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 now. 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
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?
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.) .
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", No, ******* 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, create, 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.