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kanma Oduwegwu May 2015
left after suckle
as babes in the wood
he whispered his goodbye
with sour quavering lips
the wonders of stardoms
that captured his heart
now i mean all
to myself only and life

he left with a buckle
to get me a ram
and came back so gleeful
i left all to hear
he ranted of stardom
but left me behind
the moment that struck me
my life took a turn

he left with his sickle
and i found my me
the entity hidden
beneath his towering gaze
now i peeped at the world
for the first time in life
this thing would not be
if he never said bye

i live with my sparkle
i got all alone
the moment he left me
i picked up and ran
i caught on with age grade
their laughter and all
i now drill the wonders
of pure water mines.
Cara Little Nov 2014
Exposition
Exploration
Examination
Experimentation
Exhibition
Exp­erience
Exercise
Excelsior
Explosion
Exposure
Expansion
Exceeding­
Excitement
Excellence

except

Excessive
Expectations
Excuses
Ex­clamation
Excommunication
Excluded
Excreted
Exorcised
Expunged
Ex­acerbation
Exhale
Exit
Exeunt
Extinct

Ex-Star
Exactly.

(A chronological tale of a star who could not handle fame)
ZL Jun 2014
LA
Question,

what can make
such beautiful
souls corrupt?

Life answers.
Martin Narrod Apr 2014
You're sitting across a table, in the next room- and it's the month of July.
                                                                                 And as the beads of sweat chip off your forehead
                                                                                                              like a shank of butcher's meat,
                                                                                                                        your dorcel fin peaks                                                                                                         through the sand where my toes peak                                                                       through. The picnic table where I write letters; post cards.
                                                                                                   I take photos, make reservations, and
                                                                                       even after I'm canceled on for walking around
                                                              downtown in my bright neon-pink underwear, I still roll to the
              left side of the bed sit up and drop the cigarette I fell asleep on. You're just sitting, first entry:                                                                                                                                                 Stardom.

                                                                                                I don't have room for you in the corners.

                                                                                                The corners of this room, padded walls,
                                                                                           shifty vaseline sway- the white cotton stick
                                               of a sucker pointing out of your mouth, its red numero forty dye shines
                                                                                                                in the specks of light flicking
                                                                                                  out of the horizon like a carousel ride
                                                                                                                              around and around.

                                                                                        I'm getting a bit dizzy, and even less honest.

                                                                                                                 If you want to see me spring,
                                   like the silly string on my birthday, yellow silly-putty; molding the monster face,
                                                                                                     I observe you through a kaleidoscope                                                                                                                   of dexedrine and morphine.
                                                                                              Your catastrophe with Xanax, passed out
                                                            in alien-green *******, at that party in the abandoned firehouse
                                                                            on News St., how you could lay trust on me after that

                                                                                                (a daydream with sawing you called me)

                                                                                             sixteen-year-old mishap of an afternoon.
                                                                                            &

— The End —