Poems meant to be performed

Spastic Grace

Malignant misconceptions
of a twisted and blistered hate.
Insane ideologies
of strange twists of fate.
Corrupt incorruptibility,
can anyone relate?
Paraplegic imperfection
is such a sad mental state.


The Grand Stage

So, here I sit, alone again, incarcerated by my own fear of intimacy. Encapsulated in solitude of my own creation. All my life I’ve kept everybody at arms length, and I have finally come to the place where everybody has decided to move even further away. Where I now sit, wallowing in my own lonely world, motivated by fear, is where I’ve always told people that I wanted to be and even more where I liked to be. I am now truly feeling the backlash of my own words. The verbalized and vocalized, vengeful vendetta of my very own creation. I am suffering in this, my own vignette of sorrow, forged through self-slander. The lone soloist weeping on the grand stage of life.



Here I go again, bouncing off the wall
Acting as if, acting as is, feeling, flailing
Falling through these feelings and feeling alone
Silently screaming the scream of despair

Uttering urgency through lips of remorse
Hanging in solitude, blowing off course
Lurking in loneliness, yes, dancing alone
Losing myself in these weeds I have grown
(Losing myself in these weeds I have grown)


Theater of Pain

Insatiable aggression keeps me
In this rusted cage
This spectral apparition holds me
In this state of rage
Left alone in this
Violence in my eyes
I cannot see the end in this
Seething pit of lies
This mindless destination has me
In its bloody teeth
Its course for ruination keeps me
Sickened, full of grief
Left alone in this
Violence in my eyes
I cannot see the end in this
Seething pit of lies
Is there no escape for me?
Is this all I am?
Is this cage my destiny?
Or my battering ram?
This mental institution throws me
To the rocks below
I’m paying restitution for these
Things Ill never know
Left alone in this
Violence in my eyes
I cannot see the end in this
Seething pit of lies
Welcome to the theater
My theater of pain
I cannot see the end in this
Seething pit of lies
I cannot see the end in this
With violence in my eyes
Left alone in this
Violence in my eyes
I cannot see the end in this
Seething pit of lies


Invisible Boy

Sweet nothings
Don’t speak
Don’t feel
Don’t go outside
Outside of the mind
Invisible boy
Lost on the couch
Lonely jitters
Frustrating smile
Invisible boy
Silently screams
Alive in his mind
Dead to his world
Fantasy his reality
Reality his enemy
Invisible boy
Beside the T.V.
Eyes wide open
Technicolor confusion


Half Empty

While conducting this monotone symphony
I’m injecting this acetone empathy and
Portraying this blasphemous sympathy
I digress, filling me, half empty

Retarding my projection of serenity
Rejecting simplicity and diverting divinity
Bathing in this tainted purity
I digress, feeling me, half empty


Nausea Delirium Daze

Redundant replay of mass confusion
Furtive movements of thought
Sideways strains and twisted connections
It’s another sad day in the rain

Madness overwhelms the senses
Muscles contract and expand
The details blur around the edges
Nausea, delirium, daze


Apathy, uncertainly, doubt, and my old friend melancholy together we bleed

Here I am again, alone, without, and helplessly lost on an apathetic sea of unchanging doubt. Tossed on waves of uncertainty, beneath melancholy skies bleeding tears of pain. This doubt, this uncertainty, and this salty sweet apathy are steadfast and strong like bedrock in my life. They are without fail, a constant in my tortured and dreary existence. I have mingled with melancholy, beneath her bloody crying skies, all my life. They have all become welcome guests in my life as I trudge along this boring and useless path of life. They bring excitement to my bland and tasteless life and they bring the sour tears that cleanse my tarnished soul. The most important function or influence they have in my bitter existence, or should I call it my endurance, is that they bring the gift of inspiration. With inspiration comes creativity and with creativity comes growth, and there is always room to grow. I know I am in safe waters here with the henchmen of depression and together we shall facilitate another change. Then I will bid them farewell until I conjure them up again. I guess I am just at my best when I am at my worst. So I move forward.


The Pain

Torrential troglodyte rain
Shadows come blue and black
Frenetic electric flames
Dreams alight gone insane

Help Me
Assistance in existence

Hide me
Persistence my resistance

Hold me
Aberration or destination

Heal me
Deviation to destination

Dementia, denial, and disdain
Progressive backwards truth
Deceitful dogmatic refrain
Chronic undeniable proof

Guide me
Divide Me
Help me feel the pain


Short Scrib

Black tar nightmare in concrete and stone
Reverse flashbacks and deja vu
Hardened face of frustration cracks a lonely smile.
Too mnay memories in the fire.



Cynical deception reverberates
freely through the cracks
Dripping into pools
of loosely tangled lies

Spinning the web of protection
Slicing the vein of truth

Broken words and promises
spoken with two-faced glee
Undermining strained relations
with sweet gentle subterfuge


My Abyss

Hanging over the edge of reconciliation
Fingers gripping the ledge
Of this rude separation
Clinging to the hope
Of each blessed tomorrow
Slowly wading through
These different shades of grey
Down deep
Into this
My abyss


Like Jimmy Hoffa

Mangled mass
of malicious confusion
the skies of my mind
On the doorsteps
of my soul
Twisting me
Tearing me
Blistering my view
Shooting holes in this
graveyard backdrop
Burning me
Churning me
And leaving me
Strung out
and lost like Jimmy Hoffa


Mid Life Crisis

I hate this nonsense
I hate the way I feel
The way I look
The way I smell
I hate myself
And that’s the worst
See, you don’t’ have to live with me
I’m a whiner
I’m selfish and insecure
I’m going bald
Approaching forty
Is this the way life’s supposed to be
I’m psychotic
I’m neurotic, and to boot
I’m as ugly as a horse
I’m irresponsible
I’m immature
Self obsessed and mundane
Yet this is my cup of pain
And that’s got to be the worst
You see, you don’t have to live with me
I do



He stood poised, motionless
Two steps from mysteries edge
Blindly staring, emotionless
Over dizzy continents of time
Of space, of grace, beyond eternity
Tears of disbelief, subsiding
Moving slowly over life’s edge
Undiscovered fires igniting
Surreal emotional flames of joy
Of sorrow, of tomorrow, beyond state of mind
Existing in mind without form, shapeless
Above the storms of broken lives
Moving in infinite glory, now fateless
His exodus begins, moving up through endless skies
In absolution and without retribution
The aura of soul is now forever freed
Eternal existence on plains of spirituality
Up, above, over it all, in spirit, without duality
Individuality ceased, body discarded and left crumpled
And without, with all, within
As he dances this dance alone forever

Randall W. Collier, 39, is a full-time student at a local university in Bakersfield California. He has been writing since he was seven. This is his second appearance on spread.