Small Collection of F.T. Willz Poems

thought it'd be nice to put a few of ft willz' poems on here since they were originally posted on myspace (or the skeleton crew website i'm not sure) if ykyk :) this is not my work!!!!

From my head to my middle finger, i really think i like you.

i’m a little coffee pot short, stout, and burnt beyond recognition. Sour to the taste and an and, and

an and, and the end.

what a dark mess of chemicals we have become.

look through my caffeinated eyes my love. i see the sun in all its ultra violet glory. it

beckons me to abort my life of painstaking procrastination.

…..and all i want for x-mas is to fly 2 blunts deep.

i drive for days and sleep for miles, but never drop to drink. No Control, but not exactly

a riot either. fuck me you’re such a riot.

i’ve found healing powers beyond my wildest dreams behind your lips. i am the dinosaur

soaring towards extinction. So smoke ‘em if ya got 'em kids…..cause Joe Camel needs

the pocket cash. or just read 'em and weep sweetheart cause my royal flush comes with

a love note. i bleed spades, you draw horses…..

may the lord strike down our penniless heroes,

for if not we must take matters into our own hands.

everything will be new when we open our eyes for the first time.

so i’ll pick you up at 7 and we’ll have a real shitty time, but at least we’ll have a time. i’d love

you to hate my guts if they weren’t already covered in ulcers…ulcers only a mother

could love.

so for now peace love and misdemeanors,

cause i plan on being out of step for awhile my dear.

Diamond rings don’t shine so bright when you know where they come from

A poet, a prophet, a motherfucking puppet, a modern-day ___ (fill-in the blank), nature’s

____ (insert noun here).

Show me who you are on the inside… really? Me too. We’re so alike, where did you grow

up? NO FUCKING WAY! A small town? That’s so weird; no one ever listens to me either.
Wow. What a small world (exclamation point) LOL. We should be friends, what’s your

number? Wanna hang out sometime? Are you on Myfriendsmakeouspace-ster

(fuckeachotherfuckeachotherfuckeachother) club? Me too. Wanna fuck? I’m just like you.

Can I borrow your car? Live at your house? Eat your pets? Kill your parents? We’re so

perfect together, (for each other)…. Opportunity is knocking do you hear it? BANGBANG. I

wrote a song about you, it has 25 different parts that don’t belong together. I scream and

cry and there’s no melody whatsoever, you’ll love it, listen to it everyday…. Until all you

friends like it too, then you’ll say it sucks and call me a sellout. Do you wanna get

matching tattoos, have the same haircut, go steady, and just be friends so we can fuck

everyone else who looks just like us, thinks like us, and feels like us too? Fuck, look at me,

look at me, right here, right in my fucking eyes. Can you see it? No? Look closer then.

How about now? No? Maybe it’s the atrocious lighting in here. Wait let me take a crooked

picture with my hair in my face while I cut your name into my thigh. Do you see it now?

You don’t see anything? Nothing at all? Are you sure? Positive? Weird, me either, small

fucking world huh?

Shit’s bananas when you’re disinterested.

Mein Kompfy sweat pants and your old sweater met their match today.

They danced through our phone conversation, and fought the whole time i ate pancakes.

The 3 of us thought of you when i bit my lip, denounced god, went blind with rage, and

even when i typed this meaningless drab until 6 in the morning.

I think they’re going to be good (meaningless) friends. Not the kind that are nice to each

others faces and talk shit the moment the other has left the room. More like the kind that

meet by fucking the same mutual friends a week apart, cause they are young and

carefree and have so much in common, not cause they are roach infested whores.

They look so happy together, great things are going to come of this, i promise.

When you come home I’ll show you. (if i can only get those hideous stains out.)

We’ll laugh til our noses bleed, and the windows shatter.

You are mine my darling, and the world, yes the world shall be ours.

12 was a good year

My head is pounding, my intestines grow…(I wish I could just go to fucking sleep)….. my

makeshift bedroom is quaking under me.

