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 Feb 2015 The Jolteon
DustBall
We treat this school like a playground
Because the teachers treat us like ignorant children
We try to run away
But get caught every time
It gets boring and difficult
I feel as if I am an elementary student
The only difference is
We don't have nap time
Eyes watch carefully ,                                                                                                Ears hear fearfully ,                                                                                                  Hands tremble greatly ,                                                                                             Noses smell that gunpowder that fills                                                                      All places up ,and                                                                                                       Scared mouths talk about that war ...                                                                       At war and at anything like wars ,                                                                           No laws or regulations go on ,but                                                                             The volleys of bullets and the loud shelling are heard over there ...
A snifter of brandy leads to another
Soon I'll be tipsy, melancholy and discover
that two brandies do not an alcoholic make,
but a bottle? Now there's the shake.
This brandy brews the blues.
It's Amber caramel softness soothes your soul,
but screams the blues.
Your muse is lost in this bruise of blues
Like a long note on a saxophone disappearing.
Let's take a ride on down to the crossroads,
I'll bring the bottle, you bring the bottleneck slide.
© JLB
06/02/2015
19:20 GMT
Text her. Send her messages that she won't know how to respond to. she'll read them and put her phone down. Stare at the read receipt for hours until you realize she's not picking the phone back up, she doesn't have anything to say to you.

Eat lots of chocolate. It has serotonin in it, the happy chemical. When you cuddle with her, your brain releases oxytocin. As long as you eat enough chocolate (and throw it up) you won't miss the oxytocin one bit.

Bleed. When she tells you that she cuts herself, cut deeper. This is guerrilla warfare now, and for every shot fired you must fire back.

Read your messages. Laugh at the nicknames she used. "Princess". "Baby". "Darlin". You were never her princess, never her baby. She was the child and you were merely her plaything.

Make art. Write dumb poetry about falling in and out of love, take photographs of your ****** thighs, paint a picture using only shades of red. Let her figure out what all these things mean.

Drink. Green tea, *****, over-priced lattes. Stay up all night crying. Wear stilettos. Sit in art museums all alone and wonder if being a starving artist is as much fun as it sounds. Take long showers and harmonize with your favorite songs through your tears. Use heavier, blacker eyeliner. Spend time on yourself. Adopt a cat. But most of all, remember this:

You can only love one person. Choose yourself
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