Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
joshua-hainesPoems
The old man sits in the dark, fire by his radio, listening to John Legend sing about his all, which I guess is a lot since he goes on about it for four or five ******* minutes. I sit here and think about all the reasons I hate 13 Reasons Why. I sit here and smell my candle, to my future. I think about Miley Cyrus ************ and wonder if she feels pleasure like you or me. I don't know what kind of creature is out there. I don't know how to feel about the world. My bedroom door may be paranoid for me, and I have anxiety over knocking that may never come. Or maybe it will come and I'll be ordinarily unprepared for it. Unprepared for it, as I normally am. Visions of Japanese women dance on the ceiling, like silver statues in garments of gore. Or maybe they're not Japanese and that I am a racist or under- -educated -- which is most likely the same damn thing. They dance on my ceiling and I stare, no longer wondering if I'm rude, if they're real, if the house I live in is current- -ly losing value. These type of things just happen, swear. My candle is burning bright, reaching towards the hugging blinds; smelling like sea salt and an ocean I will never touch.
0
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC
12. An Ocean I Will Never Touch; Degenerates
The old man sits in the dark, fire by his radio, listening to John Legend sing about his all, which I guess is a lot since he goes on about it for four or five ******* minutes. I sit here and think about all the reasons I hate 13 Reasons Why. I sit here and smell my candle, to my future. I think about Miley Cyrus ************ and wonder if she feels pleasure like you or me. I don't know what kind of creature is out there. I don't know how to feel about the world. My bedroom door may be paranoid for me, and I have anxiety over knocking that may never come. Or maybe it will come and I'll be ordinarily unprepared for it. Unprepared for it, as I normally am. Visions of Japanese women dance on the ceiling, like silver statues in garments of gore. Or maybe they're not Japanese and that I am a racist or under- -educated -- which is most likely the same damn thing. They dance on my ceiling and I stare, no longer wondering if I'm rude, if they're real, if the house I live in is current- -ly losing value. These type of things just happen, swear. My candle is burning bright, reaching towards the hugging blinds; smelling like sea salt and an ocean I will never touch.
#23#water#neighbors#anxiety#youth#fire#dreams#reality
joshua-haines
Written by
joshua-haines
26/M/American
Apr 20, 2017
Apr 20, 2017 at 9:04 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem