You are not like the rain You never teased my skin Planting ideas in my head That grew roots in my heart The acid Dripping from your tongue, You burnt me.
The storm raged
The waters haven't calmed since. I felt love, I Feel love, I bleed hurt And long for a tsunami To sweep me from this nightmare. Come back Break my skin Please Show me what it feels like to love again. Let me dance in the toxicity And bathe in the poison Your scent Your fumes Paint Dirt Home A fresh rain falls I'm drawn back in
A system for the we Of our diligent society. But you cannot spell This dangerous ism Without the prefix UNI Or in the mouth Of the common man: MYSELF, I, ONE.
Joseph McCarthy is a wonderful person. He is the sole hero of the amercan society, and the embodiment of the american dream: breaking our government given rights to catch those who are but a far away threat to our rights as a free american.
I used to be your little cream puff; But these days I just feel like a medium-sized cabbage.
By way of explanation: chou, choux m. - cabbage; mon petit chou - my little cabbage, my sweetheart, darling; pâte à choux - puff pastry (named for the dough's resemblance to a small cabbage); chou à la crème - cream puff
I think I’m angry With you The double dichotomy of words Both with and at All encompassing the ever growing redundancies of phrase upon fragile phrase Hand upon hand Your hand a sliver in my heart It beats Beats like a funeral drum as the fires and pyres are lit Beats like fists on chests A piercing war cry “Cry for help, No one will hear you” stuck in the quicksand :a fly in honey: “Oh honey what have you done?” I think I’m angry With you But I’m angrier without you