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cocaineclouds Jan 2014
I’ve never known a god,
I don’t even know if god is real.
Church choirs sing the hymns,
Pastors preach the bible,
But there’s so many of them.
It’s like the game, Telephone,
We played when we
Were little kids.
The teacher would whisper
A sentence into whoever’s
Ear was to her left or right,
And around the circle it would go,
Reaching whoever was last.
Then they would spew out
The wrong sentence like a geyser
That held words rather than water,
And we’d all laugh because we
Know that it isn’t right.
The teacher would
Tell us what she said,
Then we’d all be upset.
That’s not what I heard.
We’d all think.
And just like Telephone,
All those rewritten
Bibles must’ve gotten
Something wrong
Along the way.
So why am I supposed
To believe
Historical inaccuracies
About a man that
Is allegedly omniscient,
Supposedly righteous,
And theoretically loving of all?
Right now though,
With your hand on my face,
I can see now why people
Hope for a heaven
And a god
And just someone to believe in
Because I can feel
All those things running through
Your fingertips.
cocaineclouds Jan 2014
Growing up, I was stuck in this delusion where
Starving kids in Africa,
Homeless people from all over,
And boogeymen congregated at a large table,
Discussing whom to target next.
Stealing Santa’s Naughty list and
Checking them all off.
One by one.
That list grew ever longer,
Of course it did, my family wouldn’t
Stop having babies.
But they were stuck on me it seemed.
They still are,
Ruining me one year at a time.
Now I know the truth.
Now I know it’s always just been the two of you.
You’re both bandits on the run,
Catching a ride on the train that winds through my mind.
Thieves that steal the tracks after they’ve passed,
Leaving me nothing to fix myself with.
And when I say that you two
Are the tears on my pillowcase,
I mean to say that I cannot exhale
Enough carbon dioxide from my lungs
To rid myself of you forever.
I’ve cried myself dry,
And expelled all my breaths enough
Times to be an empty vessel,
Yet I still find remnants of
Glass cups,
And false smiles under
My fingernail when I awake.
cocaineclouds Aug 2013
this boy
his eyes were the kind of gold
you'd find in a treasure chest
on one of your adventures.
his words were like the interstate
and his heart was bigger than
most boys'.
                                       and this boy,
                                       his favorite color
                                       in the spring time
                                       was green,
                                       because of the way his girl's
                                       eyes matched the blooming leaves
                                       this girl kissed like a hurricane
                                       and walked like lightning
                                       marking her path with her smile.
                                       soon she found another boy,
                                       this one more musically inclinded
                                       than he.
his favorite color in
the fall was brown
because of the way
a different girl's laugh
reminded him of trees.
strong and beautiful.
now this girl talked liked a whistle
and her presence was like a train.
he told her he loved her,
and she said she loved him too.
three days later,
she was telling another boy,
stronger than he,
those same four words.
                                       in the winter,
                                       his favorite color was white
                                       because of the way
                                       a girl's skin gleamed
                                       like the moon.
                                       he adored her from afar
                                       so as not to get hurt
                                       she saw him and left
                                       him a note:
                                                           ­  do you think i'm lovely?
                                       and he thought it odd,
                                       because how could she not
                                       see she was lovelier than the snow
                                       upon the roof tops.
                                       he ran to her
                                       and there she was,
                                       lips pressed against another
                                       boys, one much more
                                       handsome than he.
so thats why in summer,
his favorite color was red,
because that's the color
that was spiraling down
the drain in the shower
when he finally collapsed

                                                                ­                                 {l.m.h.}

— The End —