Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur, straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand, a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands, a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers, milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite, quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires, 17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror, the road back home, detour, detour, going down south by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief, steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you, it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine, it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black, but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin, lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work, babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons, the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss? Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard, tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself, earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle, both roads lead to an affair with me.
0
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
gunplay
Torrential, lightning and a river on Decatur, straightened tie, loaded gun, staggered down to house 423, a big wet bottle in my hand, a choir of angels in my head, I confessed to you that I never much cared for Frost, possibly both roads lead to an affair with me, time means little more than air, cotton candy fever dreams, melting wedding bands, a stain on your white dress, tender, torn up, seeing Jesus on the cross at 3 am, it's Tuesday, borders, lines, barriers, milk cartons, hamster wheels, the sun stayed away for fear of witnessing this itchy massacre, plans? I find them trite, quick to betray, overdrawn bank accounts, flat tires, 17-year-old quick ***** the wrinkles in the mirror, the road back home, detour, detour, going down south by way of 35, oceans of highways, shorelines of grief, steady shots of grace in the passenger seat, where have I smelled that before? Change your perfume, if I kiss you, it needs to be strange, frightening, splitting the seams of norm skull and disemboweling the sanctity of routine, it's easy to put up the picket fence, easier yet to paint it black, but behind the curtains of my .32 caliber grin, lies a quivering child waiting for ma to get off work, babysit me, hospital gowns, looking for lost blue crayons, the bouquet rots on the windowsill, remember the first kiss? Doped on caffeine, sleepless because Shorty partied too hard, tile floor, porcelain, your strapless top undressed itself, earthquake waltz, borderline insane, milk thistle, both roads lead to an affair with me.
jj-hutton
Written by
American
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 12:17 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem