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I bent down to her ear and said
Thank you for all you’ve done
Not just for
NY
But for the World
She looked at me expressionless from her chair
I don’t think that she understood nor cared
Then I handed her a little
Bag
Containing two lipsticks
And two pencils
I think she threw the pencils on the floor and
Wondered aloud
Why was everyone giving her pencils?

She did not notice that of the two that I gave her
one was stamped in gold
With the one word
Hustler
And on the other, two
Strictly
Business
I made no suggestions nor references
I didn’t smirk
I must have appeared a bit sweet
A treacly aberration

It doesn’t matter
I had selected two perfect reds in LA
One a bit more blue
and one
a classic vampish carmine
Blood red can be a challenge even against
pale
pale
Skin.

Standing in the lift
Fully attuned
she caught me
not merely looking into her eyes
But seeing what I saw
A death’s head?
I hate when I’m caught doing that

Under the fluorescent light
She was dog rough
Pasty with sad sunken eyes
I was thrown, but by what exactly
Her magpie distress?
Her etheric calamity?
Her puffy, aging face?

We sat and spoke for a while later that night
She did not recognize me at all and apologized
maybe it was the next day
that the three of us had lunch
Everyone in good spirits
The mandrake’s screams
Forgotten with smiles and a wink
Memory bamboozled and
Make-up duly applied
She took out the lipstick
And redrew the lines
She liked the shining black case
with the little black ribbon for a pull

She told our companion sitting on a stoop
smoking cigarettes
I like your friend and
I wondered does she realize
that we already know one another?
Robert J Howard Sep 2018
This Is It.
Him.
Alone.
One.
Just.
No *******.
Lemmy.
Ian Lemmy Kilmister
Sarah Xander Oct 2017
She was 25 years young.
and beautiful

beautifulˈbjuːtɪfʊl,ˈbjuːtɪf(ə)l/
adjective
pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically.“beautiful poetry" synonyms: attractive, pretty, handsome, good-looking, nice-looking, pleasing, alluring, prepossessing, as pretty as a picture; More of a very high standard; excellent." he spoke in beautiful English”

She made everything feel temporary
my problems
my fears
my thoughts
my love
She was just amazing, wonderful even
She had dark, tousled hair, and the most beautiful eyes; I got lost in them every chance I got
They were brown eyes, but **** they were mesmerizing
They would glow in the light and I couldn’t help but fall into them
She had the most Delphic and inimitable tattoos that I’ve ever seen on one single person, they decorated her porcelain skin perfectly and poetically.
I liked times where we would just lay, with our feet tangled together and I would trace one of the tattoos and she would reminisce about it and the experiences she had during that time in her life.
Her knowledge amazed me, she always kept me on the edge of my seat with her stories
Her voice was one of the things that captured me, her melodies and her lyrics. She knew I loved jazz, we would go to record shops and we would scope for the good ones and at times I would stop to look over at her and she’ll be staring at me. I complained but god knows I loved it. I loved her.
I loved the times when she would walk over to the single window in the cheap motel that we stayed the night or two at, and she would light a cigarette and scold me for being around the smoke; but she would cave and hold it up to my lips and she would look me in the eye as I cough the smoke up.
Those were the time I loved
They were the times I lived for

She would always tell me to not love her
That she wasn’t worth my innocent and tender love
But I disagreed
Time and time again
She was everything I wanted but didn’t ******* deserve
But what significance are all these words coming from a sixteen-year-old, who is now learning and experiencing life?
It was bound to end.
The Purple *****

Did you know I’m in a band called the Purple *****?
We’ve quite the cult following in my living room.
I am the talent, but sometimes Divvy Dan
takes a break from the scrounge
to be my wreckhead Rent-a-Bez
tambourine stooge.
There’s no point in a ticket, we are too impromptu;
at loco o’ clock I just put on a show.
Can’t go on a tour, too raw for the rubes.
Can’t cut a record, too avant-garde for the cubes.
We’re not about the music, it’s purely the *****.
Acoustic nogoodniks, grot-rock goons
with dregs in our cries, embers in our croons,
ignored by the neighbours who know it’s dole-day afternoon,
when the ***** play to forget they are doomed.

