#entendre
Molded blueberries,
I joked of scooping them up
and having a bite
May 26, 2021
May 26, 2021 at 7:01 PM UTC
Is it just I who can't see this world?
It is stunning from the shock it gives.
You're blinded by the shock you heard.
Don't wait for it as long as it lives.
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 2:42 AM UTC
Every morning
I'm enjoying.
Evenings may vary.
But my tanks take care of me.
I shift them both 180 degrees,
Usually they know it means one of two things.
It's time to clean or secure.
But for some reason, one breaks my order.
Slowly shifting towards east, his platoon knows something wrong.
Slowly cause he doesn't wanna raise the heat.
Cause if one sees him too undone,
That's one to not be seen.
Unfortunately a time comes where two has to go back to zero.
Not cause it's time to sleep, not trust me.
They still do protect me after these.
One stays at 90 regardless of what I say.
While I appreciate it, you gotta understand what I'm saying cause I'm done, no more cold ones. It's freezing and I can't take no more. Just turn off.
Just a twist of a **** I wish.
We'll continue our routine tomorrow...
Charlie One: 0° E Hotel Two: At ease. You've done enough for me.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC
She’s wearing it again.
Hiding behind its porcelain green glare like some
righteous shield.
He wants so desperately to just peel it off her face
that he cuts off his own.
He’d lie and smile.
Show off his new mask and
Crack a joke about the broken pencil, a
pointless **** poor flavor of humor
reminding them where they went wrong.
She wouldn’t notice anyway;
Too excessively engaged with the
idea of a lonely low-priced studio.
He knows this, and remains perched in silence
like a mute bird. Staring off into space
and recounting mistakes;
Feeling the colorless
truth bleed from the corners of grooved eyes
down to the edges of blue lips
that he so regrets unveiling.
Knock knock
Who’s there?
The boy lying
in ambush with a camera,
pining to dig up shiny smiles of the past.
How they laughed at such jokes.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 6:29 PM UTC
there is a storm in the glass of water you leave on your bedside table
it rises and falls within the walls of transparency as we rise and fall within the walls of your transparencies
every wave is clear and the rush of your voice radiates over the azure sea
I am the storm, reflecting my clouds down onto your crystal surface
Rolling tumultuously over the still
Our eyes meet in the heart of the sea
My thunder crashes into your tidal
and the glass of water you leave on your bedside table crashes to the floor
sunlight shatters the overcast and washes the room in a rainbow of transparencies
we breathe salt and fall asleep on the beach
c.d.
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 11:18 AM UTC
Cyrus was a butcher,
the ladies thought him sweet,
and when they spoke,
the gals would joke
about old Cyrus' meat.
But soon the missus told 'em,
her one and only beef-
forget the size
or how he'd rise,
Old Cyrus was too brief.
His brother, Clive, the baker,
a young and heavy lad,
was paid no mind
by womankind
cause of the weight he had.
But soon the missus told 'em,
with a twinkle in her eye,
Forget the size,
or how he'd rise,
that boy could eat a pie!
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
**Sirens and scotch
like I was rappin' to the fuzz**
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC