"absorbent" poems
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.
shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.
wipe your nose clean.
sbm.
today we have added notes for your interest.
A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.
The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.
Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
don’t worry about decisions anymore.
I can think for you. Here,
buy this brand of tampons.
Watch me now. It’s more absorbent. Here, stick them in your ears. You’ll have
s o f t e r
t h o u g h t s.
Pillowy white fluuuufffyyythoughts.
You don’t need your brain anyway.
no more thinking,
I can think for you.
here, watch me now.
Look at these happy plastic
assless women
wearing delicate bras,
so beautiful.
Why don’t you buy one?
they’re uncomfortable
well you’re ugly,
unwanted,
but you wear what
you
want.
Wear this bra.
Maybe it will keep your heart from aching.
You don’t need your heart; I can feel.
I can feel for you.
So watch me. Hey, look here.
Buy these shoes. They make your legs look like celery stalks, but your husband will “do it” with you again. That’s what you want, right?
right.
Put them on. Please your man, make the food, wear the shoes. Don’t think.
Please your man, feed the kids, do the work. Wear the shoes. Don’t you dare think.
I can
Think For You.
Aptitude is overrated. Your biggest asset is
your body, bereft of a brain. Don’t think. I can think for you.
Wear this. Buy that.
Spend your husband’s money, make him happy.
Please your man,
make the food,
wear the shoes.
Now, for your anxiety,
take these pills.
Three little blue pills, one big orange pill, one little white pill.
This one makes you skinny.
This one makes your teeth white.
This one makes you dumb, this one makes you numb.
Don’t think. Don’t worry about where your husband is.
He’ll probably come home tonight.
There is no divorce on TV, so it must not exist.
Don’t think. Oh, you poor little ****** woman.
Tiny, powerless drone robot. Don’t think.
Robots don’t have brains.
Dolls don’t have brains.
****
***
*******
legs,
don’t have brains.
Close your mouth.
Don’t speak.
I can speak for you.
That bra is uncomfortable?
Shut up.
You want me to wear a ******
Shut up.
You want to be yourself, with the brain, with the ****** with the
******* with the child. You can’t have all and be free. Choose.
Don’t choose. I will choose for you.
Please your man
Make the food
wear the shoes
There will be no discussion.
There will be no negotiation.
There is no **** on TV, so it must not exist.
No thinking
no thoughts
no brain,
just **** *** ***** legs.
wear the shoes, please your man, make the food.
Eat. Sleep. Breathe. Work.
Die.
Recognize the regulations,
recognize your place.
Your /place/ is in the shoes,
those d e v i l traps
eating your sweet feet.
all the time--wear them
They are
comfortable. They are ****
don’t think
don’t cry
don’t moan
whisper
whimper
Shut up. Don’t speak.
I will
speak for you.
Clocks, computers, **** ***
You
Are
Nothing
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:02 PM UTC
Sitting in her wheelchair,
Wondering what to wear,
Natalie, the Notorious,
Found her situation nothing short of inglorious.
Absorbent or plain, it didn't seem to matter,
Until, down the hall, she heard Nurse Agnes' chatter.
Her ears perked up, as did her head.
Glinting eyes showed much to dread.
Natalie said with all due sobriety,
"Here goes the plan in all its entirety."
She gave herself a wink, and tossed back a mickey,
Choosing her time, being quite picky.
Natalie searched out that sanctimonious nurse,
And giving vent to her rage, she let out a curse.
She flew from her chair, and let out a yell.
Frightened Nurse Agnes, in fear she did quell.
But Natalie's plan, to take the nurse down,
Fell quite flat, when she hit the ground.
Poor Natalie had totally forgotten,
The chairbelts kept her in, "Oh, how rotten!"
They snapped her back and she hit the floor.
The ice pick she had, flew into the door.
Really now, it's sad to say,
that Natalie the Notorious to this day,
Avoids plots of ice picks and death,
And focuses mostly on keeping her breath.
