They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tamborines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.

Take this feeling from my gut, or give me a gun
Carbonated soda in the pit of your stomach
And candy cane lips I wanna **** on
Excuse me for being crass,
but all I want is your hands on my ***
Your nails are gonna dig a thousand stories into my skin
And I've never felt more alive
Singing the absolut lullaby

I have to shower soon, and every breath of wind
that brushes against my ***** skin
reminds me of everything
I hope they don't tell you about this morning.


I smell like sweat and *****,
and all I want is a redo.
I want "may I?" eyes.

Write when you're drunk, edit when you're sober,
Right?

Here is
Unedited.

"Are we playing
Kings rules,
Or ******* a ****?"

Here is
Friday night.

And on the days
He lacks to shave,
I find it right
to compromise,
The only way
I'll feel his scruff,
is rough against
my thighs.

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

It's as though I put the blemish in the perfect peach...
I am suffocating under the weight of breathless air...
A comodity in which only I am entitled...
There is no light in the direction in which I adhere..
Yet, I aimlessly transpose further into the darkness...
I would have gladly ceased to exist, than to taint the life to which I was entitled...
And for this reason,
The puzzle has lost the pieces to finish it's picture -
To complete it's beauty..

I am not....

I added my date of birth to my profile.
It updated.
Next to the numbers is a "-" reminding me it could be over in a dash.