My girl is drenched in sunlight
Every step she takes
She sets the hollow ground ablaze
Her hair is spun from silkworms fingertips
She is stained glass shot through with moonbeams
My girl is sewn in neon
Stitched with the violent nighttime glow
That renders shadows as indigo ink
Illustrates them so
In ways the quiet amber streetlights
Envy so
When she dies
I am certain that
My girl’s embers will burn dove white
In the twilight’s velvet sky
And outshine every other winking ember
As her smile did so in life
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 11:44 AM UTC
If this was the end, for you,
for me, for the creation, how
would we be judged?
As the children we once were, perhaps,
innocence and glee.
But still, would the sun
not fall onto us?
I could be the messenger.
I could tell the tale
of destruction of humankind,
but would it be for nay?
Would it be better,
to die,
in the darkness?
Die as heroes, die as villains,
do we truly care
which way we go?
If the rain of fire,
would still come down?
If we'd still
soil the ground,
with out bodies?
So I say, take me,
teach me the ways,
of living while I have the day.
I do not care for
heaven nor hell.
For I'll still be,
just dead,
when the red sun cries.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 6:10 AM UTC
I painted you.
With trembling, amateur precision,
I suffered each line on your face.
Each fleck of sun,
Your candid smile,
Your immediate beauty in the foreground
Of an exceptional ocean.
Stumbling blindly through the days,
Fumbling for the switch
In a punch-drunk, love-sick afternoon.
Apart from you,
Stripped, exposed,
Laid prone on the gurney
With my skull in a vice
And a fist to my stomach.
I can barely stand because of you.
I painted you this afternoon
So I could toil in your gaze.
Pray I am an interesting splatter,
A noticeable blight;
A happy accident on your page.
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 5:55 AM UTC
I drowned myself in a bottle of *****
so I could feel, or not to feel
There are eleven cigarette butts in the trash
so now my room reeks like smoke
It's still better than the smell of blood
Though my brother wasn't too happy
that I stole all his liquor,
he still thinks that the stains in my sheets
are better than the deep red ever was
Even if they're *****
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC
contradiction
followed by
contradiction
with
u n u s u a l
spacing
endless metaphor
describing pain
and injustice
wash
rinse
repeat
you're a poet, harry
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 3:24 PM UTC
It's here, is it not? It came back like it said.
I felt it knocking, I felt it pounding,
on the doors, on the windows, everywhere.
I didn't let it in, how is it here?
There has to be a crack on the wall,
It slithered through like a snake,
a snake it is, I say.
Have you felt it yet, have you?
You can't see it, can you?
I don't think it has a shape, it's something else.
It can speak though, and it's got claws,
it used to scratch me all the time,
that's how I got these bleeding scars, see?
It spoke to me.
I have a riddle for you, can you figure it out?
It's got no mouth, it's got no voice, but it can speak
It can make you forget, it can speed up time.
It can cloud your sight, it can make you blind.
It will sleep by your side, and it'll follow you around.
I gave you a riddle, can you figure it out?
I'm sure you can, you can feel it too, can't you?
Dec 22, 2017
Dec 22, 2017 at 3:20 PM UTC
Mary had a little lamb,
two lobsters and a Christmas ham,
a three-pound tub of chicken wings,
seven bratwurst tied with strings,
thirteen loaves of garlic bread,
a schnitzel bigger than her head,
four rare steaks, a dozen eggs,
caviar and turkey's legs,
strips of bacon, mushroom stew,
chunks of bread and cheese fondue,
and two whole jars of sauerkraut,
(to clean all of her insides out).
Finishing the pasta salad,
Mary soon looked drawn and pallid.
"I don't feel well," poor Mary said.
"I think I need to rest my head."
Then from her stomach came a moan,
a straining, churning, twisted groan.
Mary gasped; her eyes grew wide.
She'd only seconds to decide.
What could she do? Where could she go?
Her stomach was about to blow!
So, reaching for the nearest bucket,
she retched, and then began to chuck it.
All the courses that she'd swallowed,
and the apertifs they'd followed,
all the steaks and all the fish,
each and every single dish
came flying back from in her belly,
filling up the bucket smelly
with a foul and toxic brew,
and no one knew quite what to do,
so this went on for ten whole minutes
till Mary had expelled her innards.
When she was done, her eyes were red,
and sweat was pouring from her head.
"Are you alright, sweet Mary dear?"
her mother asked. She didn't hear.
For Mary was already off -
the waiters saw her try to scoff
the whole entire pudding bar.
Now, this had pushed her mum too far.
"Alright!" her mother cried, "I'm through!
I've done the best that I can do.
I'm sick and tired of all you eat.
I will not pay for all this meat.
I'm going home. Go get some help —"
Then Mary's mum let out a yelp!
She glanced down at her legs and saw
sweet Mary there begin to gnaw!
She struck the lass, but with great haste,
alas, the girl had reached her waist.
As Mary's ma was there devoured
by her offspring, overpowered,
she cried one thing ere final slaughter:
"It smells like lamb in here, my daughter."
Mary licked her lips and grinned.
She belched out loud and then broke wind.
She felt her tummy start to rumble -
and calmly ordered apple crumble.
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 6:45 AM UTC
This is the teenage dream:
With you - for you -
I skipped school yesterday
We made out at the movies,
Talked 'till four AM
And woke up to a "good morning"
I shaved even my thighs
'Cuz tonight we're going "all the way"
I'll get drunk with you
And all our friends,
Who will mock us for being
Young, and dumb, and in love
We will build a life
Out of dreams and high hopes
And watch it fall apart,
Or take it apart,
For we are forever beautiful and handsome
For this is our teenage dream
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 6:29 AM UTC