My dream house rattles down route number in the hundreds traveling at a speed of 65

mph through the beautiful state of starts with a consonant.

No one makes a waking sound.

A breath of fresh air, a shooting pain in my new jersey lungs (home is where half my

heart is).

Brittle fucking bones, a nicotine crutch, an idiot’s wisdom, and a crooked smile.

Who the fuck is really genuine anyway? Everyone’s god is a liar. Everyone’s face is a

mask.

You can take a pill to fix almost anything these days…(fuck) especially if you got the

scratch. It’s a shame they can’t do more with false hope. (Shut up, shut up, just fucking

shut me up.)

Hearts break, arteries clog, minds race, and all heroes will eventually fall (or just grow

tired of the ungrateful people they help).

What a fucking waste…how many trees have to die for this complaint set to ink. One day

when you run out of air (or shade) you’ll hate me for this. Maybe I’ll feel bad or just blow

it off with a smile (crooked teeth, ugly smile), either way I’m sure we’ll both move on

ramble on ramble on ramble on ramble onand onandonandonandon…

positive reinforcement

I heard recently that a lady died from drinking a fanta whose top was tainted by a mixture

of rat piss, sawdust, and holiday spice. What a legacy you’ve left behind mam. Death by

Fanta. I’ll bet she was fucking shocked by those amazing turn of events. I mean really?

Work out, eat right, and then bam! A fanta! Those things are supposed to be fucking

refreshing. Somethings gotta give. Oh and by the way, irving “magic” Johnson is

currently living hiv negative. What kind of god allows something like that? Fuck you

Africa, you need at least 2 nba championships under your belt before I even consider

giving you a miracle cure. Continue to pray for bags of rice, there’s no way any of you

will ever be able to afford this cocktail. Is this the world we live in? full of poison fantas

and a lakers fanatic pulling the strings? Shit if its gonna be that kind of party, Im gonna

drink 400z of liquid plummer.

the hate is deceitful above all things

 we see the failures of our heroes emblazoned in quiet glory on the faces of the tender young, like the gems from our mouths are what spoil the gallon with just a sip. we’re retching rhetoric so the kids have something to beat off to. waxing outlandish for the electronic age. illiterate alliterations while the wind blows a few more pixels from the shade of our skins.

fuck. you put up a good fight but we all erode a little and the sun still bleaches our bones. tell me what you’re thinking. don't be nervous, i just like to watch. the water in your skin will swell out the imprints of my teeth. you'll regenerate. you'll dance for days as long as they leave you to dance in the breeze (and they all do).

i won’t mind the faces you make and the sporadic swear words that don’t go together (you goddamn shit bitch) that you spout like cold tap water from your fuck fountain throat. i'll still think you’re pretty when you’re stepping on my toes. it's always a hard run into the wind but when you throw yourself off the cliff, the canyon is lined with me. look me in the eyes when i fucking talk to you. it cuts deeper than you think.

we were all set up to fall.

the acid equilibrium is back

the acid equilibrium is back again and unpleasant guts churn up
unpleasant thoughts: ask yourself: how did i get here? would it take a
subzero gun barrel pressed to your cheek, tears oozing down the metal
as you speak, to see that life’s not life if you’re not living it? the lump in
my throat tells me you’re wrong, like a neon street sign that a satellite
could see from the stellar sea.

it must be invisible to their eyes, they have sight but cannot (will not?) see.

swell and explode in slow motion, it won’t change a single fucking thing.

you knew this would happen.

i’m painfully shedding my skin, piece by piece, bit by bit, cell by cell, and
the underneath is cowardly pale and maggot-eaten. doesn’t look so nice
now, does it? blood, sweat, shit, and tears, it’s all the same to me. after
all, we eventually crap out everything we take in.

9 to 5 is suicide, hope to die by 25. they’ll ignore it.

the letter e is the prom queen, try to live without it. can you or can’t you?
nothing would mak sns. h is hr and sh is h. you s?

it’s difficult right? so am i. difficult, no. right, no. it, yes. i am it and it is me. you see?