#laughs
I’ve heard a lot about sinners
The damage that is done
Well let me tell you
I ****** up
My souls on the run
Lies?
Never told a one
I’m a saint of the hell raising kind
Always on the run
If I go to heaven
I won't be hard to find
Screamin all the way
With my pants on fire
Kicking down the The pearly gates
Dancing with the devil on a funeral pyre
Hell is really the place
Belzabop is begging me to stay for a little while
He loves my face
It’ll be a hell of a lot of fun
I’ve never claimed to Believe in heaven
I’m a sinner
Who took a **** on the face of the sun
Trouble is my middle name
I got Demons that like to play and have a little fun
My baggage is heavy
I’m dancing on my own grave
Life is what you make it
Or so they say
Raising hell
It’s what I do
Waking the Dead
Hanging from A noose
Easy to hate
That’s the truth
You can call me Rick
Ravishing Ricky Rude
I’m Ravishing
One bad dude
Can’t be trusted
Gotta an ego
And an attitude too
A Wicked smile
If you see me coming, here is what you do
You better step aside
Before I’m coming for you
My bridges are on fire
Burned them all
It’s true
I blew them up
So I’ll lose my life going fast
Faster than you
Got a death wish
I’m here to kick everyone’s *** too
While I’m living my life to the fullest
To hell and back
Telling lies and raising hell
it’s what I do
I’m honored to be hated
To be loathed by you🤔😂🤔😂🤔😂
May 24
May 24, 2026 at 8:16 PM UTC
I laughed with shadows wearing your face,
shared my secrets in what felt like safe space.
Your voice was warm, your hand felt true,
but the light in you was never for me and you.
You clapped when I fell, called it a joke,
vanished when my world went up in smoke.
Sweet words like sugar, melting in rain,
gone the moment I spoke of my pain.
I kept the door open, polished the floor,
invited you in for more and more.
But friendship needs weight, not just a grin,
and yours was a mask I let walk in.
Now I walk alone, and it feels okay,
better the silence than the betrayal each day.
For a fake friend’s love is a winter sun—
bright on the skin, but it warms no one.
If you want, I can write a shorter, punchier version you could use as a caption too.
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 10:19 AM UTC
All () of us all with different views of what living is all about.
So l looked at the lips
Some sealed,some wide and even
Some wider than ever .
Each with their own thought
Of what the narrowness or
Wideness of the lips is .
Jan 9
Jan 9, 2026 at 7:41 PM UTC
There was a straight road
With a crooked line
The painter must have been drinking to much wine
He giggled and he laughed
As he painted to the right and to the left
Then he stopped and took a deep breath
Opening his mouth
He smiled as he puffed out his chest
Feeling he had passed all of life’s little tests
He looked out over his work
Some of his finest
Some of his best
He said with a sly smirk
This here is the road to nowhere
it goes nowhere fast
Please take your time when traveling it
So you don’t fall and break your ***
The moral of the story is……..
Never let the road to Nowhere have the last laugh
May 21, 2024
May 21, 2024 at 3:44 PM UTC
Our purest laughs are in our dreams —
Laughing lungs out, sounding a bit psychotic;
Who's there to judge how ugly they really sound?
Apr 12, 2025
Apr 12, 2025 at 1:22 AM UTC
48, forty eight
Another year
It ain’t so great turning 48
Your teeth done fell out
Everybody screaming what’s that stench coming from your mouth?
Or is it your ***
Who knows but you stink and everyone is plugging their nose
It’s quite the combination of Ben Gay and Support ***** hose
You suddenly smell like the yoga room at the old folks home
When you turn 48 it’s suddenly surgeries galore
Broken bones
You can’t get up off the floor
The kids are yelling……..
**** you’re old
While you’re walking around in a blanket when it’s 80° degrees cause you’re always cold
Like a day old loaf of bread, your beginning to mold
When you turn 48 your officially old
It’s walkers with tennis ***** Garage sales, And haggling over a dime
You need to get a watch because you’re asking everybody if they got the time
You can’t wait for it to be over
You’re not feeling fine
Don’t forget to pay your life insurance or they won’t pay a dime
They’ll throw you to the vultures
It happens all the time
Turning 48 is like committing a crime
Apr 2, 2025
Apr 2, 2025 at 9:12 AM UTC
Yesterday Anton got a concussion because of a mug
Someone gave him and
He was jumping in celebration
And he banged his head on the top of the doorframe
And tumbled to the floor
Right in front of the school office
It was caught on video by the security cameras
At Monday night groups he was wearing blue reflective sunglasses
The kind that make you search for his eyes but never quite find them
He grabs my arm and is showing off his video footage
If it was anyone else we would all feel sorry for him
But all of us just laughed
Because it’s Anton -
And he got knocked out by a mug -
On camera -
It’s funny
But he showed up at school this morning just to be sent home
Because with a concussion
You can’t do schoolwork
You can’t look at bright lights
Or hear loud noises
Or be on your phone
You just have to sit
And rest
And think about life
Which sounds to me wonderful
But to him terrible
But not that bad
Because, after all
He has the mug
And the video
So it was totally worth it
Nov 20, 2023
Nov 20, 2023 at 7:09 PM UTC
I have never been 40
it's coming soon
it's just around the corner
The big 4-0 looms
I have Never been 40
I haven't got a clue
Will my hair turn grey
How much will I lose?
I have never been 40
What do I do
I've heard all the horror stories
I don't want to face the truth
I'm turning 40
Goodbye to my youth
Can some one please help me
I'm turning 4-0 and singing the blues
Will I lose my teeth
Have to gum my food
Wear knee high socks?
Watch the evening news
I'm turning 40
My life is through
What the hell is next
What is left
Nothing to look forward to
It's all downhill
Oh God ****
God ****
What to do
I'm turning the big 4-0
Yeah my life is through
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 1:50 AM UTC
We remember that we are human
Its in between those short silences that we remember that our armours of strength can only take so much
It is then we feel at our worst,
Where the world and everything around it feels too heavy to carry
Under those blank stares lie hidden conflicts of truths that we ourselves can not comprehend
Yesterdays that left us scared only to be revived again by thought, See we do a different kind of reminiscing one that we can't escape, we allow it to ease into our heart's vein seeping deep into the beats we once had.
In between the laughs comes joint sighs cried by different souls brought together with painful journeys.
Its in those moments we tend to remember that we are still bruised and that those stitches are tailored to suit what is supposed to be our happiness.
In between the laughs we try closing off once again our vulnerabilities off to the world
Because at the end of it all they shouldn't see our weaknesses
Its in between those laughs that we fight for air as we are in between breathing and being suffocated by the unknown
Known to us and hidden from the world
And sometimes just sometimes during that laughter we are hoping someone, anyone will notice that laughter is just a mask worn very well by the broken at heart
masquerading our downfalls and all
And lastly it is in between those laughs where we survive for some reason we forget and live on, most of all It is in between the laughs we remember we are human.
Jun 18, 2021
Jun 18, 2021 at 4:32 AM UTC
Of all the days and all the years,
All the laughs and all the tears,
All the love and all the fights,
All the mornings and sleepless nights,
Of all the life we've been through,
My most precious memories
Are every day I spend with you
Apr 28, 2021
Apr 28, 2021 at 9:03 PM UTC
Poems about Laughter, Giggles and Smiles
Here and Hereafter
by Michael R. Burch
Life’s saving graces are love, pleasure, laughter ...
wisdom, it seems, is for the Hereafter.
Laughter’s Cry
by Michael R. Burch
Because life is a mystery, we laugh
and do not know the half.
Because death is a mystery, we cry
when one is gone, our numbering thrown awry.
Love Is Not Love
by Michael R. Burch
Love is not love that never looked
within itself and questioned all,
curled up like a zygote in a ball,
throbbed, sobbed and shook.
(Or went on a binge at a nearby mall,
then would not cook.)
Love is not love that never winced,
then smiled, convinced
that soar’s the prerequisite of fall.
When all
its wounds and scars have been saline-rinsed,
where does Love find the wherewithal
to try again,
endeavor, when
all that it knows
is: O, because!
The Folly of Wisdom
by Michael R. Burch
She is wise in the way that children are wise,
looking at me with such knowing, grave eyes
I must bend down to her to understand.
But she only smiles, and takes my hand.
We are walking somewhere that her feet know to go,
so I smile, and I follow ...
