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jdotingham Sep 3
/  she looked at me from across the table;  her eyes barely still, her thoughts barely able.
i looked at her from across the table; the me she once knew, the eyes are a fable.
                   she asks questions
"how you been?"
"doin' much"
yeah. you?
           you can boil the tension and it wouldn't dissolve on a spoon.
            she asks why i chose what i did all them years ago. there's no nuance on the question. there's no 'wavering remorse that things could and should and would have been better' because we both know it probably would've been. unless i got AIDS or some shit like that. she asks the question for closure. thing is though; some doors fail at the one fucking job they are given, like the one in the caravan; sometimes, they can't help but stay open.

i don't know.
"that's not an answer"
i don't know.
"for fuck sake! just tell me why you chose that path"
i don't know.
"... but you fucking picked it!"
            her voice raises. people look. she quietens down. nobody likes public displays of drama. it makes people feel uncomfortable. a bit awkward. the little fucking sin of 'i feel a bit uneasy in this social situation'.
i know i picked it. i do. i don't why. why the hell would it. it just sort of happened.
"it just sort of happened?"
"you've not changed have you"
changed a bit yeah.
"but not really"
i have a bit yeah. we all do. it's what happens when time mo-
"shut up, please. i'm asking you why you picked that over me all of them years ago and why i still can't fucking escape you. just tell me why, don't turn it into a parade of bullshit again. that's your problem is bullshit, just comes out of your mouth in heaps and heaps and fucking heaps, you hear me?"
you want the truth?
"yes, of course i fucking do. of course... the truth and nothing but the cunting-god-damn-truth. swear by god if you want. i still fucking love you, after all these years, i just want the truth; that's all i'm asking for. not the bullshit"
i don't know why i picked it.
stand alone (as of yet) draft excerpt from "awhiterose".
V Exeter Aug 12
10 pm
on a slow night
slouch at home
with the ice queen
on her sofa of a throne
Hulu on
Lifestylists who
make first place
in a first world race
every peasant
with a hopeful
heart in a hand
waiting like a good girl,
waiting for a buyer
to whom to sell control,
GAWD bless a market,
2 am
having cum for fun,
lover sleeping
in a one bedroom
bathtub living room
bathed in blue light,
soaking up cancer like it's destiny.
Guess what! I'm depressed as fuck.
Eat my medicine. Vitamin soup.
Fought fate for years, but
have since dismissed my fears.
wrote Nick13, in The Valley of Dreams.
I am what some might refer to as "zen"
Unfrozen, true enough to do
right by myself as I always should.
So, am I depressed?
Wake. Eat.
I piss. I shit.
I toil. I play.
I sleep.
& I repeat it.
I repeat it.
if I had the choice,
I'd repeat it,
and I'd die, because I
fit just right as a future corpse
in the land of the living dead.
Seize it.
Believe it.
carmen Aug 2
i see you in the dark, my darling
waiting on edge in my front yard.
i float to you engulfed in flames
preparing for a bittersweet broken heart.

was it something that slipped
from my liquor stained red painted lips?
or casper herself casting a long shadow
on your barren sahara grey walls?

how long did you know that you'd leave me?
since the last time we made love
and you slipped back into the darkness
through my window without a parting kiss?
or did you know from the very beginning
with your white corvette crystal lies?

i remember the way you fought with me
in my bed, pushing me hard to the ground,
and my heart breaks with the death of the day
to think that i'll never hear your voice again
or your low groans or feel your fist wrapped
like a diamond necklace around my throat.

you haunt my dreams and i cannot sleep,
your shadow still waltzes around my room.
you're larger than life, my burnt out elvis.
they all told me you were a big time dealer.
siesta key was once your home, but now you ride
under the radar in your cool crimson beater.

prison called and your empire almost fell,
but you can't kill the king of floridia,
for he rules the dead straight from hell
without mercy; better take what you're dealt.

pretty kitty, always ocean blue and starry eyed,
baby's a god, heaven found in my cherry pie.
queen of hearts always knows what's on your mind;
i know you'll come around again and then you will be mine.
blue bonnie & her cool kid clyde
Fayre Jul 30
I have been malnourished
of good people
and good poets.
Sometimes I have high expectations from low end humans.
Fayre Jul 30
Sometimes it’s just there

That feeling in your chest,
like a dead weight being  dropped onto your lungs;
preventing you from gasping for that breath of fresh air.
That feeling of helplessness,
intercepts your ability to scream at the top of your lungs.

