Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Inside my static dreams
Are acid screams

A sphere of broken glass
On alone a string,

If you pull my cords right,
You'll make me sing
Aquinas Feb 15
I'm so disco
shining ball
electric dance-floor
sweaty skin crawl

no one listens to the devil at the bar
dancing alone
making love to a cigar
"who let him in?"
  ask voices afar

I'm so disco
it's not hard!
sell your soul
give in to what's wrong

the songs are cruel
but the people are worse
they dub you disco
make you curse

when blue lights turn us dizzy
***** coats the throat
there's an evil deep inside
that brings me to my knees
every time

"help me! help me!"
I scream with sore lungs
crashing to the floor with a thud like a gun
"I'm so disco!"
but no one hears
they're so disco
the dance goes on
Hestia Aug 2018
Look at her.
Drinking all day going out all night, no real friends, just people going out and drinkink the same poisoning drinks.
She tells everybody she is fine, she is working all days and she is doing all the exams.
She is lying to her self.
Her pay goes direct to her mounth and to her liver.
Look at her she “works” at the daddy’s agency doing nothing for all the time, heating the dark leathered chair of the office.
She has no womenly curves she has yet that teeny look.
She eats nothing but she drinks. Yeah she drink a lot like if it was
possible that drinking can substain you.
Look at them, not saying anything to her not helping her, never, even
Her mother and her dad are nothing they don’t do nothing.
How it can be?
She is the daddy’s girl drinking with the dad, who always pays for everything
Disco is endless love on the floor
Let me know If I make too much noise
Trying to appeal like the modern Noyes
I can be Batman, he can be my Alfred
Washing out all the dread
One by one
My work is never done
Heaven knows why I measure my toise
Thinking I landed a Croise
But instead it looks like a kindergarten project
These lines I reflect
Are meant to create a sect
That disannuls the usual meaning of the word
I'm not dishing out a gird
I'm splitting the morally absurd
Into all the fragments I want
Labeling none
I can relate to revolving doors
Because they never stop
They never drop
The momentum
World filled with white
Commonly labeling knight
Spent so many nights trying to get it right
So many Nebulas saw me as a light
Made me think a little more open
Ready to bring the heat like Copan
Commonly called Peter Pan
Just got used to it all
I come back when I fall
The lone exception
Their biggest pushed deception
Is that the tale never happened
Till I was given the time slot
Ninety ninety seven
Praying that I'be been blessed by the Tree Of Heaven
Would be endorsed by Seventh Heaven
Can't be affiliated with the fake father
I know this is quite a fother
But I got to bring this to a poise
Blue, teal, turquoise
I feel my own noise
I chose to be the Spiro Disco Ball
A constituted mystery
I'm my own consistory
Flashy, want to be loved by all
I might not make that goal at all
But I'll continue to turn
The life of the party
I hope this delivery is never tardy
Give up, I hardly
I'll turn until there's no meaning and purpose left.
When will that be?
Kevin J Taylor Jan 2018
hips a' squealin'
all hands a' dealing
everybody get down tonight
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
AS Nilsen Jul 2017
Brown planks
Scrape against me

Big drops
High tides

Baby vert
To the beat
Devin Lawrence Jun 2016
Because you don't understand love,
I catch your attention
by speaking your language -
body and verbal.

You could've cried on my shoulder,
but you'd rather cry my name
as if you had ever longed to speak it.
"**** me",
for selling yourself short -
the heart costs more
than a single night
and a couple drinks.

A song from when you were young
tells of "a better touch, a better ****".
Legendary like the disco,
Sweetie, you had me.
And the irony is in the fact
you were never really in this scene.

You love it when it hurts,
you beg to be bruised,
then you wallow in grief
as you cry in the dark
all alone in a bed made for two.
They're selling a product
that's far over-produced;
it's not authentic,
it's cheap.
Be an artist,
be a God,
make love -
your tainted rose petals
could use another coat
and a little tender thought and care.

And just as you exclaim,
as you sink,
admire us high above
floating on Aphrodite's clouds.
Next page