It's a laundry list of problems.
Nothing that someone hasn't had before.
Except now they are mine.
Why is this laundry mine by the way?
I didn't ask for it.
I'd rather have a nice vacation.
Do you think I can take them to the cleaners?
Maybe speedy express would work.
Can't hurt to try.
The pile just grows bigger and bigger.
What if I washed some things together?
Will one of them bleed?
Maybe it can hurt if I try.
How will I know?
Anyone out there?
Id kill to go back home
where my bedroom still looks the same
where my mom takes my dirty laundry away to be cleaned
but my dirty laundry piles up now
and I wanna go home
where my laundry doesnt sit in the corner for me to look at
folding laundry with you
singing don't let me down
and you know
i never will,
but those words look lovely
on your lips.
An example of the simple parts of love, I suppose.
Lying awake un-able to sleep
as the darkness creeps in
and the laundry machine spins
round and round
louder and louder
thoughts pulsate through my mind
(even without the noise)
sleeping is hard
the darkness consumes my soul
in the meantime,
all I can do is stare at the ceiling
waiting for my thoughts to numb;
my eyes to grow heavy
I am the sweater tossing in the machine .
Bleach my soul with the tips of your fingers
Make it polish so your reflection lingers
Wring out every unpure thought until theres only you
You may even want to let some of those drip out too
Scrub my mind with an innocent nap together
To be awoken up by the sunny morning weather
Return my mind to the dirt when our lips meet
For the best results wash, rinse, and repeat.
You left me hanging like a shitty shirt on a hanger you stuff in the back of your closet
But easy does it, at least you let me dry myself, you never let me try, to be myself, I saw my self on your closet shelf, I am one of my favorite movies, I fell for the way you moved, free spirit groove with your skin so smooth, I guess you were never really mine to lose
Your deep breathing just led to more misleading thoughts
Baby blues like a tropical cruise to somewhere warmer, now ill just be remembered as someone former, I tried to let the toms river bring us closer, but the current washed you down stream and I wished it had made you scream for a better dream, one where we were together, and you were a mother, and you were where you wanted to be
I am an immigrant now and I all I want to do is flee to somewhere ill be free, from still thinking about you, I know the feeling Isn't mutual, and I see no future for me here, and it brings tears to the eyes of my mother, I hope one day I can just remember you as another woman I loved along the line, good things take time, and great things happen all at once, and I haven't seen you for what seems like months, and I still think about you all the time, longing like this could be considered a crime, but you made me put the lights down low, and you told me about the life you couldn't grow, and I knew it was hard, like a glass shard, stuck into your side
I don't know where to go now,
Guess I can skip town, let my self spiral down, ill never know what you've been through, this is true
And ill listen to everything that makes your soul turn blue, but I'm starting to get sick of writing so many songs about you
Her thoughts took a dark turn
like jackals in the threadbare sun
ripping, ripping until she couldn’t see
herself, now a carcass of once-sought dreams;
a bone-hollow skeleton
stripped of all marrow by which future is made,
where the ink dried within.
Blood, first red then black, gathered in pools
around her head
until the ears spilled no more.
She’d done it to drown out the howling—
for who can bear the noise
of a broken heart?
The muting of syndicate
mocking and whimpering replete,
she worked the metallic taste of hate off her tongue.
It lingered though and became bitter
so she used her teeth to bite into its flesh
for nothing other than to taste a mellowing of salt.
A waft of perfume lingered in the cloying rot,
the remnant of her identity laying in the dust
while the air spilled with the scent of her decay;
a lone paper, yellowed and curled at the corners,
rattled in a wisp of wind.
A cloud began to form on the horizon,
a growing mist of dry, kicked-up earth,
swirling and choking the throat of tortuous barbs.
The cyclonic reclamation filled the desert of scars and loneliness,
returned sinew and marrow, blood and ink
to the supine form of the battered giant
of a dream so big the rabid enemy of her soul
was lost for strategy to bring down.
Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner
"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11