Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Okay so I was listening to Beetlejuice, and he sings
'Jesus pass the Dremamime'
And I knew it was a drug, but I didn't know the effects. Turns out it causes halluciations. Well, that's the main thing, there are a lot of side effects. And to be honest, hallucinating explains a lot about Beetlejuice, and the whole musical.
You'll get a whole lotta these
That's the thing with life,
No one makes it out alive.
A "poem" every day.


(Knock knock it's another musical)
Beetlejuice
bEEtlEjUIcE
BEETLEJUICE
A "poem" every day.
WAVING THOUGH A WINDOWWWW
A "poem" every day.

(Sorry another musical quote)
I just listened to;
6 broadway shows,
2× When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?
And I read a whole book (Harry Potter 6)
I'm not ok
A "poem" every day
There's literally a broadway/musical song for every emotion you can possibly feel and I'm really grateful for that.
???   : )
A "poem" every day.
Bryden Jul 2018
He has a bench in Central Park,
a step on Seventh Avenue,
a corner on Broadway.
But home is a feeling rather than a location,
something those who have a lock and key and
a mortgage fee will never understand.
The gatekeepers tell him
‘That bench is for people to sit on’,
so he grabs his sleeping bag with beat up weathered hands,
and leaves the park,
realising ‘people’ is another category in which he does not belong.
Autumn is here
so winter is near.
A chance to rush to snowy mountains with Chanel scarves
to escape ‘dreary’ lives.
He takes his vacation
from park to doorway,
views aren’t as nice but it dulls the bite.
As night drapes over Manhattan, he zig zags between expressionless crowds,
invisible
like an unread word.
He seeks a corner just off Broadway (the bright lights numb his loneliness).
In soiled clothes and old scuffed shoes,
he sits on newspaper wrinkled by other hands
and watches passers-by with bloodshot eyes,
bills burning in their pockets.
A man with shoes shinier than dreams
soils his corner with a *** of spit.
He wonders,
do I belong everywhere, or nowhere at all?
And he pulls out his guitar and begins to sing,
October cough thick with illness,
‘They say
the neon lights are always bright
on Broadway’.
camps May 2017
The beeping in my house is telling me that there are so many things I have to do, and my ****** hair is a subtle reminder that there is a pair of eyes more fit to see it than hers. When you put a blue ribbon on a rolling rock you tend to forget, and I don’t need to be seen when the graffiti is already watching. I’d find the nearest alley if it weren’t for the fact that they always find me first. Naturally, I put the sequence on my tab, or maybe it was the tab that was always sequencing because there simply isn’t enough time to go black twice in twenty-four hours but there is for this delay to spray its mess all over his shoes. It’s dead, it’s dead, killed by too much noise out on the rooftop, and if a sour three a.m. isn’t your go-to just think about my rather polyamorous affair between all the ***** I get to choose from. It was on my way to the art house that I realized I would never get there, forced to paint my mind with the imagery of popsicles, and *** bars, and cars on stilts instead. Liberty, equality, and jaywalking; surely the French would know that there’s an after party for the after party, and it’s right here at the house of God where he’s blessing me with an empty can.
Denver, USA
Storm Oct 2016
lights flashing through the city and polluting the air,
car horns honking and people colliding with your shoulder.
billboards flashing advertisements for the crowds below:
‘get a coke! stop by olive garden! try this phone service!’
and surrounding those screens, posters for the theater.
wicked, lion king, hamilton, and more
go to west 46th street and fight the crowd,
feel the excitement, hear the orchestra, touch the souvenirs,
let even a native new yorker become a tourist for one day
take your seat, admire the view, take some pictures,
listen to the ushers, watch the crowd settle, straighten as the lights dim.
everyone in places--it’s showtime.
Spenser Bennett Mar 2016
I woke up off Broadway.
Not that Broadway.
I made good on my farewell.
She said she would call.
I stumbled home in the morning light.
Hailed the sun as a friendly face.
The *** and ***** eked from my pores.
Leaving their mark on my muddled mind.
Like dirt in the puddle.
Oh how wasted my life has been.
I slept through the day.
Awoke in the early evening glow.
Refreshed and ready to take on the night again.
She didn't call.
She never called.
Next page