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
How you mesmerize
How you mimic the seasonal calm
And quietude of the restless ocean
How you bow in concentration
To arch your absorbent nature
And rapture in a cosmetic smile that
Swallows like a whirl pool
How you carry the gravitation field
And the forces that pull and bind
How you repel sadness and sorrow
In all faces and brighten some gloomy soul
How you set the stage for colorful dreams
And some “sweetistic” imaginations
How you define beauty in high definition
A creature of absolutely amazing design
Turning a ghostly atmosphere of earth
Into a haze of bliss and paradise scenic
Wafting some breeze of glory
Refreshing souls lost the inferno beneath
How you dim audacious eye gaze
By the razor of your eyes that pierce
How you outshine daylight and light
Outsmarting the very phrase neat and tidy
You’re the best and not the rest without debut
It’s why they find no rest and burst for you
How you dazzle and outwit
Injecting madness in minds active
Accelerating the speed of hormones
Beyond light or supersonic speed
Desire giving way to passion sway
And the vocal chords automated confess it
How you **** and make alive
When you put it short and tight
And the fabric can’t bear it a moment
Reproducing a perfect figurine clone of yours
As though you would burst out from it
Electrify and sizzle hearts inflamed
That’s how you mesmerize me
Walk no more in my sight her highness
How you catch my eye miss sacred
And reign enthroned in my frontal lobe
How you consume my thinkative energy
And gear on the driving seat of my life
Feb 1, 2012
Feb 1, 2012 at 8:10 AM UTC
The absorbent two-ply quilted southern sky
was soaking up the pre-dawn rays
as we were pushing our broken green four-wheeled machine
southbound on Bruce B. Downs
taking up the curbside lane
Our shirts were becoming stained with humid profanities
despite the fan blade traffic throwing a slight breeze
We were slurping brackish blacktop steam from the air
plodding like the Hillsborough toward our destination
My mind was already sauntering back toward a broken green futon
sitting in the section-eight, eviction evaded, apartment
Out the window cross-bred ducks were lording over
scrawny, pseudo-feral worm host cats
for which the knockabout neighbors kept a litter box outside
Jan 20, 2011
Jan 20, 2011 at 6:45 AM UTC
Bathtub music and drums played on the surface
of Davy Jones's mirror: the ceramic holds
the sea, the sea, and all within it: ***** me.
Scrubbed you off my skin again for
the umpteenth night in a row. Row
row row our boat away from the constant,
constant rows. Stormy arguments and
weathered mistrust. You'll break me,
won't you? I'll break you, won't I? Won't you
come drown with me Ariel? Won't you
come up with me to the kitchen and lock up
the door then lock up the oven then lock up
ourselves in carbon-monoxide poetry?
But then how does cooking gas end up as sass
in a library? How did sustenance turn into
asphyxiation? Why are our hands on
each other's throats instead of being binded
by the absoluteness, the certainty, the assuredness
of palms within palms and fingers interlocked
and question marks dispelled.
Splash! as way in and over my head
is the bathtub music
and my absorbent curls are
drinking, drinking, drinking, thinking
about the why you only call me when
you're drinking, drinking, drinking; thinking
about the way I cannot suppress you when
the cellphone has long gone quiet and
your Hughes of blue are still loud but
your red is dead.
Ariel, Ariel,
I want to be your dark-haired prince.
Ariel, Ariel,
my country is landlocked but I still see you in the sink.
Ariel, Ariel,
gurgling away as the bathtub music fades
into ugly brown rings around the ceramic
pause button
that shows no hope of continuation
Ariel, Ariel, you are the final splash!
as the false sea drifts away, the final splash!
that scatters bathtub music past the drain
and into the air. Ariel, Ariel,
you are the false rain
that my landlocked country never prayed for.
Ariel, Ariel, toneless, begotten and forgotten
Ariel, Ariel. I cannot sing for you. I cannot.
You will not sing for me. You will not.
The final splash! past the drain and into the air
is you Ariel. The false rain.
The rain song of our endless games.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Hey old woman
Underneath my shoe
Tell me
How do you like the view?
