Is horse blinders:
All I can look towards
Is the ****** race's
end.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 7:16 PM UTC
I hope the significant being
growing inside me
can't sense how
insignificant its host is.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 6:54 PM UTC
Feeling important--
That feeling you get when you
look at pictures of your not-husband
with his family who don't know
you exist.
Feeling inspired--
Watching videos of people doing things
I'll never have enough motivation
to achieve.
Feeling enlightened--
My cat is cuddling me the more I stay in bed
and don't do anything,
while everyone I know thinks
I'm a successful busy body.
Feeling empowered--
That feeling you get when you
can see the workplace political web weaving itself
into knots, only because people
don't give a **** enough to not tell you.
Feeling loved--
So many people are asking for my company
now, which makes it easier to give people
just enough time to have a taste,
but not quite enough time to
actually swallow me.
Feeling fulfilled--
That moment when you realize
nothing you do matters,
so why not get obliterated to
Justin Bieber?
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 7:09 PM UTC
In your slumber, I find you
wandering deciduous Dreamland forests
under a harvest moon
waiting for me to arrive.
Your chocolate eyes melt
when we embrace,
bubbling forth your soul--
molten lava,
cooling in briny blue oceans
to create new earth.
Upon it,
my green eyes lay lichen and
bury the seeds
we've fertilized,
so that they may
mature into sequoias
from our
Love,
forever present.
Oh, how they'll reminisce about
the worlds we've created.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 6:25 PM UTC
When we get to play together,
we have ropes around our necks,
and as dogs those ropes are
tied to the poles;
however, we’ve placed those poles
and tied those ropes,
hoisting the noose around each other’s
necks.
How long are we to go on like this
before we run beyond our diameters
and end our lives
as we know them,
change the knot so that our play
won’t be lethal,
or slip off what bounds us
and run together free?
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 9:12 AM UTC
Bite into me
with those white,
vampiric teeth
Please--
convert me to
what you are,
so, together,
we can forget
the meaning of
time.
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 11:31 AM UTC
If we’re all actually
in the hands of a
Christian God—
His tight grip has melted me like
chocolate,
and I’ve slipped through
His mighty fingers—
a puddle of delicious
rejuvenation.
I spread everywhere,
molding to all of the
bumps and
cracks
in the floor.
Sweet, sweet freedom.
His son can never
mop me up
and remold me into
His image.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 7:58 PM UTC
The desert air was
stealing water
from the children’s skin.
Their German Shepherd
sprinted along the rusting fence,
her paws flinging dust storms and
leaving a foot-deep moat in their path.
The children’s mother filled the bitch’s trench to its brim
with water from the plastic hose.
It almost melted in her hands--
its oily rubber stench
gave her a headache and she went to rest in the
air-conditioned kitchen, leaving
her ******** son in the care of the middle child,
the daughter from the same father.
Her ******* daughter sat waiting for her,
quivering in a wooden chair.
As her mother rested, her
tears pooled on the table, and she
stuttered to Mother about what their father
stole from her body.
Their mother’s blood became bile,
realizing the man she married
was a monster.
The mother stood up from her splintered chair
to gaze through the murky window
at the children she bore with the beast.
They skidded on their tummies across the only wetland
in the lowly desert town, giggling and
splashing their limbs in the filthy yard.
She wondered how she would tell her son
that they were moving far away, without daddy.
She frowned at the daughter of the *********
could she have at least
one stable child?
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:25 PM UTC
Consume speed,
rid auxiliary weight—
no love handles,
no fat from rearview—
just frame,
pumping heart,
place where man can sit.
Muffin-top women watch me
quiver under skin,
unshakable desire
to chew fat from their bodies—
never know if I’d
swallow or spit.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 7:15 PM UTC
Red, flushed lips and
green, lush eyes,
my pearly white teeth
and ripe, wet licks:
we're ready to strike
with soft, sweet bites,
the slow, great pressure
will break your ****
and you'll flow into me.
But soon, the gray will come and
I
will be lost in its fog,
and you,
well,
you better **** yourself
back in
and run
before you, too,
come near to drowning
on my chemical sadness.
It always happens soon after;
my burgundy heart
suckles on passion
and returns to its crimson ways,
and all I'll want to do
is play.
If you think you can wait.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC