandered the streets with her
at all hours, whispering dark philosophies
while walking our black cat
that would only purr
...

Tonight
my muse's fetus
has died in the womb of my mind
so I push its unformed body
...

I love when you touch me under the moon, tracing the acne scars on my face and telling me they're beautiful. They're the only thing I have left from my childhood, and they're fading. You point out the first firefly, orbiting the warm world of our sleeping bag like a tiny moon, waning and waxing every few seconds. Time goes by so fast with you. The tides of your eyes are pulled away from me by the wonder of the pulsing satellite that is for some reason drawn to us. In our world within a world, I like to think we're ancient nomads just opening our eyes to an existence we know nothing of. We're speaking elegantly in a primitive language, the caresses of our entwined bodies that we have yet to discover — but we have all summer.

a shooting star
disappears behind
...

It's morning and still dark
the world is a world away, dreaming
and the smell of last night's rain lingers
like a ghost, trying to tell me something
...

You're my stillborn butterfly
afraid of your beauty
with limp wings —
pried from the safety of your cocoon
...

The moon is following me wherever I go, hunting me down like a jealous lover bent on revenge. Her porcelain eye has completely opened to my lies, and the lids brushed with a sexy perpetual darkness have rolled back into her skull. I run through the woods, hiding behind ancient trees to breathe in the cool darkness who keeps me safe; I just pray she, this darkness, doesn't find out about my affair with the moon. It was a moment of weakness and curiosity; I've known nothing but darkness for all of my existence and now I am certain I want to make her my queen.

I dig a shallow grave and lay in it, to hide from this terrible light and be alone with my one true love. I pull in dirt over us like a blanket, leaving claw marks on the sun-bleached earth above us 'we're all alone now baby, and you'll never leave me... not even when the sun returns'. This is our kingdom now, where my pale flesh will rot away, and she'll fill every socket of my skeleton with her sweet essence. We'll truly become one.
...

20.

How did I get so cold?
I'm not even old but I might as well be,
I'm on more pills than my grandma
just so I can fall asleep
...

Chase Gagnon Biography

Chase Gagnon is a poet born in Detroit, Michigan in February of 1995. He was raised within the city and many of its suburbs, spending his childhood moving from “broken home to broken home”. His childhood was unstable and often violent,11 of a mentally and physically abusive father. This resulted in a severe depression, which resulted him to being hospitalized after attempting suicide. While admitted in Havenwyck Hospital he discovered his passion for writing, and used it as a creative outlet. He has stated many time that “writing is what saved my life” In the rather short amount of time since then, he has gained worldwide recognition and praise for his work, receiving multipul honors such as having his poetry reprinted in twice in the annual Red Moon Anthology edited by renowned haiku poet Jim Kacian. http: //aphelionchasegagnon.blogspot.com/)

The Best Poem Of Chase Gagnon

What I Want To Be When I Grow Up

I wanna be a poet when I grow up, Mrs. Evans
I want my past to terrorize me in my sleep
and die wif a needle in my vein.
I want ta be poor and impoverished
like third world childrens
and fall asleep ta the sound of bombs
in my tin hut castle.
I want whiskey tooo rot my mind away
but lift me to brilliance first.
I want one night stands full of screams
and warts that only hurt
in the handsome doctor's latex grip.

I want ta grow a beard like daddy had
before he hung himself in the garage
and sit on corners begging
for peoples tooo read my book.
I wanna feel the shadow of death
and write about how he terrifies me
becauss mommy will be dead,
and unable scare him away.

I want to be a poet becuz
gram-grams read me Ginsberg before bed
and called me her little beatnik,
I cant wait too be a poet
and get famouser when I'm dead!

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