You're not welcome here
There may be posters
on the outside of the building
with your face on them sayin
but that ain't an invitation
Pushing past the swinging twins
strutting in, without a care
like you've done nothing,
as if everyone in the room
doesn't want to **** ya
For all the things you've done
they wouldn't need the pay
it'd be a service to mankind,
plenty of folks are glad to put a bullet in yer head
ya always did have a sweet mouth
I'd love to see you talk your way outta this one
And as soon as you go to speak
I can see it plain as day
Hot anger; what a feeling.
One dear friend of ours
Uses for his highly aware
special Art for his collages
The next approach:
Already Written Pieces of perfectly old
And forgotten posters anouncing events,
Concerts, dances, performances, moving
pictures still hanging glued, sticking firmly
onto the walls of various buildings, theatres
Passages etc. under the layers of the new ones.
Gathers different sizes and shapes of the preprinted
posters letters, words and partly sequences of a whole
frame images ... and combines them with his recent
photography ~ vintage, nostalgic photography art
scrubbed n scrathed from the underlayers of
existence to be seen into the new rays of light ~
Love you Michael and Tina !!! :):-)
Incense smoke lingers heavily in the air,
attempting to mask the smell of stale beer
and spilled **** water.
Arrest warrants hang with straight A report cards
and dated paintings I used to call art.
You and I, woven in between soft and stained sheets
on my hand-me-down mattress.
Our clothes, thrown into heaps on the floor.
I stare at faded, falling posters while you trace my scars
left by a pair of hands before yours.
Buddha watches over dusty photo albums and
half read books I will never finish as
Mary hangs off your neck
watching over an unfinished me.
We lay underneath burned out bulbs of ceiling
string lights listening to scratched CDs skip,
sharing a sweet cigarette.
I know you and I are not forever.
like these walls I have outgrown.
(I wrote this last winter, I think.)
My bedroom may not be
the most fantastic you’ve ever seen.
There are clothes strewn about,
the linen is crumpled;
Instruments laying around,
Christmas lights on the wall
and a clock that changes colours.
piled with books I’ve yet to read
and 3D glasses
from the 7:30 pm showing of
The 50th Anniversary Doctor Who special.
Zombie Survival poster
All Time Low poster,
on the walls.
Simple… but this
It’s where I’ve laughed with her,
cried with her,
Gotten annoyed as ****
Where we snuck out
at 2 in the morning,
to walk up and down the sidewalk
to dance in the street
and sing Nickelback as loud
as we could.
It’s where the nights
that kept me alive
went down, and stayed down,
in more ways
It’s where we had our first kiss
and where we had our last.
I feel like my waves
extinguished your flame
that once burned anyone
who tried to ***** it.
And for that, I’m sorry.
So burn bright,
and show them
what you’re made of.
Burn brighter than me.
If you ever need
a place to go…
This bedroom is simple,
but it’s ours.
— The End —