Go on and tell me
That you like what you see
Compliment my fine leather boots
Or the bulge that’s testing the strength of my seams
You can talk about my muscles
Or my perfect jaw line
You could even compliment my eyes
And tell me how they’re so sublime
Oh, excuse me
Is my boot on your throat?
Allow me to move it a little south
So when you talk you won’t choke
Can you speak up a bit?
I don’t think I heard you so well
It sounded to me
As if you said, ”GO TO HELL!”
Well, that’s not very nice
And after all that I’ve done
To just disregard everything
This whole thing could have been fun
You know what, that’s alright
You don’t have to like what’s about to happen
All you need do is lay there and take it
But don’t worry, I have napkins
Though they’re not very absorbent
So, I’ll have to grab some towels
To soak up your blood
And the entrails that excrete from your bowels
After that, I'll clean up nicely
So they don't find a speck of you here
Every detail I'll cover
They won't even find your fire red hair
Now, just lay still and be calm
I’m going to do that thing that I do
I’m glad you’re my lucky thirteen
I’m glad I found you there, under my shoe
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 3:51 AM UTC
These days drag on
while I drag on my finely
rolled cigarette of relief
But the relief is only a hazy
mask, fading with every lash
that falls on my cheek
My hair is too weak and
unkempt, for days spent
inside enduring darkness
take a toll on one's
mentality and physicality
I am a shell of who I used to be
Lips stuck together, crooked spine,
fingers jammed from carpel tunnel
Apathetic eyes grow weary from the
vast toxins that reside behind them
seeping through like an absorbent napkin
and rung out with listlessness
These days drag on and on
I hear the same songs
and make the same motions
I miss the fresh air and
the sound of the ocean
I almost miss the faint
smell of burts bees on
your lips--I'm sick with
nostalgia and dying for the future,
hating the present, wishing these
days would drag to an end
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 4:26 AM UTC
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
You’re a farmer in Drought Land
(How did I get here? you ask yourself;
How do you farm dry land? we ask you)
and the weeds grow and your crops die
You need water, water, Hard Rain, plenty of Solid Rain
and the chemical engineer
Velasco of Mexico, he got just that for you
It’s powder, baby –
looks like sugar, honey;
10g of Hard Rain absorbs a Liter of Water
and it’ll stay there on your land for a year at the least
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
it doesn’t evaporate and only the roots can drink it
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise -
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land;
it’s absorbent material -
this polymer, yeah baby, it’s called
potassium polyacrylate
and it’s coming to a dry land near you
it’ll lie on your land, and it’ll feed your crops
and you can sell your veggies to me
and that’ll feed me and my family
we’re just too many mouths to feed, you know,
all the 7 billion of us, baby,
on Planet Earth, on Blue Blue Earth
and maybe I’ll buy some Hard Rain myself too
for my own little Eden in my backyard
Oh, it’s Hard Rain, Hard Rain gonna fall on us all, baby
It’s Hard Rain going to come, baby -
that’s the promise
it’s Hard Rain on your Dry Land
*7 billion of us
that’s a lot of mouths
and tummies to fill*
Jul 17, 2013
Jul 17, 2013 at 10:36 PM UTC
Childhood is the sun shining bright
so bright that the rays' captures everything around you
Childhood is friends distancing from one another
so apart that hand to hand is now hand to air
Childhood is being the shortest
so short that people hover above you so tall like the NYC towers
Childhood is an elevator going up and down
so high all you can do is smile, and so low that you wonder how your smile ever turned into a frown
Childhood is a sponge
so absorbent that all the tears and laughter mixed into one
But mostly childhood is a story
so alluring with the beginning, exquisite with the middle, and outstanding by the end
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 4:40 PM UTC
Notes have shifted
to a higher ground.
tampered ideas
fluxed and drowned.
Ailing to breathe
on what ever means.
still a second choice.
has a champion to beat.
