I write in thieves argot
I'm far gone......too deep to resurface
not worth it, go further
into my mind, i'm blind to the time
Life is fleeting, and i am bleeding
needing to get by
while i get high......
Passing the day,
in a way, that keeps me dragging too slow
with no where to go
stuck in the muck, without any luck
pain struck while i fuck myself
into the ground,
with no sound to wake me
I ramble on, gambling on
send in spies to cut ties
with my past, the memories last
carve my name in your heart
we fell apart.............
here gone forgotten
When I am in statistics I cannot focus
because the world around me is ending in my mind
slowly fading into something without meaning
until I cannot breathe and I have to leave
to go cry in the bathroom.
When I am in my statistics class I cannot focus
because there is a boy there who looks like my favorite porn star
I know what his penis looks like
or might look like
Schrödinger's dick in a box.
I cannot help but stare at him and
picture him in gym shorts and no boxers
or cargo pants and no boxers
or just in boxers
It's an uncomfortable feeling of morbid intrigue that
makes me tap my toes too fast.
I want to know him.
I want to tell him that
I love the way he smiles
and laughs and communicate s
and makes sure everyone is safe and happy.
I can only watch porn that has behind-the-scenes features.
It's comforting to know that
everyone is happy and
everything is consensual and
everyone is having fun.
I get too invested in these people, too attached -
One time I had to give up
and take a moment to breath
because I was just so overwhelmed with pride
Like a parent watching their kid graduate after all their hard work.
And that feeling is not okay.
And seeing that boy in my class is not okay,
Because I feel so proud of all he's accomplished
So when he answers a question right in class all I can think about is
When he sucked a dick on camera for the first time
And the first time he licked whipped cream off another man's nipples
And it's very distracting.
When I am in statistics I cannot focus
because I start to worry that I will fail this class
and then I start to worry that I will hate my future
and then I worry about having a future in the first place,
bunching up into an unfocused, panicking, asthmatic mess.
The porn star boy is a distraction.
It's because of him that I'm passing this class.
( and in a way, a stupid, silly way,
it's because of him that I'm alive. )
My name is Sandy
My twin sister's name is Suzy
We hang out together
Dressed up so cutely
We look so much alike
This is so very true
But there are some things
Only I like to do
She is funny
and laughs so loud
I am the thoughtful
one in the crowd
She likes green
I like blue
She likes the playground
I like it too
We do look alike
Sometimes you can see
But there are all the times
When I am just me!
And say the same things.
We write shitty poetry
And love shiny rings.
We have the same thoughts
The same voices,
And it is almost like
We're not one but two of a kind.
When the skies and the grounds were one, the legends,
through their twelve forces,
nurtured the tree of life.
An eye of red force created the evil
which coveted the heart of tree of life,
and the heart slowly grew dry.
To tend and embrace the heart of tree of life,
the legends hereby divide the tree in half and hide each side.
Hence, time is over-turned and space turns askew.
The twelve forces divide into two
and create two suns that look alike
into two worlds that seem alike.
The legends travel apart.
The legends shall now see the same sky
but shall stand on different grounds,
shall stand on the same ground
but shall see different skies.
The day the grounds be kept a single file
before one sky in two worlds that seem alike,
the legends will greet each other.
The day the red force is purified,
the twelve forces will reunite into one perfect root,
a new world shall open up.
The crow and the cuckoo look alike
Even the cuckoos are hatched by the crow
But they sing a different song
They can not live along
salt and camphor look the same
But their tastes are different
Salt is meant for adding taste to pudding
Camphor is meant for a god's worshipping
We can’t decide anything by its looks
Nor can we judge a human by the sweet talks
We should observe how he walks
In trying conditions the way she acts