Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
you're wearing
bright red lipstick
and a little black
dress but you
are a mess and you
can't even give the
taxi the right address.
You smell of cinnamon
and sugar mixed with
marijuana and when
you laugh I can see
the fillings in the
back of your mouth
and I resist the urge
to touch your cheek
and feel the curves
of your body beneath
your clothes.
I can taste smoke
at the back of
your throat
and I remember the
way you once wrote.
I think maybe
I'll love you
until this *******
has left my veins.
What was your
name again?
Khoi-San Nov 2018
One for the road
A teeter totter to go
a raw hide coffin
In cowboy boots
Think before you drink and drive
CGW Oct 2018
Life is passing by a lot faster than I thought.
All my memories seem so far away.
It seemed just yesterday that I was on the train to New York City.
With the phantom lights dimmed down and my guitar in my hand.
Strumming away the days like grey rain raining down cafe jazz.
But now in my cup of coffee is a blurred reflection staring back at me.
All the things that I seen and all things that I have done stored in my memories.
I'm riding in the backseat of a taxi with my face pressed against the window looking out at familiar faces.
Life is passing by a lot faster than I thought.
This is from my imagination
KM Hanslik Mar 2018

You first notice yourself settling,
sinking, like an old house
when the birds begin to fly and the robins build nests in your doorways;
You first notice the pale light
with your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them,
the sun will disappear.

She first watches you
lying, limbs sprawled, in the creekbed
your clothing muddy and your frame
all sunken in, like the old house.

She first loves you in the sunlight
her skin shimmering golden above you
and you first hear her name
when she whispers to you

that she comes from the wreckage of street-lamps and ashtrays
how the only lover she’s ever taken felt like
the scrape of ****** knees against sidewalk,
apprehension laying heavy in her stomach
and the nausea that comes from starvation.

She tells you that she
could never call the city home, never love it as she wanted
because every night her mother would scream at your father
something about a bottle and "you filthy lying *******",
and every evening she went to sleep, and her ears bled
from the screech of taxi tires on the corner.

She wants a love that feels like
bonfires devouring kindling, spitting ashes up
into the sky, ablaze
with starlight and smoke –
mud oozing up between your toes as you run
and run
and run
from all the places that never felt like home.

She wants a love to consume all other loves,
a twisting, clawing, breathing thing
her heartbeats furiously pounding out a rhythm to escape
that place, and its stench, a rhythm
that implores the blurry lines of sunset to smother the land,
ethereal, burning
(burning you with it)

And so she first holds you
as the crumbling of her world brings a smile to her lips,
and you wonder as she sinks in her teeth
how many others there will be, after you,
and knowing that she
will be the first to ruin you
(And not caring if she does.)
filled my palms
curse with me

past my thoughts
ashes coals

my foot prints
flame through snow
while hanging

perfected hatred

flat tires
Sandy* beaches
Old ruin Castles
Friendy people.
Places to go
Enjoyed the change
Will be doing it more often ..
oui Feb 2016
guess what? there’s so many people out there who are way better than you in so many different ways and that’s alright because there’s also hundreds of cities with thousands of people you’ve never met who would be madly in love with you for being exactly as you are today and if that doesn’t excite the **** out of you I’m not sure what will
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
I want to learn to whistle
Like my daddy did.
I wanted to learn it since
I was a little kid
You know, you put *******
Just inside your lips.
No, not the whole fingers
Just the very tips.

With that kind of whistle
I could stop a fight
Or call a taxi to me
On a rainy night.
I could whistle while applauding
Let performers know
Whatever they were doing
I enjoyed it so.

It works well during sports
Like a referee’s call.
The way I whistle nobody
Would hear it at all.
If I had a doggie I could call him
Then I whistle really loud
And he would come running
I would be so proud.

And of course I could tell
Somebody walking by
That they were pretty hot and
They had caught my eye.
But if I try to do that now,
They have to be
Not further than a couple
Of feet from me.

You’ve heard that kind of whistle
In shows on your TV.
I wish that kind of whistle
Could come from me.
So, I wish I could whistle
Like my daddy could.
Maybe someday I will learn.
Knock on wood.
Next page