You won’t have heard of a band called the Purple *****
- the singer’s a ******* loser, tambourineman looks like
he's on shrooms.
I’m the talisman, but sometimes Divvy Dan
never takes a break  from the tam,
lost in vague remembered woods
of sniffing glues enthused.
We’ve already trashed our lives, don’t need hotelrooms.
At lobo o’ clock howl do you do
is what my greeters growl at my muse,
which is the watching blue wolf of lost youth.
When you got them borderline underclass steppenwulf blues,
the Black Dog is but a picnic pooch.
Bow-hoo-hoo-wow, may the mirth of Mozart infuse
my yelps of yearning and yowls
that we were born lambs and will die tramps we two.
The ***** have a jam to forget for a time
that monkey see, monkey consume.

We love you, goodnight, we have been the Purple *****.
We are even ******* than the ****** Beatles.
I’m tambourine man too, sometimes Dan
takes a break from the tam,
cryin’ over my childhood nylon untuned,
ballads for blacktoothed prostitutes.
And my love-life is as rock ‘n’ roll
as a lecture on medieval looms,
but we’re still too rock ‘n’ roll to be found on your Youtubes
- we’ve never left the living room, we’ve kept to our roots.
Sisters of mercy lie sing we dead boys of truth,
who are honestly really rock ‘n’ roll, do you want some proof?
Well, the other day I let Danny’s dog lick my open wounds.
We haven’t got an ad in the back of the Boogaloo News,
what self-respecting young dude wants to be a ****?
Flying Dutchmen don’t rearrange deckchairs,
we need no road crew,
but all you sober truth troubadours too troubled to troube,
Danny’s damnbourine also tolls for you.
Coz, brother, that white dole-monkey
keeps time with the devil’s own soul-hungry grooves.
But then again I’ve had a few.
We’ve been the house band since time and tenancy began,
we’ve spent our lives on the road that’s skewed.
You’d think we’d rock more having so much nothing to lose,
but the Purple ***** play because all hope is pooped.

Doomed,
the band split. Now Dan bangs the tam
for the Stolen Runes.
And I joined a ***** tribute band
called the Banned Tribunes.
Air guitar never goes out of tune.
Rock 'n' roll.
Brent Kincaid Aug 2016
Scary Larry,
The Margarita Fairy
Could drink anything,
As long as it wasn’t dairy.
Bollocky Pollack
Hung up his smock
Covered with paint
Put it on the auction block.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

And Yeaster Bunny
Thinking he was funny
Baked bread dildoes
That sold for bags of money.
Scott Tissue
Said “We’re gonna miss you.
Your bread will sell quicker
If don’t make it an issue.”

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

Phony Joanie
Wishes for alimony
But refuses to divorce
Her husband Tony.
Decided she plans
To keep him instead.
Good for ready money
Though he's lousy in bed.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.

**** Poncho,
Everybody seems to
Dig his Mayan body
If only for a day or two.
Then he's off to play
With somebody new
Maybe some other day
He'll make it back to you.

Seven eight nine
Friends of mine
Are really just fine
Without toeing a line.
Five six seven
It is rather like heaven
To be gladly given
A life worth living.
B Young Mar 2016
This will be just one more ****** love poem
to ***
to drugs
to rock n’ roll.

   You think you’re too young to die, huh?
well, everyday my facebook feed
fills with people who were
too young to die.
   Everyday people they loved post
on their walls, memories and pictures,
writing how their hearts ache at the passing
of one too young to die.
   People who the dead disliked or even hated
also post on their walls, RIP, sad to see you go,
etc. empty ******* like “only the good die young,”
please.
   I try to watch from afar, for if I get too close
I fear I am the next to go.
   You think it can never happen to you, until
you wake up in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm and
a head awhirl with Narcan.
   But still, it couldn’t happen to me, because
it’s happening to the people all around me.

The last girl I ****** off of Tinder
I stole thirty dollars from to buy
black tar ****** in Colorado
then saw a **** jam band
play their **** music,
it wasn’t rock n’ roll.

The last girl I had *** with
because I was in love with her
won’t hardly speak with me, anymore,
because ***
because drugs
because rock n’ roll
….That was like four years ago.