Legs are tired,
but giving up was not an option;
repeating agony
on love that has never blossomed
Still unnoticed
despite of all the fuzz
unsung and lowered
on his esteem and self trust.
How can you move
frowned dearest little boy.
when all you can do is stalk,
her little boy toy decoy
Without a question
you dropped badly.
without a help
and a friend to carry.
How would you survive
this grueling abduction?
without any kind of confidence left,
your ego's submission.
Feb 18, 2013
Feb 18, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
I come with an empty bottle guarantee
Take all of me.
If you're not happy with what you received
send me back empty
no questions asked.
And I'll return all our memories.
Eating hot dogs in D.C.
Late night breaks at truck stops
during our 28 hour round trip to see what made me.
You can play me like a violin
or use me to wipe your tears away.
If I am out of tune
or if I'm not absorbent enough
send me back used.
Treat me like a balloon
I'll be there when your kidneys fail
with a message of hope just for you.
But if that is not enough
send me back deflated.
I'll pay the postage.
Unfortunately, if you order now
I come with nothing else.
Just me, and what you see.
If I don't fill you up
send me back empty
and I'll return all our memories.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
I can tell she's been drinking by the discarded lemon skins dripping on the counter.
I clock them at quarter to three, or nine fifteen
and the clock reads ten past twelve, or zero zero one zero on the digital.
There's a dead energy, like watching a spider stand statuesque,
giving you the anticipation of feeling your skin crawl
when its threadbare limbs stroke the polished surface of your wooden floor
and the simultaneous begrudgement that it isn't instead rotting in a bed of decomposing soil.
The windows are unrelenting slabs of black
and the only light is a twisted regurgitation of the scene behind me,
a mocking parallel universe that blocks me from the outside of this hollow house.
I hear laughter lightly bouncing off the back walls
and I see, through God's black humour as it feels a miracle,
a light through the window, bobbing up and down through the movement of some silhouetted poltergeist -
the consumed, burning end of a cigarette.
And the light transfixes me, in all its seductive intoxication
as its products curl gently against the absorbent tissue of my mother's throat,
because it penetrates the darkness outside;
because black silence encloses me as it is pulled backwards
and is then broken when it is rocked forwards and laughter once again stains her nicotine-kissed lips;
because that bobbing light in our shadowed, rotting garden holds more power in that moment than either of us.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
The novelty of the young ewe
Blinded by its fleece
White is reflective of all colors
Absorbent of none
It stumbles about bleating
Intent on its own way
Falling in the crevice
Thinking it's reached day
But when the sun dips past the outcrop
And daddy sheep is gone
The little ewe will mewl again
And Pappy wolf will come
He knows the ropes
And he's no vegetarian
He ate knowledge
So he could come again
And he remembers
How the sheep forgot him
In their disorderly straying
Old and young alike, claiming the right to rule the kingdom that is his
And so with teeth he teaches them a lesson
A few bright ones he shares his land with
The rest are supper
Now that's Nature
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 1:29 PM UTC
Found myself centred around this river
As if it were my life, its shallows deepening
Into falling curves and rocky
Foundation, yet cluttered in part
With stagnating **** at other times
Flowing freely and softly engaging me
Without its steaming torrents.
The waterfall thinks it can engulf me and
I consider it at times denying it identity
But sometimes it speaks loudly and refuses
To whisper....’And so you’re there’ I say, and here
Its raging response tumbling me into depths
Out of my control..... or so it thinks.
I emerge for air and breathe in deeply
To sustain me, for when I speak
It is with something resembling coherence
To blag me time from the place of harm
Where it dips sharply and crashes onto slithers
Of icy uncertainty, I begin to wipe my brow clean.
Releasing me from its fooling ways preventing the air
Being squelched from me; take it easy with me
My mind desires you to behave and let me be
Don’t fool me into calm currents only to be tossed
Amongst the white watery crash of boulders rounding
Beneath me, sharp shards covered by your caressing hands
That persuades my innocent eyes to close
To the raging force of veiled kindness
I can remember the ripples of softness that would
Cover my palm with coolness
That dappled in sunlight, reflecting my face
Asking me to admire the stillness
And I believed in the sereneness of the ebb and flow
That sheltered me in fineness with absorbent lining
Reminding me of life absent to the steep slant
Towards the shelled out wreck of my world...burnt out.
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 3:34 PM UTC
Childhood is the sun shining bright
so bright that the rays' captures everything around you
Childhood is friends distancing from one another
so apart that hand to hand is now hand to air
Childhood is being the shortest
so short that people hover above you so tall like the NYC towers
Childhood is an elevator going up and down
so high all you can do is smile, and so low that you wonder how your smile ever turned into a frown
Childhood is a sponge
so absorbent that all the tears and laughter mixed into one
But mostly childhood is a story
so alluring with the beginning, exquisite with the middle, and outstanding by the end
Mar 15, 2014
Mar 15, 2014 at 5:43 PM UTC
light bulbs and cotton hankies .
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.
shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.
wipe your nose clean.
sbm.
today we have added notes for your interest.
A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.
The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.
Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
Jan 13, 2018
Jan 13, 2018 at 1:41 AM UTC
Stop wasting my time,
Let us go and unwind
Fete over, then rewind?
Stop messing with my mind.
Don't stop one more time
No secret, it ain't a crime,
Just for me? You're so kind
Yes, I know, I'm sublime.
Your love's abiding,
You got what I'm craving
You're there when my world's caving
Cause of you, I'm still surviving.
When I'm abominable
Your love's like a cradle
Whoa, don't break the table
**** you know you're able.
You are heaven-sent,
Hate it when you're absent,
So accustomed to your sent,
Of your love, I'm absorbent.
Jan 15, 2018
Jan 15, 2018 at 8:02 PM UTC
It always makes me wake up when it hits;
When a rivulet of sweat runs between my ****
I wake up thinking some bug is walking there
Because it tickles my manly bit of chest hair.
Guys are built much different than the rest.
We are not supposed to have issues with our chest.
But here I am trying to get some sleep
Suddenly aware my cleavage is too deep.
Stuff is happening backwards that should not
What we supposed to do with this mess we’ve got?
Something’s got the world all upside down.
God must be a freaky circus clown.
Regardless of some nasty radio rants
I have no problem with women wearing pants.
And in life today as I have always seen
The woman is often the boss, big and mean.
And I have heard, in current affairs and state
That men can even, in time, learn to lactate.
But this one situation in which I have *******
Threatens to unhinge and drive me a bit loopy.
I guess, with time, I will someday get accustomed.
And I know some old ideas need to be jettisoned.
But I never expected that this would be a year
For me to go get fitted for an absorbent brassiere.
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 9:42 PM UTC
They said Frank was lying in his field,
While the milk cows lowed,
The hungry sows squealed.
The midday sun and absorbent dew
Aroused the bachelor close to noon.
They said Frank was lying in a ditch,
His bike was bent, he'd need a stitch,
But there he lay in the early morning,
The lorries roared by,
Frank moaned and snored..
They said Frank was lying in a bed,
When two p.m. was still too soon.
He has missing teeth and window panes,
Lay on a mattress of mortal stains.
His papered walls like sun-burnt skin,
Peeling away and blistering.
His blankets are like stable covers,
Shared his thunder mug with his mother.
Starlings nest inside his house,
Blow flies light where his mother lies.
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
All the feeling,
Wrapped and deep,
My eyes so heavy,
I can't sleep.
Wash my skin with powdered bleach,
Can't get clean,
As your ***** thoughts sink inside of me.
I've become a pathetic waste,
Of absorbent space,
I feel myself dissolving slowly.
I am what I hate,
Isn't that great?
Unconciously bashing my throbbing head for some sense of release.
Change is inevitable,
Proven by this picture,
Unreachable,
Disappearing into mist.
Forced to forget who I used to be,
Stripping any sense of a former sanity.
Yet,
You're still beautiful,
In an acutely macabre way.
In all that you do,
All that you say.
I want to touch your lepers' skin,
Watch you melt away in shame.
Laugh at the pleasure I feel,
As you slowly engulf in my pain.
All the feeling
Wrapped and deep,
My eyes so heavy,
Finally asleep,
Struck with vicarious feeling of your body suffocating under me.
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 10:40 AM UTC
. light bulbs, cotton hankies .
all things are useful, bulbs
bring light , denote ideas,
good intentions, spent,
collected.
cotton hankies, frayed hold the books,
yet those with nylon, stretch the skin
resulting in red and soreness.
shy away from dangerous commodities,
use the best, those tradtional artefacts
which are gentle on your soul, bring light.
wipe your nose clean.
sbm.
today we have added notes for your interest.
A HANDKERCHIEF (also called handkercher or hanky) is a form of a kerchief, typically a hemmed square of thin fabric that can be carried in the pocket or purse, and which is intended for personal hygiene purposes such as wiping one’s hands or face, or blowing one’s nose. A handkerchief is also sometimes used as a purely decorative accessory in a suit pocket. When used as an accessory to a suit, a handkerchief is known as a POCKET SQUARE. There are a wide variety of ways to fold a pocket square, ranging from the austere to the flamboyant.
The material of a handkerchief can be symbolic of the social-economic class of the user, not only because some materials are more expensive, but because some materials are more absorbent and practical for those who use a handkerchief for more than style. Handkerchiefs can be made of cotton, cotton-synthetic blend, synthetic fabric, silk, or linen.
Historically, white handkerchiefs have been used in place of a white flag to indicate surrender or a flag of truce; in addition to waving away sailors from port. King Richard II of England, who reigned from 1377 to 1399, is widely believed to have invented the cloth handkerchief, as surviving documents written by his courtiers describe his use of square pieces of cloth to wipe his nose.
Jan 30, 2018
Jan 30, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
I don’t need all this ****** shit. Fuck you. **** elegance. **** arrogance. **** your infinitely vast reserve of information ultimately leading to information that already existed elsewhere and is already being over-looked, ignored, or forgotten by the hopelessly absorbent reader. Fuck what you think. **** what you believe. You’ll end up thinking in circles, cooking up what you’ve already thought, but this time in a different flavor. And you’ll believe the next person who makes eye contact with you for longer than 15 seconds at a time. Fuck your pen-pals. Update your status on a personal basis because if only 3 people care then what the **** do you care what the other 697 believe? **** you all. I ******* hate you. A bunch of snot-nosed-screaming-and-kicking-malignant-fucking-tumors spreading ignorant ******* rumors. Fuck your fear. **** your ******* plague that spreads nearly as quickly and in no way as apparently as the oil in our water. **** oil. **** assurances and insurances, you’re all liable to be unreliable. We’re all ******* lie-able and don’t waste half a second proving that. **** what you hear, **** what you wear, **** what you think is right, and especially what you find to be fair. Fuck every part of your own body to purge the incessant urge you have to **** every one elses’ with your ever-inflamed-self-absorbing-perversion-convulsions. Fuck Me, **** You, **** Yourself.
May 19, 2013
May 19, 2013 at 10:35 PM UTC
I live in a house
with wafer walls
paper thin
crispy, crumbling
when scraped, snowflakes.
I live in a house
with wafer walls,
sounds seeping
in the crisscross lattice,
in the holes
of the foam.
I live in a house
with wafer walls,
porous, absorbent of tears
and angry words,
melting feelings
in the middle.
Sep 4, 2014
Sep 4, 2014 at 3:15 AM UTC
as the catastrophic downpour rose its white flag,
the sun timidly peeks at the dawn of new beauty
the accrued water slowly and peacefully drifts
found myself baffled with your everlasting constancy
your infectious beam befriends my streams
manufactured absorbent of after-desolation worries
your enchanting chuckles as if nothing ever happened
but the water’s nature is to bid farewell and evaporate
Dec 2, 2015
Dec 2, 2015 at 11:34 PM UTC