#throwing
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
by Michael R. Burch
Tallen the Mighty Thrower
is a hero to turtles, geese, ducks ...
they splash and they cheer
when he tosses bread near
because, you know, eating grass *****
Keywords/Tags: child, children, boy, thrower, throwing, bread, turtles, geese, ducks, grass
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 5:15 AM UTC
maybe i’ll throw up again
Feb 17, 2020
Feb 17, 2020 at 8:31 PM UTC
I am throwing away our memories
Thoughts used to make me smile
All they do is take me to the past
My heart goes on for miles
It is helping me convince myself
I don't need you anymore
I'm taking a deep breath
Watching them soar out the door
But paper-thin they start shaking
Wings broken they try to glide
One by one they crash back down
The landing strip inside my mind
The hollow ache rushes in
Reminder of what we had
Ghosts are everywhere I look
Can't escape or understand
Instead wonder how and why
Never really cared at all
Ponder every possibility
It drives me up the wall
But I can't find the answer
Every puzzle piece is there
Can't make it fit together
Aching soul is just too scared
Jan 8, 2020
Jan 8, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC
i’m one month clean.
soon to be ruined because it’s unhealthy and i’m all about slowing killing myself.
brb. . .
going to throw up . . .
Jan 6, 2020
Jan 6, 2020 at 8:26 PM UTC
And like a stone I fell.
Nothing quite the same.
Knowing stillness, I paced myself.
Falling fast.
Head first.
The best thing I've known.
It's not so bad.
Falling.
The fear of crashing, crumbling into pieces.
This seems the way to go.
Missing the experience that brought fear to life.
Stubborn.
Like a stone.
These cobwebs thrown to the wind.
Finding each breath more desirable than the next.
A feeling that I've waited for.
Sitting still.
Like a rock.
Afraid to fly.
Until you came along.
Shattered into a million pieces.
The expectation of anything else.
Without need to hide your hand
Mar 27, 2018
Mar 27, 2018 at 11:26 AM UTC
there are things
i can't do anymore
i've been doing all those things
a lot lately
just can't stop
every night the songs are played
i've had enough but i would just
have to do nothing or do something else
i'de like to be more descript
but every night
i inhale something lit
and scott gimple just knows
he is a better writer than Robert Kirkman
every time he kills off the main character,
the most integral part of the story,
the whole reason for the story in the first place
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 1:33 AM UTC
I can't tell why
I'm crying
anymore
Where are my tears coming from?
Are they coaxed out by the fingers down my throat, coming up with the acids in my stomach?
Or are they because of the pain leading me to do this to myself?
Blurring things together,
Making my reflection as distorted
and fat
and bloated
as I am in my mind
I can feel the flesh settled on my bones.
The fat waiting there,
wishing I could skim it off with a knife
I know it must be as soft
as butter
why am I doing this
why am I crying
why am I killing myself from the inside
I can't tell why
I'm dying
anymore
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 11:33 AM UTC
Draw into the hope of a missing river,
Forever forgetting forever isn't for everyone.
I wish I had another choice in the city full of choices,
I wish I had another city in the world full of cities.
I see these cities as see through seas untamed by those who see me as an uncalmable tide.
At the midnight calling, I become uncontrollable.
Like the statue, I collect and decay through natural forces,
Like the status,
I force nature to collect and decay.
Poetic justice,
No this just is poetic.
Moments put into words that give rise to the false trigger of five senses that the consensus claims can't be sensed through anything but reality.
The dream through words escapes the world in which limits are locked to five senses.
Nonsense to university,
No sense to individuality.
This creates the individual.
And their spirit lives in the flow of the Phoenix song,
Lamented in the night air.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
it's been 43 days
since we last talked.
the worst thing is:
you still don't care.
it's been 43 days
of throwing stones
and the pain
I cannot bear.
it's been 43 days
of suffocating;
without you,
there's no air.
nothing matters
to me anymore
besides the fact that
you're not there.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 10:50 PM UTC
throwing papers
up in the air
everywhere
wonderful bliss
4 years for this
I miss you now
we talked about how
this would be us
kissing
throwing it up
not giving a ****
i don't give a ****
i really don't
graduating next week
and i pretend to be sad to go
it really doesn't matter
ill walk and ill bow
ill get my diploma
i really don't know how....
I got the papers from the recycling bin
it says a lot doesn't it
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC