"After the High" - An Original Villanelle

After the High
Hitched a ride with crazy
That was such a trip
It's what I get for being hazy

Don't know 'bout myself lately
Maybe need another hit
Or hitch another ride with crazy

Need to quit wasting myself & being lazy
Getting bigger and no longer fit
But it's what I get for being hazy

Streets know me as "Broken Lady"
For my bruised face & slit fingertips
Hitching too many rides with crazy

Curl up and bawl like a baby
Waking up feelin' like shit
What I get for being hazy


Puking to pop music from the '80s
Partying can be a bitch
Hitched too many rides with crazy


Chased by dogs with rabies
Ended up in a ditch
Hitched too many rides with crazy
It's what I get for being hazy


This is a villanelle for my poetry class. Tell me what I can change.

my tale about the Psycho’s secondhand tale (a poem)

The Psycho told it with drollness…I heard it like this:

The 5000 children were waiting before sunrise

Each brought three items for the Creep to sign

They love him—he is their passion, their hero

They love his genius and style

To them he is a breathing masterpiece

They praise the darkness that he brings into the atmosphere

And get high off his eerie aura

The Creep was tired but willing

His Organizer could see the stress shine off him and gently she rubbed the Creep with ice

Within the first half hour his eyes were wilting, his frown was turning to stone

“My fingers are bleeding,” he mumbled as he scribbled a child’s copy of his misery

“Can you get me some bandages?” he asked his Organizer

“Wait! No!” a kid protested. “Don’t bandage him until he bleeds on my book!”

Every child in line heard this and a chorus of 5000 cried, “Not fair! If the Creep bleeds on his book he has to bleed on my book!”

WTF is what went through his Organizer’s mind

Creep’s jaw fell

She couldn’t believe this poet didn’t know what to say—he was caught off guard

“They’re your fans,” she said

He spread blood on each of those kids’ three things

He was very sustainable with his blood, deepening each wound before cutting a new one

…The Psycho told this story with pleasure and wit

The audience laughed, as if it were the Psycho who had to cut his fingers for 5000 kids

A poem I wrote. Please comment
Sweet Bad Romance
Rah, rah, rahahah! RAH!
Dancing in the woods and singing in the street
Taking things for granted and everything that's free
Wasting Wednesday nights with you in the park and chowing Cajun
I'll be your Sweet Talk and you'll forever be my HAVEN
You're pretty cool for a guy who never laughs or smiles
As caring as a mother yet as cold as Joe's raging bile
I could just drown in your soups stirred with patience and escape in your blanket knitted with love
You're so beautiful, angry, poetic, hysterical, and wonderful- I just can't get enough
Don't ever say sorry for being narrow and plain 
And I'll stop apologizing for my attitudes and complaints 
I'll still love you if you'd burn down the city and start a war
And I know you'd still love me if I drowned the world or erase the stars
You're my psychopath and I'm your devoted nurse
We'll rock this town with our bohemian blues and love curse
'Cause I can't escape you and you shall never be free from me
There's no place better or worse we want to be