And the years are dark creatures concealed in bright leaves
that flutter above us, and what she believes―
I can almost remember―goes something like this:
the prince is a horned toad, awaiting her kiss.
She wiggles and giggles, and all will be well
if only we find him! The woodpecker’s knell
as he hammers the coffin of some dying tree
that once was a fortress to someone like me
rings wildly above us. Some things that we know
we are meant to forget. Life is a bloodletting, maple-syrup-slow.
Originally published by Romantics Quarterly
Mother’s Smile
by Michael R. Burch
There never was a fonder smile
than mother's smile, no softer touch
than mother's touch. So sleep awhile
and know she loves you more than "much".
So more than "much", much more than "all".
Though tender words, these do not speak
of love at all, nor how we fall
and mother's there, nor how we reach
from nightmares in the ticking night
and she is there to hold us tight.
There never was a stronger back
than father's back, that held our weight
and lifted us, when we were small,
and bore us till we reached the gate,
then held our hands that first bright mile
till we could run, and did, and flew.
But, oh, a mother's tender smile
will leap and follow after you ...
Just Smile
by Michael R. Burch
We’d like to think some angel smiling down
will watch him as his arm bleeds in the yard,
ripped off by dogs, will guide his tipsy steps,
his doddering progress through the scarlet house
to tell his mommy "boo-boo!," only two.
We’d like to think his reconstructed face
will be as good as new, will often smile,
that baseball’s just as fun with just one arm,
that God is always Just, that girls will smile,
not frown down at his thousand livid scars,
that Life is always Just, that Love is Just.
We do not want to hear that he will shave
at six, to raze the leg hairs from his cheeks,
that lips aren’t easily fashioned, that his smile’s
lopsided, oafish, snaggle-toothed, that each
new operation costs a billion tears,
when tears are out of fashion. O, beseech
some poet with more skill with words than tears
to find some happy ending, to believe
that God is Just, that Love is Just, that these
are Parables we live, Life’s Mysteries ...
Or look inside his courage, as he ties
his shoelaces one-handed, as he throws
no-hitters on the first-place team, and goes
on dates, looks in the mirror undeceived
and smiling says, "It’s me I see. Just me."
He smiles, if life is Just, or lacking cures.
Your pity is the worst cut he endures.
Originally published by Lucid Rhythms
Laughter from Another Room
by Michael R. Burch
Laughter from another room
mocks the anguish that I feel;
as I sit alone and brood,
only you and I are real.
Only you and I are real.
Only you and I exist.
Only burns that blister heal.
Only dreams denied persist.
Only dreams denied persist.
Only hope that lingers dies.
Only love that lessens lives.
Only lovers ever cry.
Only lovers ever cry.
Only sinners ever pray.
Only saints are crucified.
The crucified are always saints.
The crucified are always saints.
The maddest men control the world.
The dumb man knows what he would say;
the poet never finds the words.
The poet never finds the words.
The minstrel never hits the notes.
The minister would love to curse.
The warrior never knows his foe.
The warrior never knows his foe.
The scholar never learns the truth.
The actors never see the show.
The hangman longs to feel the noose.
The hangman longs to feel the noose.
The artist longs to feel the flame.
The proudest men are not aloof;
the guiltiest are not to blame.
The guiltiest are not to blame.
The merriest are prone to brood.
If we go outside, it rains.
If we stay inside, it floods.
If we stay inside, it floods.
If we dare to love, we fear.
Blind men never see the sun;
other men observe through tears.
Other men observe through tears
the passage of these days of doom;
now I listen and I hear
laughter from another room.
Laughter from another room
mocks the anguish that I feel.
As I sit alone and brood,
only you and I are real.
I wrote this poem either my first or second year in college, around age 18 to 19. It remains largely the same, with only minor changes.
Leaf Fall
by Michael R. Burch
Whatever winds encountered soon resolved
to swirling fragments, till chaotic heaps
of leaves lay pulsing by the backyard wall.
In lieu of rakes, our fingers sorted each
dry leaf into its place and built a high,
soft bastion against earth's gravitron―
a patchwork quilt, a trampoline, a bright
impediment to fling ourselves upon.
And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn's cry
of also falling. Nothing meant to die
could be so bright as we, so colorful―
clad in our plaids, oblivious to pain
we'd feel today, should we leaf-fall again.
Originally published by The Neovictorian/Cochlea
Autumn Conundrum
by Michael R. Burch
It's not that every leaf must finally fall,
it's just that we can never catch them all.
See
by Michael R. Burch
See how her hair has thinned: it doesn't seem
like hair at all, but like the airy moult
of emus who outraced the wind and left
soft plumage in their wake. See how her eyes
are gentler now; see how each wrinkle laughs,
and deepens on itself, as though mirth took
some comfort there and burrowed deeply in,
outlasting winter. See how very thin
her features are―that time has made more spare,
so that each bone shows, elegant and rare.
For loveliness remains in her grave eyes,
and courage in her still-delighted looks:
each face presented like a picture book's.
Bemused, she blows us undismayed goodbyes.
Originally published by Writer's Digest's―The Year's Best Writing 2003
Ali’s Song
by Michael R. Burch
They say that gold don’t tarnish. It ain’t so.
They say it has a wild, unearthly glow.
A man can be more beautiful, more wild.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
I flung their medal to the river, child.
They hung their coin around my neck; they made
my name a bridle, “called a ***** a *****
They say their gold is pure. I say defiled.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
I flung their slave’s name to the river, child.
Ain’t got no quarrel with no Viet Cong
that never called me ****** did me wrong.
A man can’t be lukewarm, ’cause God hates mild.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
I flung their notice to the river, child.
They said, “Now here’s your bullet and your gun,
and there’s your cell: we’re waiting, you choose one.”
At first I groaned aloud, but then I smiled.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
I gave their “future” to the river, child.
My face reflected up, dark bronze like gold,
a coin God stamped in His own image―BOLD.
My blood boiled like that river―strange and wild.
I died to hate in that dark river, child,
Come, be reborn in this bright river, child.
Originally published by Black Medina
Note: Cassius Clay, who converted to Islam and changed his “slave name” to Muhammad Ali, said that he threw his Olympic boxing gold medal into the Ohio River. Confirming his account, the medal was recovered by Robert Bradbury and his wife Pattie in 2014 during the Annual Ohio River Sweep, and the Ali family paid them $200,000 to regain possession of the medal. When drafted during the Vietnamese War, Ali refused to serve, reputedly saying: “I ain't got no quarrel with those Viet Cong; no Vietnamese ever called me a ****** The notice mentioned in my poem is Ali's draft notice, which metaphorically gets tossed into the river along with his slave name. I was told through the grapevine that this poem appeared in Farsi in an Iranian publication called Bashgah. ―Michael R. Burch
Love Sonnet XI
by Pablo Neruda
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
I stalk the streets, silent and starving.
Bread does not satisfy me; dawn does not divert me
from my relentless pursuit of your fluid spoor.
I long for your liquid laughter,
for your sunburned hands like savage harvests.
I lust for your fingernails' pale marbles.
I want to devour your ******* like almonds, whole.
I want to ingest the sunbeams singed by your beauty,
to eat the aquiline nose from your aloof face,
to lick your eyelashes' flickering shade.
I pursue you, snuffing the shadows,
seeking your heart's scorching heat
like a puma prowling the heights of Quitratue.
The Seashore Gathering
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
On the seashores of endless worlds, earth's children converge.
The infinite sky is motionless, the restless waters boisterous.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children gather to dance with joyous cries and pirouettes.
They build sand castles and play with hollow shells.
They weave boats out of withered leaves and laughingly float them out over the vast deep.
Earth's children play gaily on the seashores of endless worlds.
They do not know, yet, how to cast nets or swim.
Divers fish for pearls and merchants sail their ships, while earth's children skip, gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They are unaware of hidden treasures, nor do they know how to cast nets, yet.
The sea surges with laughter, smiling palely on the seashore.
Death-dealing waves sing the children meaningless songs, like a mother lullabying her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with the children, smiling palely on the seashore.
On the seashores of endless worlds earth's children meet.
Tempests roam pathless skies, ships lie wrecked in uncharted waters, death wanders abroad, and still the children play.
On the seashores of endless worlds there is a great gathering of earth's children.
My Feelings
by Dolqun Yasin, a Uyghur poet
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The light sinking through the ice and snow,
The hollyhock blossoms reddening the hills like blood,
The proud peaks revealing their ******* to the stars,
The morning-glories embroidering the earth’s greenery,
Are not light,
Not hollyhocks,
Not peaks,
Not morning-glories;
They are my feelings.
The tears washing the mothers’ wizened faces,
The flower-like smiles suddenly brightening the girls’ visages,
The hair turning white before age thirty,
The night which longs for light despite the sun’s laughter,
Are not tears,
Not smiles,
Not hair,
Not night;
They are my nomadic feelings.
Now turning all my sorrow to passion,
Bequeathing to my people all my griefs and joys,
Scattering my excitement like flowers festooning fields,
I harvest all these, then tenderly glean my poem.
Therefore the world is this poem of mine,
And my poem is the world itself.
Ode to Anactoria
Sappho, fragment 31 (Lobel-Page 31 / Voigt 31)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
How can I compete with that ****** man
who fancies himself one of the gods,
impressing you with his "eloquence,"
when just the thought of sitting in your radiant presence,
of hearing your lovely voice and lively laughter,
sets my heart hammering at my breast?
Hell, when I catch just a quick glimpse of you,
I'm left speechless, tongue-tied,
and immediately a blush like a delicate flame reddens my skin.
Then my vision dims with tears,
my ears ring,
I sweat profusely,
and every muscle in my body trembles.
When the blood finally settles,
I grow paler than summer grass,
till in my exhausted madness,
I'm as limp as the dead.
And yet I must risk all, being bereft without you ...
Ode to Anactoria
Sappho, fragment 31 (Lobel-Page 31 / Voigt 31)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
To me that boy seems
blessed by the gods
because he sits beside you,
basking in your brilliant presence.
My heart races at the sound of your voice!
Your laughter?―bright water, dislodging pebbles
in a chaotic vortex. I can't catch my breath!
My heart bucks in my ribs. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
My ******* glow with intense heat;
desire's blush-inducing fires redden my flesh.
My ears seem hollow; they ring emptily.
My tongue is broken and cleaves to its roof.
I sweat profusely. I shiver.
Suddenly, I grow pale
and feel only a second short of dying.
And yet I must endure, somehow,
despite my poverty.
Sometimes the Dead
by Michael R. Burch
Sometimes we catch them out of the corners of our eyes―
the pale dead.
After they have fled
the gourds of their bodies, like escaping fragrances they rise.
Once they have become a cloud’s mist, sometimes like the rain
they descend;
they appear, sometimes silver like laughter,
to gladden the hearts of men.
Sometimes like a pale gray fog, they drift
unencumbered, yet lumbrously,
as if over the sea
there was the lightest vapor even Atlas could not lift.
Sometimes they haunt our dreams like forgotten melodies
only half-remembered.
Though they lie dismembered
in black catacombs, sepulchers and dismal graves; although they have committed felonies,
yet they are us. Someday soon we will meet them in the graveyard dust
blood-engorged, but never sated
since Cain slew Abel.
But until we become them, let us steadfastly forget them, even as we know our children must ...
Premonition
by Michael R. Burch
Now the evening has come to a close and the party is over ...
we stand in the doorway and watch as they go―
each stranger, each acquaintance, each unembraceable lover.
They walk to their cars and they laugh as they go,
though we know their warm laughter’s the wine ...
then they pause at the road where the dark asphalt flows
endlessly on toward Zion ...
and they kiss one another as though they were friends,
and they promise to meet again “soon” ...
but the rivers of Jordan roll on without end,
and the mockingbird calls to the moon ...
and the katydids climb up the cropped hanging vines,
and the crickets chirp on out of tune ...
and their shadows, defined by the cryptic starlight,
seem spirits torn loose from their tombs.
And I know their brief lives are just eddies in time,
that their hearts are unreadable runes
to be wiped clean, like slate, by the dark hand of fate
when their corpses lie ravaged and ruined ...
You take my clenched fist and you give it a kiss
as though it were something you loved,
and the tears fill your eyes, brimming with the soft light
of the stars winking gently above ...
Then you whisper, "It's time that we went back inside;
if you'd like, we can sit and just talk for a while."
And the hope in your eyes burns too deep, so I lie
and I say, "Yes, I would," to your small, troubled smile.