Sometimes it's just there.
I can’t explain what it feels like.
But if I had to try,
I  would say it's agony.
It's torment,
but absolutely remarkable.
Sometimes I feel like I'm just going under.
Fayre Jul 29
Well my mind is a cage enclosed with fragments of my soul
drifting away into the infinite amount of nothingness
that flows through my bloodstream and
embodies my mind and soul.

Her freedom had yet to be discovered.
I'm going where the wind takes me.
Fayre Jul 29
"Fall swooned
Left me drunk in a field
Dandelion wine for a year

And i packed up the dust
Of all that i owned
Handkerchief hung from a pole

I rolled out the day that the apples fell…"

- Gregory Alan Isakov
Currently listening to Dandelion Wine - Gregory Alan Isakov. Feel like the world needs a piece of his music and lyric.
Fayre Jul 29
In sable darkness and deafening sounds of her bedroom silence,
she found herself aching
in deep cogitation.

The full moons brightness had peered in
through her window pane,
but with its light
encompassed her with defeat
and decay.

Reality had settled in;
as she felt her body slowly submerge,
She knew
she was no longer her own saving grace.

She awoke in a place of death and morbidity,
But awoke in a state of contentment and comfortability.

Her agony remained; as the remembrance of today,
the ideas of what will come tomorrow,
and the hope of assurance to what she forebodes her future to be,
with the life she leads.

At last

the words had finally escaped.

“Bittersweet serenity.”
Sometimes I write at night.
There's something about the evenings that make me feel inspired.
carmen Jul 16
they all tell me i
should leave you there,
but i'm too attached to go.
you loved me once on
the siesta key beach and
you promised me things
on my living room carpet
after we made love.

what happened to the man
who called me beautiful and
stayed up to see the sunset smile
on my golden flesh?
where did you go, my love?
i don't enjoy the slow
saturation of nectar tears
that trickle down my
cinema blue beaten face.

if i wanted to be used like
a piece of average teenage garbage
i would've stayed with the
drunken football player
or the alcoholic parolee
that loved me on a sheet next to
the street barely hidden by cars.
you're so worried about my past
that you can't see the blinding present.

my biggest regret was slipping you
into my virgin kiss the first time
i snuck out into the velvet night
to get a glimpse of you.
tell me, what makes you different
than ------ or ----- or ------?
you're just the same and as much of
a creep as ------- was.

you make me feel like i'm dreaming,
like i walk in a haze and i'm
tired of feeling crazy, summer stranger.
your threats don't frighten me
'cause they're emptier than your hollow ribs.
i'll call you when the moon rises and
the sun rules the tides or the bible parts
the seas the way you once parted my thighs.
don't lie to me.
carmen Jul 5
go ask ------ if i care.
ask her if she'll let you
slip inside while you're at it;
tell her that you love her
two weeks in.

you're too rough and
the polaroids you took
left me with black
tiger stripe bruises on
my sarasota gold tinted thighs.

everyone i've talked to,
everyone who knows you,
warned me that you were a creep.
but how could a darling angel
turn out to be such a freak?

you're suffocating like his
smoldering cigarette smoke
and you choke me out with
your big macho paw just
the same way he did last december.

i am not a possession;
i belong to no one and
i surely don't belong to
a tall, lanky creep like you.
do you hear me?

i'm a young teenage girl with
ribbons in my hair and bright
white ruffled socks pressed
into the carpet; have you
forgotten that little fact?

you were all to eager to pummel
my juvenile cherry pie raw,
but you were only ever focused
on your singular, deviant,
carnally charged pleasure.
but it's supposed to be "us".
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