We ran out of time! I screamed as the smoke rushed from under the door.
This is just a metaphor.
We ran out of time. As if running in place to get back the life we once had that was safe.
I study clocks, watches, and smiles like archeology.
We are all hour glasses tipped over waiting for the sand to run out. Yet most will stay in that room as the smoke begins to choke them more and more.
This is just a metaphor.
You are running out of time! Most of us never turn around to jump out the window and save ourselves.
You are going to die one day!! I screamed as the flames engulfed the door.
This, is just a metaphor.
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
As I trace my fingers over your spine, and explore your naked body I wonder how many other explorers have been here.
I wonder if you put your body up for display and let these people perform archeology on your body.
You become a new discovery to some or a misused ****** to others. I want to perform reverse archeology to your soul and bring you back to life.
I just can't seem to forget how many people have explored you before me. Some things are better left undiscovered.
Aug 8, 2016
Aug 8, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Someday I will write poems about her. One day I will get flowers sent to you just because its a cloudy day.. I will call out of work on your days off so we can spend the day together.
The time we spend together is way more important than the money we spend together. I will write you into poetry even when you think it has nothing to do with you. I will describe the beauty of nature or art and the simplicity of its being but you will always be the reason it's beautiful.
I might not always say you're beautiful but it's because I already know you are. I will not tell you everyday, if you repeat something over and over it starts to lose its meaning. There will be days that I will not say I love you but rather express it with a kiss.
And on your worst days when you hate the world and have cramps and just want to eat a tub of ice cream, I will grab a spoon with you. There will be poetry made of us and not just about us. Once I write you down you will live forever through my words.
Our love will never die and our souls will always meet again. We will be a masterpiece of words that anyone can explore. We will be, poetry!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
I guess you've never sat at the edge of this planet just to kick stones off into the abyss.
I guess you've never loved hard enough to be the one kicked off in that abyss.
I guess love doesn't exist, only way to know, is to dive off into that abyss.
I guess you have never shared the same breath while kissing someone you loved.
I guess from here, there is no coming back.
I guess from here, its just nothing but black.
I guess one day you'll be 80 years old and look back with so much regret.
I guess your time here would have been wasted.
I guess we'll all be forgotten like the rest of the love stories that were never told.
I guess
we're
running
out
of
time...
I guess
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
Fairytales are stories that never finished. That was the last thing I said to you as I walked away. Our story had an ending. An ending like a car crash. Like knowing the train is coming but it felt more comforting to stay parked on those tracks. Sifting my fingers threw your hair as you looked up at the stars and I just couldn't seem to look away from you.
I smiled as you slept and we laid under the stars that night. You would soon tell me that the weekend you went out with your friends you made a huge mistake. I imagined burning buildings and sirens. You told me another man had explored your body. I imagined you inside of the burning building.
I remember the hours after like smoke filling my lungs. You pleaded your love for me and the amount of sorries said were like cutting through glass. You had told me "you're my fairytale ending!" As I walked away and imagined that burning building getting ready to collapse, I tell you, fairytales are stories that never finished.
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
I should have bought her flowers. Those eyes, that hair, the true definition of beauty. I was the love and she was the heart break.
She walked and I swear she made the ground shake. She was everything any guy could ever want but I was no longer the guy she would want.
Heart break is such a painful thing, yet I still think I should have bought her flowers. Pink was her favorite color so maybe some pink roses.
Her new fiancé brought a smile to her like no other. She was perfect and her only weakness was roses. They were something she would die for.
She was deathly allergic to them... As I head to their wedding, there isn't a more appropriate time to buy her flowers.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 8:26 PM UTC
This one is for the boys. The ones who had dreams bigger than reality, the ones who used to have a sense of morality.
This one is for the boys. The ones who knew who they were going to marry in third grade, the ones that admitted to being scared of something.
This one is for the guys. The ones who claim they never cry, the ones who tell her that they'll never lie.
This one is for the guys. The muscle bound, no emotion meat heads. The Fitted hat wearing acclaimed "gangsters". The smooth talking, will do everything to get that one girl but treat her like she's nothing when they get her.
This one is for the men. The ones who followed there big dreams into reality, the ones who will only lie to her about her morning breath smelling good and her snoring being cute.
This one is for the men. The ones who take responsibility for what is theirs, showing everyone he actually cares. The ones who will tell someone they are afraid to lose them. The ones who aren't afraid of being afraid.
This one is for the men! The ones who want to be everything that their daughter will look for in a man.
This is for the men.
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 7:24 PM UTC
Here I am again, just this paper and a pen.
So many thoughts to write out but everything goes blank once again..... Writers block, is every poets friend, ask them...
The End.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC
As the saliva drips from their fangs. I silently think to myself, "Clean your mouth, you're drooling!"
A pack of wolves is what I would consider them as I listen to them talk about the women that walk by.
Talk about them as if they are nothing but flesh, a piece of meat they need to sink their teeth into.
Discussing what they would do to her before ever knowing her name.
Nothing is more important than the hunt. The hunger of their ****** appetite overwhelms their rational thoughts.
To think, who they would bite, if it was their daughter being hunted by the wolves.
Famine is a plague,
what would they be willing to do,
if she tells them no?
Sep 3, 2015
Sep 3, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
I met a girl named Tequila who had a crush on Jose. It was like an icy crush but the whisky would wash it away. On a grey night a goose flew my way staying up late but the *** would make it fly away.
Too many 40s amounted. Too many, no one could have counted. But it was a party so we partied and brought out the Bacardi. It burned but didnt stop us hardly, someone screamed LETS PARTY!
Whispers from around, "man this party is narly" Passing around the yegger, text messages asking "hey, is this a kegger?" Jack showed up and met Tequila, pushed Jose aside and watched the moonshine...
On a southern, comfortable night, they possibly could have had *** on the beach but that was to explicit to speak. So drinking more wine till our legs got weak felt like the right path to keep.
No one seen that ***** was a sneak at 1:51 the time was so... Ever clear but the excitement didnt stop here. Mary got introduced to Molly and the ecstasy was colorful and jolly.
The excitement was rising but no one realized the girl crying, who was holding her boyfriend that was nearly dying.
"Breath!, breath!" she screamed. "I'm trying!" he gasped.
Upstairs they're kissing and fondaling, downstairs they're puking and wondering.
Neither Jose nor Jack attended the funeral of those kids that brought them out that night. And the baby conceived that night wasn't named Tequila, Molly or Marry, she was just deemed a mistake, of that night.
Jun 26, 2015
Jun 26, 2015 at 9:33 PM UTC