#newyorkcity
The city doesn’t sleep.
It tosses and turns
and doom scrolls till dawn.
Borrowed hours and burnt coffee
have a habit of going unnoticed.
Noon is too loud for feelings.
Nobody reads poetry at brunch.
The shadows
are only just beginning
to appear
when she realizes
She’s been tired for years.
May 21
May 21, 2026 at 8:40 AM UTC
so you’ve found yourself
lost again
the years are behind you
a sense of place or the thrill
fifth empire the reach
everlasting slowly fading
hooray for the glitter and the glamour
and what has been carved out
of flesh and concrete
to stake a claim in name or vision
the search for meaning
and now you’re caught
distraction
it’s the rows and rows and rows and rows
you stand with pride
without belonging
or has it always been there waiting
go ahead
it's your turn
Apr 15, 2025
Apr 15, 2025 at 7:32 PM UTC
Don’t nobody mess with Snow White.
I’m the Queen of the ‘hood, don’t give me a fight.
I’ve got Grumpy and his Kalshnikov.
Sneezy and his crew did the bank job.
***** meets the plane coming in at JFK,
with its cargo of smack, to bag and weigh.
Sleepy got busted, he’s doing time--
but he ain’t no snitch, so we’ll all be fine.
Happy’s my honey, as long as I got money--
I feed him some coke and he keeps my mood sunny.
Bashful’s the lookout, he stands on the corner.
Doc sews them up, saves them from the coroner.
I ain’t got no evil stepmother,
and if you mess with my crew you’re a stupid ************
Jul 13, 2024
Jul 13, 2024 at 11:25 PM UTC
The boy with the curly black hair from room 1402 zippered his dark puffer jacket as he pushed the door open. The air outside was chilly, the temperature flirting with the goosebumps on his neck. He ran his right hand through his curls as he walked with intention toward the intersection, looking both ways before crossing Spruce Street. Behind him glowed multicolored lights provided by the LED setup of his fellow neighbors on floor 14.
The Financial District was always calm at night, and that’s what he loved most about it. He smiled to himself as he roamed the streets, reminiscing on the promising outcomes of nights past. As he made his way toward Stone Street, he shed the skin of Zachary Taylor and slithered into Jackson Jones. Becoming Jackson was Zach’s favorite part of his nightly routine. Jackson had a winning smile and charming personality. He had money to throw away and designer clothes. Jackson didn’t have a mother in a mental institution or a father who had ended his own life. Jackson had two sisters and a brother, and they all vacationed in the South of France. Jackson had a Summer home in Florence and a Winter lodge in the Swiss Alps.
His mantra was interrupted by a blurry figure crossing his path. A beautiful girl with light brown hair and doe eyes glanced at him for a second before blushing and continuing on her way. This would be his prey for the night.
“Hey, my friends and I are going to Mad Dogs for a tower and some guacamole, want to join?”
This simple invitation always made women feel at ease and intrigued, instead of suspicious and threatened. Zachary knew that she would join him to eat, and after a few drinks he would look at his phone and tell her that his friends had cancelled, but that he was having such a good time with her and didn’t want the night to end. He would beckon her to come see the amazing view of the Brooklyn Bridge from his dorm room and she would happily oblige.
Walking into the front lobby of 1 Pace Plaza, Zachary nodded at the security guards who returned a smirk and a subtle shake of their heads. He lived for these small exchanges, these small stamps of reluctant approval from the men who went along with his routine every night.
Towards the beginning of his freshman year, they used to stop him and make him sign each guest in with a photo ID, but they grew to appreciate his craftiness and simply let him escort a new woman into the building every night.
The girl next to him gave a small wave to the security guards and a smile. Pete, the security guard who usually high fived Zachary as he walked the girls out of the building, had a peculiar look on his face. Zachary assumed it was due to the wave his date had given them. Usually the girls he brought in avoided eye contact with the guards and followed him to his room. This girl seemed different.
Tara, she had said her name was, lived “somewhere downtown” but hadn’t specified a location, and Zachary hadn’t pressed her. After all, he didn’t need to know where she lived, or even her last name. She was just his partner for this Thursday night, or rather, she was Jackson’s partner for the night.
He had told her that he was a New York native, which couldn’t have been further from his true upbringing in Miami. He couldn’t quite remember where she said she was from, but that didn’t bother him. It was always easier when there was no emotional attachment.
Tara walked confidently toward the elevators, and Zachary wondered if she had been to the building before. Maybe she was friends with a student, or had a previous rendezvous with another tenant of the dorm tower. Either way, he didn’t want to know.
The elevator was heavy with tension, and Zach wondered if the pressure would cause the doors to pop open while rising.
A ding signaled their arrival at the 14th floor, and Zach again morphed into Jackson, opening the door for Tara, ever the gentleman. Her eyes widened as she saw the glowing lights from the city below. “Wow, this view really is romantic. How did you say you got this room again?”
Zach shifted his weight between his feet. He caught himself and steadied his nerves.
“It’s my friend’s place, I’m just watching it for him while he’s gone.” Jackson answered coolly. She nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. Zach chuckled internally at her admiration of the view, knowing she would never see the room again after this night.
Oct 15, 2021
Oct 15, 2021 at 3:01 PM UTC
sleep curved miles of patched dead boys into me like a scythe.
their quilts were not mine to sweat through,
to drench nightly with my self.
but i cried out anyway.
said i needed stained warmth more than coffins ever could.
bare as they were.
prodigal as they were.
i turn aside in bed. i sweat it out.
sleep handed me its crowded city plots and boxes of
one-way ticket disownment boiled down
to an art exhibit of photographed bodies.
black and white bodies. end of life bodies.
i tore them into manageable halves.
their varied human pieces quilted themselves together onto the floor.
their eyes floated to land at my shoes.
i stared.
yet it was sleep who drew in
the fluttering array of lost bandanas dyed with every coy color
present on the rare days here
that always smelled more like mornings,
the colors peeking like barefoot children just around the corners of their smirking, drowsy city avenues after rain.
sleep dreamt me an after hours carousel.
the revelry of skintight garbage bags
brimming over with ****** boys.
lovely boys.
boys with a gleam.
faceless baby boys with sores like eyes,
full of their junk they
treasured, fondled, kissed
the little pound of flesh that was theirs,
they gave freely, bait and tackle
to swallow whole.
dust bowl dumpling soft.
pulsing expectance.
those skins underneath you’d discover pressed to an eternity of sorts
between two slurs of the same brick,
that its nightless club grime
mumbled disco sickly to me & him.
and i’d be on my knees.
by a bed, a river, a quilt, a pew, an avenue, a grave.
whatever useless dreams may come,
i always find myself there.
already knelt in every way i couldn’t possibly comprehend.
gravely, maybe beautifully-
beside another slumbering boy
too distant from life not to reach for.
Dec 9, 2019
Dec 9, 2019 at 12:42 AM UTC
Hello dark.
The walls are wet
The cave is hidden
Legs cut through black water
Via rapid movement I reveal a face in the sand, a scar in the algorithm.
A body covers itself in lavender mist
Manly, soft and asleep, his eyes are emeralds buried by the salt of life.
The mans **** transforms into the fountain of lost dreams
Him
He
His phone is dead.
Arms cool colored and heavy
A swimmers body.
The sand reappears around his face. The grains shape into a pair of headphones arched over his skull, like the sweeping architectural feats of those ancient cathedrals.
Lights of subway tunnels devour the faces of strangers
Wet
Glittering rock
The Nobel breast stroke
Head above water
Feet kick past the abyss
Our naked bodies press against one another. dancing to the glorious choir of nothingness
a ghost of west coast dreams
He ***** himself to sleep every night
As he waits for future/past lovers
And dreams of ugly angels
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 11:21 PM UTC
I stand here in the city.
The tall buildings tower over me,
And the wind cascades around me.
The children and people wear fur coats.
I wear Gucci.
They smell like whiskey and cigarettes,
But I pay no attention.
I see the lights that the city visions,
I hear the cries that the city screams.
It was perfect.
Because I was here amongst the skyscrapers,
And within the atmosphere of life.
Jul 7, 2019
Jul 7, 2019 at 5:36 AM UTC
"A, B, C, D, 1, 2, 3,
4, 5, 6, 7, E, F, M
G, L, N, Q, AND R
TRAINS ARE NOT RUNNING.
WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE
INCONVENIENCE..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 9:02 AM UTC
"Coco, Mango, Cherry, Rainbow"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 9:00 AM UTC
"Excuse me ladies
and gentlemen, sorry
for the interruption..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:58 AM UTC
"Do you have an extra swipe?"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:57 AM UTC
"Not for nothing, ..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:56 AM UTC
"Aight, so boom..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
"You woulda thought..."
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:52 AM UTC
"Cawfee"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:50 AM UTC
"Let me get a
baconeggandcheese
(with ketchup)"
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:49 AM UTC
"YEEEEEEERR"
-
@desire.is.dope
2-26-19
0838
Feb 26, 2019
Feb 26, 2019 at 8:47 AM UTC