I miss the rock n’ roll in ***** Philly basements
that felt punk even when it was folk.
I miss doing drugs without ending up
homeless, broke, and emotionally destitute
immediately after.
I miss the *** that meant something,
but more so miss the idea of *** being related
to love, which was it ever even in the first place?
I don’t know.  
I like the tenants of pop punk music,
example: I like my friends, I remember that time you were drunk and spilled the apple juice in the hall, I like the ideal of that one girl all the Jesse Laceys of the world write about, most importantly I like the thought that none of this is really my fault…when it is.

I had a therapist, more than one, ask me
to write a break up letter to drugs,
I could never get very far with it
because drugs dumped me a long time ago
and had since moved on.
If I was honest I would write, “Take me
back, I can handle you again and
things can go back to how they
were when we first met.”
But, I know this can never be,
as drugs are busy seeing other people.

Do you remember the day the lightning bugs
began to disappear?
Now, in the stead of those tiny glowing insect dots
is only the sense of a faintly felt fear,
of growing old
and
losing our illusion of safety.
Bring back the insects,
bring back the
***
drugs
and
rock n’ roll
Emily Jones Jan 2016
I remember the Space Oddity the melodic timber of your voice.
Taking me away in the most peculiar way.
Floating in a sea of distant different stars.
Stepping through the door of possibilities.

No longer in a tin of insecurity on whether I dressed as a boy or a girl.
Rebelling the notion of self expression as a taboo.
In those golden moments I was free.
No longer running the labyrinth of normality
Where dreams were not reality
You were my Hero, for more than one day.

Changing with time, one step ahead of the rest.
Thank you Lazarus for taking us past the Black Star.
Silver Lining Aug 2015
And you're rocking again, but not like you use to.
Your knees are no longer drums
but they are still bruised
And your fingers are no longer drumsticks
but your knuckles are still red

There is no melody to air guitar to
And there is no chorus to yell out
But oh darling,
there is fighting
So keeping rocking away.
Frank Ruland Jan 2015
.     Hello, friend. Do you like Rock and Heavy Metal, but not having to listen to people tell you that it's devil music? I can relate. While some people are just pretentious and think they're better than you in every aspect (which actually makes them a ****** person), others are just stuck in their old ways and refuse to acknowledge that things are changing. This refusal of a new world leaves them stuck amidst beliefs that leave them thinking anything new or different is far from the norm, and therefore is bad.
     But don't worry, friend. You should not fear the criticism of these people who put you down for listening to bands like Asking Alexandria, Avenged Sevenfold, Five Finger Death Punch, Bullet for my Valentine, and others (so many others). Just like you, I enjoy the musical stylings of these bands and others, while at the same time know that the devil is not  apart of my life whatsoever. With the exception of my ex, who I believe inspired the Paranormal Activity series, but that's another story altogether.
     Please, take a moment to read the guidelines below to help spot people who may believe that the music you enjoy listening to comes from Satan himself, and how to respond accordingly:

1) If when somebody walks by you when you are listening to their music, and their face scrunches up as if they had just caught a whiff of a gnarly ****, they may be pretentious. Offer them an air freshener to hang from their backside. They will become self conscious of themselves and not approach you about your music again.

2) If when somebody hears your music, then shakes their head and tells you, "Bless your soul," fall onto the ground and pretend to have a seizure while shouting, "I will devour your soul!" While this approach will not change their opinion of your music,  they will run away from the sheer terror of thinking they just witnessed a demonic possession. You will never hear from them again.

3) If when somebody hears your music and tells you that you need Jesus in your life, shout " I WANNA ROCK," then reenact Twisted Sister's music video, "I Wanna Rock!" Dress in drag and slap really bad makeup on to complete the image. Have friends step in to help you completely blow their mind. After you are done, they will more than likely question their entire perspective on life and ask themselves what in the Hell just happened. With this, they will  set out to find Shangri-La in the Kunlun Mountains with the hopes of becoming enlightened.

     Truly, there are people in life that just don't understand our music and will do or say anything to put us down. Don't let them get to you though, friend! They are the ones who have failings in life. Rock on!
Another PSA! If you've ever been told that the music you listen to is bad or unruly, than you can probably relate to this. My grandmother was one of these people, and I always felt bad after she scolded me for listening to people like Rob Zombie. I almost stopped, but I had friends that I could talk to, and I soon discovered there was nothing bad about me or my music. Rock on, friend! As always, tell me what you think. Also, I always welcome new ideas for future PSA's!
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