You place your chin
in the crook of my neck,
sending shivers down my spine
and I know it's time to unwind
The weekend floats in softly,
mesmerized by time fading away
Stops me in my tracks
The week seems to drag on
But you got my back
at the end of it all
the endless weekly marathon
Our eyes and thoughts align
to this lovely phenomenon
Cause it's not love
without you and me
This isn't just history
in the making
kush and coffee
You're my Saturday morning, baby
I'll love you through
all the days and weeks to come
But lucky for us
This weekends only just begun
Life is a thousand times more beautiful when you know you won't go through it alone.
He is more truly beautiful on the inside than anyone I've ever known.
He's always my rock when I'm trapped between a hard place and a pile of stones.
And I'll gladly live this life with him beside me as we travel into the unknown.
<3 Dash Cooper
Cautionary visions visit in viciously vivid fashion
I'm dead and my head is missing
Everyone is laughing
And the sky is sorta dreary but I don't know
With no eyes you don't see too clearly
Sew me a new one on,
Attached at the neck
Plastic instead of brittle skin and maybe then
I can exist in some form above the normally gray and grim
I pray to a faceless facade
I made a "God" in my head
An eternal alternative to turn to and blame
And claim to strangers that he works in mysterious ways
My lips are chafed from singing unheard praises
I'm tasteless and it has me thinking that maybe my mouth was only a product of my imagination
Food for thought I chew and stop
Its too **** hot for contemplation
Still, I used to think my hands belonged to someone else
Right up until I used them both to **** myself
And try to light em underneath an ocean's worth of crude oil
That is forcing it's way into my lungs
My high hopes hung their heads in the past as they waited to be hanged
But now the concept of life felt empty and displayed itself as a delay
A casual lack of oxygen shut off all process in the brain
And we are on our way.
in the depths
And the darkness fades to grey,
**A less ambivalent shade.
I etched patterns into a tree with a pocket knife that had a red plastic handle
Indentions such as these never stay
Yet eternally we press against the world
Hoping to make a mark that will shine in the daylight and glow in the dark
I'm a shriveled slice of the Americana pie
With my soul on a swivel and the devil in my eyes
Life was a son of a ***** with fists that spat dirt when it spoke
And it ONLY screamed.
I'm somewhere between *David Duchovny and Stephen King
And I'm trying to rip up manuscripts that I didn't write and I don't know who did.
Goodnight America. My patterns will explain my existence more than I ever could.
Depression has become an insulin injection
A necessary evil
Only required because I have been underneath it's moon so long
Any other tide pull would surely drown me in confusion
Being interrupted by far off people making exceptionally loud sounds while trying to write poetry is exactly like having a horrible toothache and trying to perform a tracheotomy on a rabid cat.