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Poetic T Dec 2014
"slurp"
"SluRP"
"SLURP"
Heard from *tongue
and mouth
Little teeth,
Lick,
Slurp,
Chomp,
Like a baby ****** on wood,
 You look at me with a cheeky smile
What was once clean now a sticky mess
Licking a lolly,
Keeping you entertained
Looking as if after all this licking, chomping
"Slurp"
"Slurp"
"Slurp"
That its looking like when you first began,
Then as if a moment past, the lolly
That was whole now but a stick,
Tongue, teeth, mouth
Chopped away till all was gone
Just a smile though sticky lips,
"Slurp"
"Slurp"
"Slurp"
Was heard, now all quiet as just a grin
And a stick passed to daddy, and the words
*"Daddy can I please have another one "
Another short poem story inspired by beautiful but noisily slurping daughter :)
Life's a Beach Sep 2014
Feverish hands fluttered like skittish birds
Nervous eyes danced like a swan's last song
and the promise of tomorrow was left on my lips
like a sticky note.
Friend had a first date yesterday, his nervous optimism about a second prompted this.
AJ Claus Apr 2014
I am stuck in a sticky state.
I’m a piece of gum,
thoroughly chewed.
By now, quite overused,
I've lost all taste.
My life has become an endless blur,
every day the same,
like an old song on repeat.
Overplayed,
I’m sick of it,
and have been for quite some time now.
I need change,
desperately,
achingly,
need it.
I can’t live like this anymore,
can’t live every day on repeat,
never changing my pattern,
never changing beat.
Nothing anymore makes me happy,
no food tastes as sweet
as it did before,
when my life was filled with open doors,
with opportunities,
change,
chances to rearrange,
to take on new adventures
every day.
But now, every day is a struggle,
always the same.
My depression has taken charge,
taken over what little control
I had left in my life.
It is my captor, and I its hostage,
locked up in its grasp, its chains,
until further notice.
I pray for the day
that it sets me free,
which is hopefully soon,
but probably never.
I’ll die before it lets me go,
yet I sometimes feel like death
would be better than feeling this low;
it would be release,
release from my endless days on repeat,
for which life just can’t seem to cease.
But for now I am stuck.
I am the gum you've been gnawing on for hours,
and you want so badly to spit me out,
but now just isn't the right time.
So you keep
chew
chew
chewing
that tasteless gum of mine,
wishing you could trade it out
for a piece with real flavor.
All I wish for
is a life with real meaning,
so that finally, again,
I can start feeling.
Until then,
I am numb,
much overchewed,
tired and used,
and feeling abused
by my own mind,
this cruel, cruel depression
that’s running my life,
and now I’m running out of time.

— The End —