#chests
It always makes me wake up when it hits;
When a rivulet of sweat runs between my ****
I wake up thinking some bug is walking there
Because it tickles my manly bit of chest hair.
Guys are built much different than the rest.
We are not supposed to have issues with our chest.
But here I am trying to get some sleep
Suddenly aware my cleavage is too deep.
Stuff is happening backwards that should not
What we supposed to do with this mess we’ve got?
Something’s got the world all upside down.
God must be a freaky circus clown.
Regardless of some nasty radio rants
I have no problem with women wearing pants.
And in life today as I have always seen
The woman is often the boss, big and mean.
And I have heard, in current affairs and state
That men can even, in time, learn to lactate.
But this one situation in which I have *******
Threatens to unhinge and drive me a bit loopy.
I guess, with time, I will someday get accustomed.
And I know some old ideas need to be jettisoned.
But I never expected that this would be a year
For me to go get fitted for an absorbent brassiere.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
Watched old and lonely walking this road
Naming the nameless ones from a chair
On three legs splinted up with bricks
I chipped the mortar out holding out
For footsteps in the dirt like the heel
Toe once heard, enduring over bounds
And now beating in the depths right
Next to death. Whispers softly at
Distance maybe only echoes from
The wind.
I hold out.
Fight fury in the doubt.
I hold out.
Binoculars looking.
Nursed and fed empty chests and stomachs
No less to give from my own abyss
Could crawl over nail bleeding for
The kin the world lost when it ended
Just to do my only due to give
Back what I know to show the wandering
You might survive in lack.
Oh I lack.
I hold out.
I hold out.
Binoculars up
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
When my heart beats black inside my chest, and the days I have are filled with death, and the girls I know won't walk with me, then I have my choice in misery. All the birds have died, and the plains are dry, the skyscrapers aren't lit up at night, and the city's sound sounds like nothing, then I have my choice in suffering. People talk a lot, but they hardly speak, all their voices creak in the summer streets, everybody walks but they're not moving, I try to only observe but then I start screaming.
I ******* hate the way that you look at me, your skin's so ******* clean that it feels ***** your eyes move around but you're not seeing, the way I hurt each day but you say nothing. If I tried to leave you might be happy, so I sit and be and go out at night and cheat. I would break your heart, but it hardly beats. You're my walking dead, my darling zombie.
Each day is second rate, I bore so easily. It's like the day we met ended your pleasantry. I startle all the time, you seem so unaware. I chose you number one, you chose to not even care.
I caressed you once, and undressed you thrice, you abandoned me in the middle of the night. All the time I halved, you had your own account, of every thing we did, it wasn't the right amount. Now I hardly care about the drugs you're on. I'm quoting blasphemy out of every psalm. Even the words I write don't tell half of the truth, about the way I felt chasing after you.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:41 AM UTC