satira 3d

She turned her eyes to the night sky
Light pollution be damned
And spoke to the gods of her woes
Only the silence of a thousand lives on the ground answered her

bukowski hated writers but
sure spent a lot of time talking about them

henry miller was only good
at writing about sex,
and I heard
he didn’t even write those parts

hemingway never wrote drunk,
and I don’t trust a man who can’t do that

kerouac gave up too easily,
and pity is hard to come by these days
so now he sits in that grave alone

I am hung over and twenty-three,
and vomit upon mostly blank pages
to show to faceless people
with souls like dull kitchen knives

we satisfy dried lips
with still water
at the bottom of wells
that we fell into

money talks to ex-girlfriends
about your sexual prowess
and walks into the sunset

find me a reason to try,
and I’ll find you
a page of splintered prose
with wine stains on it

the cheap stuff,
obviously

I am hugging the bow of a sinking ship
in the center of a black and blue storm
trying to light a broken lamp
with a wet match
so that I may see that the shore still exists
as the sea reaches my waist,

and
I am smiling.

ashlee layne Jul 18

"but i don't see you how
the rest of the world sees you,"
he said as the tears fell from her eyes.
"and it's a damn shame
that the world took such a beautiful girl
and broke her down the way it did."
she opened her eyes
and asked him,
"how do you see me
if not through the same eyes as everyone else?"
to which he replied,
"i saw your soul before i saw your skin,
and so suddenly my idea of beauty become much different."

Ian Norsvager Jul 16

Oh weary traveler upon the hill
The ocean calls you to be still
Hear my voice and come to me
The deepest darkest bluest sea

So spread your arms
And dive within
And you will meet your long lost kin

For though I go on endlessly
You may not have met me
And though you know you are of the sea
Some are so much closer to me

The waters wait for your embrace
And I will open up the gates
For though you are so close to me
I am only the deep blue sea

So kick your tail and dive within
And you will meet your dying kin
While men on land do poison me
I am still the deep blue sea

And while my fish and whales die
You and I remain alive
For nothing but the hottest sun
Can burn away the ocean

And even if you die with me
And land will reclaim you eventually
But I am still the deep blue sea

This was written several years ago, I had been quite ill for a while, and while I was in a fever dream I heard this being sung to me. After I awoke, it was rather disconcerting, given that no-one else lives with me.
Jack Moody Jul 15

we were walking down a street that
used to be filled with blacks and browns and
yellows and purples and whoever else
but was now completely gentrified
the sun was setting and the orange hues
lit across her face when she turned to talk to me

“that house right there,” she said,
“I almost moved in there a few years ago
when the neighborhood was still sketchy.
it was gonna be 600 a month for a three bedroom house,
but there were rats in the walls and
one room was smeared with somebody’s blood
so I didn’t take it.
now I could be living in this fancy area for that much
and I feel stupid for not embracing the
blood and rats.”

we walked past a telephone pole with
a poster of a young boy plastered on it
the poster said in bold letters:
ON AUGUST 4TH, 2015
ANTHONY DONAHUE WAS MURDERED
IN HIS FRONT LAWN ON 10TH AND MONTGOMERY
IF ANYONE HAS INFORMATION REGARDING HIS KILLER
CALL THE POLICE IMMEDIATELY AND
WE CAN HAVE JUSTICE FOR ANTHONY’S FAMILY


she would stop at every flower to smell it
and would tell me exactly what each one smelled like
“this smells like…orange peels.”
“this smells like…vanilla.”
“oh, lotion. definitely lotion.”
it made me smile when she did it.

she would rip off pieces of plants
in the yards of houses we passed and
stick the material up to my nose
without warning
“smell!”
“what the fuck is it.”
“it’s lavender! smell!”
“lavender, yeah. it’s lavender.”

she walked down the street
in love with the world
drinking it in
I followed behind
drinking in only her

“this reminds me of ashland,” she said.
“I’ve never been. why were you in ashland?”
“I had joined this pagan cult. have I not told you this?”
“no.”
“well I joined a pagan cult.”
“how was that?”
“fine for a while,
but one day I walked in on an orgy
and it really disgusted me. that was kind of the last straw.”
“what’s wrong with an orgy?” I said. “that sounds like a
selling point to me, sign me up.”
“it was in the kitchen. just thirty sweaty, hairy hippie bodies
writhing and humping on the counter I was making food on
like an hour earlier. that’s not sanitary. so I left.”

the orange hues deepened into a blood red and
I thought about holding her hand.
I couldn’t remember where we were walking but
I didn’t really care

ashlee layne Jul 15

But darling,
those flowers will die one day
no matter how much you care for them.
No amount of sun,
or water,
or love
can keep them alive forever.
And I,
I am one of those flowers.
My time is coming,
so let me wilt.

Ben Jul 15

I went to the shooting range with my friend
We both grew up in families that valued guns
Hate it if you'd like
But it'll happen whether you want it to or not

After we punched holes through paper
We went to a local dive bar to have a beer

We call Yunegling "lager" in PA
You just ask for a lager
And out it comes
I've made this mistake of asking for "lager" in other states
The bartender looks at you like you just cut your tongue off
And put it next to your bill as a tip

My friend told me that he has a reoccurring dream
Where he's in a fox hole
And his rifle jams
And the enemy charges him and
Runs him through with a bayonet

"That's horrifying"
I tell him, putting my glass heavily on the bar top
"Nah, you get used to it"
He says, lightly lifting his glass to his lips
"It doesn't hurt, it just has that floaty feeling
Like 'this doesn't belong there' and then
I wake up clenching my fists"

I guess that one can get used to all things
Even being run through in the sacred
Space of dreams

ashlee layne Jul 13

I was only thirteen
when I noticed the pattern
of your distance increasing
but inching towards the tavern.

By the time I was sixteen
I first feared for my life
But you dared not to visit
when I was hospitalized.

At barely 17
I saw you had moved on
With a new family
One I was not apart of.

When I turned 18
and walked at graduation
You never showed up
Not even a "congratulations."


-

When I was thirteen
I really should've listened
when the voices told me
That my dad would go missing...

...From my life.

ashlee layne Jul 13

to love
is to plant flowers where the sun doesn't shine and never
forgetting to water them.

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