Tattoo pretty


Make me pretty, pierce my skin;
Push the needle deep inside.
Make me happy, picture perfect;
Picture this until the day that I die.


Symbolize the latest trend.
Oh my God it looks so cool!
Draw your vision upon my chest;
Make me another painted fool.


Tattoo pretty, picture perfect.
Ok, do it; I shall have no regrets.
Give me pain and a permanent imprint.
I should have done this with a straight head.


Pass me a joint so I don’t feel it.
I don’t know why some people like pain.
I just want a pretty picture,
Permanently placed upon my skin.


Oh, it must be on my arm, so everyone can see it!
Now I need to buy some clothes, so I can emphasize it.
Now all I need is a neon light and to speak a little louder!
I hope they hear me and ask me about it;
I’d hate it if they didn’t bother.


What if they don’t notice it?
What if they don’t notice me?
What if I’ve made a huge mistake?
Why should I be concerned?  
It’s not like I can do anything.


Ok, I’m now so tattoo pretty;
I have a symbol on my arm.
I don’t know what the Chinese symbol means,
But I think it does look really cool.


What next?  What can I put on my leg?
What about after that?  Maybe one on my chest?
Oh and I must get my back covered with something;
Oh that would look so cool on my neck.


I like that one she’s got on her hand,
I’d like to have that, on the side of my head.
I’d love it if I completely covered in tattoos.
Tattoo pretty died, unrecognizable to her kids.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

talking to you,
is like smoking a cigarette.
your toxins slowly **** me.
at first it's hard to notice.
you hit my bloodstream,
and I get a bit lightheaded.
but over time,
I grow weaker,
and it gets harder to pick up the lighter.

And I'm sitting in my work parking lot, trying to remember why my headlights don't turn off on their own, I begin to cry.

Not because it's 10 PM in a town that sleeps at 8, or because no one is here to help me, but because I can't remember the last time I laughed.

I'm sitting here, my head low into the steering wheel, crying because I never got to say goodbye to the people who mattered most.

I'm crying because all around me are burnt bridges and broken promises, and my headlights never turn off.

My car is empty, depleted.
We commiserate for a moment, thinking of unblown candles on a death bed birthday. The last whisper of love as it fades behind a crooked smile, her strawberry lips pressed against your neck, you knowing this moment is finite.

The frost on the Windows threaten to give me cold comfort where there is none, I am wrapped in a blanket of empty sorrow and hopeful wishes that will never pan out.

The lights are still on around me, the music, faded in the background, and my broke down car resonates perfectly with the broke down me.

Strange place, strange ways, each stay away!
Then why are there two roads to take?

The maps and paths, and followed tracks.
And Google, Waze, we trust their facts.
Turn left, turn right we let it steer.
To miss a turn, we start to fear.

Across to tolls, collect control.
Like little soldiers, do as told.
Planned flights and crowds, comfort in traps.
Are we confined in our skin wraps?

Some lost, pretend to just be found.
Some found, act lost, pretty profound.
To take that step, the unprotected.
To turn towards, the unexpected.
A wasteful plan, we must forget it.
Insane repeat, and do we test it?

Misdirection, to find us love.
Misdirection, to find us trends.
Misdirection, finds ideas.
Misdirection, to find us friends.
Misdirection to free in stress.
Misdirection leaves no regrets.

Let one misdirection find you.
Let one misdirection guide you.
Let one misdirection define
And be the reason, you are you.

The sort of home you want to be in,
When all you can focus on are the buttons of his suit,
Tightly woven into the fabric, brand new

Is not the same house you were in when he was alive

Its 3 AM staring at the floor, begging for the sleep to take you,
Anywhere
Even nightmares are better than this, nothing.

The solemn stares churn my stomach,
Somersaults with acid, my body lurches
Doubling over in the pain that is grief.

When the eyes in a room all fixate on you,
It's difficult to hide in a box inside your own head,
Because they tear the walls from your fragile shelter,

And their rain is a burning flame,
You are the match that refuses to be put out,
But wants desperately to feel nothing.

The sort of home I want to be in is
Roses, the thorns cut clean from the stem,
Green tea, just the right temperature
And an old console with his favorite game loaded up

But that house is abandoned,
Left like last week's sawdust,
Swept under the rug in a pile of books,
And i am the can of kerosene in the corner of the room,

Waiting to be used in the most vile of ways.

I am an unlit candle in the midst of a hurricane,
The shadow of the night sky blotted out by the moon
I am the fading smile of remorse,
The pang of guilt,
The sorrow of loss

I am the broken inside of you,
The one that eats away at you until the shell is broken apart
And you are all that's left
In the dictionary, i look up sad and expect a picture of me,
Depressed is myself in my room, alone
Suicidal is the knife i once picked up,

Daring to question if my own beating heart was worth the blood

My House is boarded windows and jail cells,
The crawlspace of cobwebs and creaking stairs,
The leaky roof and patchy ceilings

I am all but a finished mess,
And my foundation is cracked and split.

There is always vacancy,
Because who wants to stay in a house like that?

I’d rent out the rooms, but i'm paying for their rent
if they choose to live inside these decrepit walls

I only wish someone would see the shambles
As a start, and not the leftover parts from a failure,

If these 4 walls housed opportunity,
Instead of destruction.

My house, is a home that i long since enjoyed.