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Jay Oct 2019
When I let loose the words that my heart and mind know, and they run wild upon paper or screens, the place has no value. They dance themselves free in classrooms, on porch steps, in friend's bedrooms, on roofs, in my bed, in hallways, on car rides, and other places where I need to let things flow. My expression is best when I have notes, from instruments and voices, passing through my ears. Letting free what rampages in my heart, in my mind, and behind my eyes, allows me to recognize how I really feel, and the truest things about my life. Without the words that leak out, I would be even more lost than I always am.
Hailyn Suarez Sep 2017
It’s a bar like this:
Smashed in Bud lite cans, Hennessey bottles half emptied.
Cable TV, static at high volume,
Re-runs of Seinfeld and
Occasionally the game.

Men in sweats, men in tuxes, men in rags,
Men in company jackets.
Bonded and connected by their mutual friend Jack
And their ex-lover Brandy.

It’s a bar like this:
Bartenders sniffing coke, pouring
3 parts orange juice, 1 part *****, 2 parts water.
Posters hanging with ******* girls and
Kate Upton.

Smells of defeat and destruction emanate to the street,
The sign swings crooked, uncared for, untouched.
Broken in windows, lined with blackened wood panels
Creatively decorated with graffiti

Lightbulbs act like lightening bugs,
Never illuminating on command.
Plumbing rattles, toilets overflow,
One woman stands alone.

It’s a bar like this:
Two men swear and hiss,
Breaking a table in two.
Chairs part like the red sea,
Bets are placed.

Occasionally, some stray wanders in,
Testing out the waters,
Coughing up nicotine and tar,
holding his door frame crutch.

Scratchy hand towels and oily soup,
Sink bowls re-rusted.
McDonald’s bags liter the stained tiles,
Enjoying rat company.

It’s a bar like this:
Over enthusiastic boss hiring
Sixteen year olds,
Blondes only,
No criminal record.
Eviction notices used as placemats and
Electric bill coasters.
Been open since 1975 but
Even then
it was a bar like this.
written for CW350A; prompt was "in a bar like this..."
Nyx Ciel Feb 2015
I'm sure it was just water, though.
At least, when it begun.
The groans and creeks,
The tiny leaks,
Spouting, one by one.

I'm sure it was just water, though.
But water isn't just.
The pipes did bend,
Their lives at end,
Destroyed by time and rust.

I'm sure it was just water, though.
That's what I tell myself.
I slept that night,
They woke in fright,
Their city turned to shelf.
Inspired by a prompt on another site.
©Sam Ciel

— The End —