I rather vividly remember writing this poem after an office party the year I co-oped with AT&T (at that time the largest company in the world, with presumably a lot of office parties). This would have been after my sophomore year in college, making me around 20 years old. The poem is “true” except that I was not the host because the party was at the house of one of the upper-level managers. Nor was I dating anyone seriously at the time.
Keywords/Tags: Laugh, Laughs, Laughter, Giggle, Giggles, Smile, Smiles, Humor, Light Verse, Friendship
Published as the selection “Poems about Laughter, Giggles and Smiles”
Sep 6, 2020
Sep 6, 2020 at 4:39 AM UTC
*
*Flourishing with laughs
Smiling eyes under her mask
Wear wreath of applause*
*
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 3:40 AM UTC
Blowing long grass on sun drenched land,
barbecue smoke rises high into the air above
Forming smokey marshmallow clouds,
bound for nowhere
A passenger plane, making its presence known
glides above; menacingly
Like a gull in search of its next meal;
loud and soaring.
People lay motionless on flat bedded land,
and forest creatures take refuge high into the treetops
Escaping the human threats from below;
For now, at least
Dogs run wild and children misbehave,
beetles bite and scuttle along the ground
Novels find their places on the grass,
falling from the faces of sleeping people
The sun masterfully floats above all,
defying odds that rain was ever to come today
Loud music floats hazily around the park,
as groups rejoice and discuss amongst themselves
As the past makes its way for the future,
it is the present moment which stands triumphant
Sitting back, watching the world go by I wonder;
Will I ever get the chance to see more days like this one?
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 9:27 AM UTC
I used to laugh.
Now I cry.
It's been so long
I don't remember why.
You took me by the hand.
I didn't understand
Why you were smiling...
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 3:21 PM UTC
In the beginning when Adam met Eve beneath the canopy of paradise
they agreed on most things.
They basked in the perfection of all that surround, laughing at each other's jokes.
One day Adam carved a gift for Eve.
Tirelessly wildling the branch of an oak tree.
"Tools", he boosted as she stroked the small utensils.
"I'll call them forks," said Eve happily setting the table.
What came next sparked an age old debate, as Eve grasped her fork in the left hand, Adam in his right.
"What are you doing?" he vexed, scratching his head.
"That hand is incorrect!"
"Tis not my sweet, it is the hand I use to eat, I am in my right mind my dear, you are the uncultured one here!"
And so it began, as they reproduced.
Cain was right handed as was Seth, but poor Able was born with his mother's fondness for left.
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 2:34 PM UTC
Headed to a city that I think I’m not ready to go back to
Last time I was there was with you
Not long ago
Very recent actually
The laughs, the smiles the stolen glances
This city reminds me of you
And I don’t know how to undo that
In fact I don’t even know if I ever want to
Mar 26, 2019
Mar 26, 2019 at 3:11 PM UTC
she laughs, she smiles, she pretends.
but if you look a little closer,
stare a little intently,
you can see the cracks on her features,
the upward grin,
is really just upside down.
if you listen a little closer,
hear the soft gasps of murmurs,
you can hear her soft cries that echoes,
into the relentless sea,
put your ears on her chest,
and listen to her heart cracking,
piece by piece.
if you ask her what's wrong,
she'll shrug her shoulders,
a ghost of a smile displayed before you,
and she'll let out a hollow chuckle,
and ask you if you're crazy,
then reassure you that she's fine.
if she catches you peeking at her,
she'd offer you a shy grin,
just to make you
believe that
she's
ok
but don't fall for it,
for a professional
is always good at
their profession.
and hers is mere
pretend.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 10:52 AM UTC
A game of chance,
But a game of smarts.
So easy to play but easier to lie.
It's not your first time is it?
Not mine.
So great to see you again.
I know you've seen me even now and then. Yet you act like you're some stranger who's never been around.
Such a card.
I can't tell if you're 1 or 11
Switching back and forth till you've become aware of...
''Coffee?"
Jan 3, 2019
Jan 3, 2019 at 2:11 AM UTC
im glad to have an outlet for my thoughts.
well?
it's been one hell of a year.
most times it felt like all my limbs were attached to horses,
all running in opposite directions.
other times,
i felt like i was lying atop a cloud.
how many tears spilled.
and giggles shared.
i'm just happy to be alive.
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC