#wrapper - Hello Poetry

Sometimes I feel like a candy wrapper Found in a lot of places Seen but not recognized Never prioritised All about the unwrapping See how far they can get Without shredding But it's not about the padding Then to be used For their filth To be added to my insides And wrap back around all my sides Once I've been toyed with It's done for Time to throw me away Doesn't matter what I say Simply, trash

0

Aug 29, 2024

Aug 29, 2024 at 5:53 AM UTC

Writer04

Candy wrapper

Sometimes I feel like a candy wrapper Found in a lot of places Seen but not recognized Never prioritised All about the unwrapping See how far they can get Without shredding But it's not about the padding Then to be used For their filth To be added to my insides And wrap back around all my sides Once I've been toyed with It's done for Time to throw me away Doesn't matter what I say Simply, trash

17

Sweet treat left upon the pavement A sweltering, bereft mess becoming sticker. I wish to scoop you up, Stuff your blue shell back into Your crinkly wrapper, all done up In a pale green so dapper.

0

Jun 21, 2018

Jun 21, 2018 at 4:12 AM UTC

SilverLaughter

Sweet Treat

Sweet treat left upon the pavement A sweltering, bereft mess becoming sticker. I wish to scoop you up, Stuff your blue shell back into Your crinkly wrapper, all done up In a pale green so dapper.

6

This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.

0

Nov 25, 2014

Nov 25, 2014 at 2:54 AM UTC

martin-narrod

The Neon Alien Blouse

This terribleness. The blur of traffic lights and puddles paints Los Angeles on my face at night. It's so hard to know who will doze in my blind spots. Sunflower seeds and ******* lining the carpet. I sat on the front porch for five hours gutting the wolves from my appendices. Usually the headaches go away with the squashing of the lights. Fluorescents are the worst, halogens second, and 60-watt 120-volt light bulb the bane of my existence. I look at my phone but I cannot summon a quirky 120 character quip. I need excedrin but all I have to grape flavored children's aspirin. I should have asked for the water. How many unfinished glasses of water have I left around this world? Maybe Bruce and I will squash after work. I can hear his weekly catalog of two night stands with those married transient women who drive from Santa B. I hate golf, I could have made carried a career in this resentment. Maybe rolling down the window will alleviate some of this pressure. Maybe it's barometric pressure, The Baby is here in time to drag the houses out to sea. It feels like Michelangelo is carving The David in my head and it's the chiseling I've never wanted. It's Tuesday and the drugs were horrible. They killed five of them today. We wrapped their heads in blankets from the Thrifty, and had to have the interns find clothes that would fit for the Christian caskets. Two days until Giving Thanks Day. I am wrapped in copper and stuck in amber. I am acquitted by nonsense and stipulation, sick with nausea and pushing my forehead into the steering wheel. This is all terrible. The lying I've never told myself. The people that don't even know it's lying. Her and I always seem to escape with our happiness and pleasure in tow. The odds are slim, but our clothes have never fit too tightly.

3