Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

Learn Nothing

Somewhere there’s a fire burning
somewhere there are wedding bells ringing
everywhere else nobody was paying attention.

I’m having visions of a bed where no one sleeps
close my eyes, vast oblivion consumes my mind
for a second it doesn’t matter what anything means.

Open up my eyelids
Welcome back chaotic
Hard to believe anyone could get enough of this
Been long enough now,
guess I’ll never wise up.

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

Listlessly Looking For Nothing In Particular

nothing to look for
nowhere to look
curiosity can’t kill the indifferent

searching is pointless
a void can’t be found
the absence of something is just that

welcome back
listlessly looking for nothing in particular

leaving most stones unturned
effortlessly foraging
unsure of my expectations
and so much more

there’s a plethora of things
never meant to be found
a lot of the time
it’s just better not to know

there are things that can’t be unlearned
but no ones knows until it’s too late

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

End Transmission

Put in too much effort
to just give up,
but lord knows I still will.
“Born a quitter, died a quitter”
will be written on the stone above my grave,
Maybe things would be different
if I could control what I crave.
I’ve never been able to listen
every line sounds the same
carved out a role for myself in the snake pit
by now I barely notice their fangs
no more opening my mouth – end transmission –
I finally know when to quit the game.

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

Again

I bite off more than I can chew
again
and again,
The cycle doomed to repeat itself until I’m dead.
My plate is overflowing
I don’t think I can eat it all
Gotta hurry up, the second course is coming
An extra side dish I didn’t order is sent
again, And again,
I want to starve, the turkey’s carved
I’m not a fat cat, they keep filling my plate up
Looking for a new way to say,

I think I’ve had enough
I’m fed up again.
Can’t do the impossible
Can’t drown in the desert
Can’t drain a stone of a drop of blood
Working on accepting what I can’t change
I’m stuck in the mud,
again.
It’s alright (it’s alright)
There are burdens I’ll learn to deal with
Time will teach me to conquer them, again,
Then time will conquer me someday (Time conquers all)
Time heals and kills
again and again.

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

Caustic

The equation works out like this;
Mentally spastic,
Physically inactive,
Spiritually indifferent,
Psychologically speaking, I’m always obdurate,
Metaphysically desolate,
Overall feeling conflicted,
Hours spent questioning the purpose of existence,
Time within an undetermined mind
feels like a prison sentence,
Was wading in shallow waters,
but now I’m adrift,
This isn’t one of those trips
it’s not about the journey – it’s the destination,
Murdering my mind and time with procrastination,
Everything is static, waiting for the changes,
Suffering from absentee motivation,
Call back tomorrow,
my brain is on vacation,
Trying isn’t my strong suit,
I guess I’m just not dedicated,
Ambition is in short supply, sluggish passivity permeates,
Ineffectively straining to fully comprehend causation,
Incessantly contemplating what constitutes “Salvation,”
Internally debating; is cognitive thinking a blessing or some sick mutation?

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry, Uncategorized

Interest/Disinterest

This time always came;
the lights shut off,
the screen goes blank.

Eyes glaze over,
interest starts to fade –
Time moves slower,
minutes feel like days –

Nothing’s worth the price I paid.

By now it’s become commonplace
for me to stop caring,
Speaking to me invades my personal space,
thanks for sharing,
go away.

Disinterested, I disengage.

The promises people always break
mean less and less
after each one’s made.

I’m not getting what I expected
just another unfair trade
I ran out of Give A Shit
I exist in what I create.

Source: <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/interest/”>Interest

Brandon Wentz Creative Writing, Poetry

Boxed In

Time reclaims its grip tightly again
Follow the path for long enough,
tracing all its bends,
then deal with the relapse when it comes.
All the answers are locked behind the same wall,
all hidden in the same box
Can’t help but wonder who has the key
There’s got to be a way to manipulate these things.
Pulling the curtain might be the last thing I want to do
(leave it all out in the open)
The freshest air always gets tainted
The best of all timing always gets wasted
This feels like an experiment gone wrong
Sometimes things just go awry,
not every single bird knows how to fly.
‘Get me the hell out of here,’ I’m always thinking
Then what am I doing always coming back
I’m trying to get the hell out
bags are already packed
There’s a box waiting for me and you and you
and all of us
I had no premonition to prevent this
but even if I had,
I never would’ve learned then
Unlocked the box with all the answers
I should’ve burned instead.