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Jonny Brackney Poems
sometimes i feel the devil and his dirty eyes watching. haunting me.
a hard thing put simply
there is no such thing as broken hearts, only broken minds.
cold air knives
Between The Lines
so this is where we are, where we will always be. stuck between our words misread,
a splendid little evening
got another one last night. a splendid little
Act II - The Invention of Cheese
anxious dazed driving ferociously steady through Alabaster
spun into a numb
that trusted liquid takes its toll carries my thoughts away.
here you are, spinning with me slow painting me in
The Beast In Lady East
she met me on that famous road dressed all stylish and hip. trying to intimidate. trying to impress.
the perverted wave
if i could choose to be anything, i'd be a
remember, little writer, you're a slave ...
just a poet. not a hero.
each time i finish a poem i feel that it is perfect. then i read it
The riddle has been solved the night is at fault the dark
and so they writhe in their pathetic affliction. giving money to the greedy
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
sometimes i feel the devil
and his dirty eyes
burning me alive...
inviting me to fall
into a comfortable numb.
but in that numb
a hatred dwells, smirking in the shadows.
i shrug him off and
pretend he isn't there.
my inner madness spills into a
thin black ink.
so you can read
what your eyes
while i sit
spitting thoughts from my fingers.
hurting and feeling.