I Need To
Say It Out
A L O U D
Before - My
Emot 🙃 ions
t e a r
t h r o u g h
m y __core.
Don't keep it inside;
Don't let it hide!
Speak it up or it will ******* up!
I'm back to not sleeping again
I'm back to doing drugs without my friends
I'm back to nothing
An empty room
An empty bottle
A full head and ashtray
I wish I could close my eyes and go to bed
But I just can't
Having luck where I can achieve anything... Is like a young kid opening a bottle of their favorite bottled soda the day it first came out! Awaiting it's arrival like the coating of a nice breeze dancing throughout the company of skin coated with sweat. As the hairs with little droplets of already coated sweat came (as if a light drizzle fell over the field of endless rows of arm hair) not so long ago. Standing perfectly ***** as the sun blazes downward like a coating of sticky smog! Making the tips of the already (***** endless rows of arm hair) shine brightly with droplets bending light between it's different surfaces. Almost as if when looking through the pure liquid droplets, you see the inside of a crystal instead. A crystal fine layer with the inside of many warped and distorted angles. All the very uncomfortable effects may seem mildly dreary...at first. Except for the awaiting call of the miracle that is the sizzling bubbles popping within a still closed bottle cap of your favorite bottled soda! And that's where ALL the effects that may seem mildly dreary...at first, is usually because of the miracle that is on an "occasional" slight delay!
Sincerely... The "luck" is in the young kids favorite bottled soda!
Luck isn't just impatient...when it's truly hungry full of vigor! Especially when it wants to thrive in a motion full of severity!
Here I sit,
In my safest place,
Paranoid to spit,
I must control my face,
Or be impared.
Falling into the pit,
Must state my case,
The lid of a stained glass bottle,
leaves a burning sensation in my palm.
What was I hoping for?
Surely, this message will wrinkle-
my painful words silently drifting away.
And all that'd be left was my starving soul,
craving to be found one day.
A broken bottle
Rubbed smooth by the ocean
Tamed and beautiful
Nature creates art
Nobody looks too deep at the paintings I do
Could you tell who was the person lost
Who was drowning in the sea that I so much efforted to paint
Me, in the coldest and fakest water alive
Dead, and lost, such as a skeleton should be.
I, in love, how I wanted to be;
Satisfying love like lavender field in summer,
Flame of a candle, warmness from the fire
But frightened from the same medicine
Love is overrated and unpatieful, cold as a bottle of gin
Submersed in the midnight lake.
I've always been afraid of falling in love,
They never told were we would fall to, or where from
And if so, do we land or do we keep falling?
Is love an abism or a simple metaphor?
As I count one two and three
the bottle landed on me
who could it be
is it a he
or is it a she
we'll find out and see
as I sought it's identity
I can no longer find tranquility
cause it's the girl that makes me faulty
what is this feeling
that I'm feeling
it's so frustrating
not knowing what to do
with this overbearing
feeling called loving
Can't fix what ain't broke.
Be it the mind or the body
you can't find what isn't lost.
Just crave lucidity
in action and thought.
The things that can't be bought
will find you before you know it
and the things that can --
disappear with only the tracing emptiness
of pencil or pen to paper
fingers to keyboard
or mouth to bottle.