you,
desolate shadow of existence
Sexed up and used by their persistence,
You'r admirations and aspirations
Are the apple cores
Planting seeds in my belly
Despite my resistance.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 3:52 PM UTC
In this world I don't try too hard
I slide on by
Unable to insure my car
And I don't believe In God, despite what people say
But if God is real
Then by God, ill start to pray
Because earth is a cesspool
And I think it'd be cool
To sprout angel wings when I die
And fly away
But until then I'll slide on by
Sinning in the cesspool
To pass the time
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
Tipsy Trixie likes to do blow.
Coffee, blow.
Lunch, blow.
Shopping, blow.
For Trixie, that's how life goes,
A long line of genocide
Going up into her nose
Before a cold, bare floor catches Trixie's clothes,
in an attempt to add to her stash
Of street corner cash
All wrapped up in rolls.
Selling herself short just to finance the blow,
She'll soon snort herself cold,
or maybe she'll get **** rich and forever swim in her snow.
But I'm no dreamer,
And trixie's a coke *****
Another street corner dime
Just looking to score.
When this winter blows over
She'll be sniffing for more.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 1:53 AM UTC
A young activist with a problem, with something to say,
to prove a point he sat in a glass box for an entire summer day.
The glass got hot with time, and to the entire community's dismay,
he got so hot his skin bubbled, puddled, popped and sprayed.
Now his mother wails over peace , she wanted to cool down the iron fist,
She couldn't even put out the fire that burned her young activist.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 8:21 PM UTC
There was once a beast,
who shaved the insecurities
of our society
with a blade of ugly
that was too painful to see
Slight cuts made our eyes bleed,
and his aftershave was our precious need.
Jul 20, 2014
Jul 20, 2014 at 2:04 AM UTC
Dipped in grease
and drowned in ****
Society gives back,
but only to the pegs that fit.
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
People are eternal guidelines
for universal mistakes.
All our petty ********
our lies and our fakes.
We close our eyes at night,
and drift off to sleep.
Only to awaken
to expectations too steep.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
The heart wants what the heart wants. The brain butts in and **** blocks our most valued, raw emotion. These feelings that could only originate from the pumping muscle in your chest that hurts after hearing tom petty or watching your favorite TV show's last episode fade away into the sunset.
In a rare scenario where a man rolls off of his lady friend and has lit his nightcap cigarette, and STILL feels the sharp pang of love despite his release, the man should ******* follow his heart, and become that cliche that 15 year old girls get wet over. Stay with that woman, I don't care if you've killed, pillaged, or ravaged, whether you deserve that pretty girl or not…you chase after her. Don't listen to you're head, you're head is what makes your **** hard. Follow your ******* heart, because I swear on my lucky cigarette that your mind (along with your **** will give out long before your heart will.
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 11:43 PM UTC
Cheap mascara ruined.
Trixie started to cry,
as she watched the doctors
rot the apple of her eye.
Not with worms,
and not with disease,
but with scalpels and masks,
holstered with their fancy degrees.
As the gas evicted her
from our reality,
she slipped into a false state
of peaceful prosperity.
Then came along,
to Trixie's surprise,
an image of an angel
descending from the skies.
The angel was sarcastic,
and foul and rude,
appearing drunken and angry,
ruining her sedated mood.
The angel stumbled up,
and slurred some words,
about how only humans killed their offspring,
never the bees or the birds.
Then the angel smirked,
and said **** you!"
Not only did you manage to **** one,
but two.
Trixie died inside,
just as Trixie's twins
died alive.
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 1:17 AM UTC
Insomnia drips, then floods,
stealing your dreams,
like someone building dams,
diminishing rivers to streams.
Hangovers steal the nights,
that you wish weren't quite over,
pummeling your head with pain
as you wake up slightly sober.
Pretty girls flood in and flood out,
stealing your thoughts as they travel,
revealing the mystique
that you were too quick to unravel.
The grunge street people lower their eyes,
as you steal a glance.
What you don't realize your stealing is their pride,
as you stride by in your iron pressed pants.
The night steals the day,
in a colorful sunset.
Only to let the sun rise up once again
as if filled with regret.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC