"alarms" poems
Clock arms ***** upward
while the sleepers lie in their beds
thoroughly wet dreams
soak the ***** thoughts in their heads
Mothers obsessed with 7:00 am alarms
rush their ***** teenagers to designated stops
while a rising yolk shines bright
in eyes of sleepy pupils who wait for
a ******* on wheels
to shuttle them to institutions
addicted to #2 pencils
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 6:43 PM UTC
and i am eleven again
feeling like tomorrow
is a couple yesterday's ago
smothered in cayenne pepper
hot enough to take off taste buds
and tonight i am eating a meal
only worth burning
it tastes like my parents anniversary
it tastes like a zinfandel
left on the counter too long
it's a bad story, see
there's no silverware
'cause my mom sold it
to keep the lights on
and somewhere in heaven
somebody in a suit
doing commentary
on this fiasco
is telling someone else
in a suit that
"you have to eat love with your hands"
so we sit, four plates on the table
for the two of us
my brother's long gone
dad's even further away
& he's not the one who's buried
i carry both their names like anchors
that i cannot unmoor from
while she looks at the empty table
and says something about the news
she says something else
but she's not talking
we aren't proud of this, see
my dad likes to wax his car
he's proud of it
and my mom says
she sees a lot of him in my hands
says, i touch the things i find
like they didn't belong
to people sleeping in the ground
she says i touch photo albums
the same way-
you know,
i never used to believe
that history could repeat itself
not until i could
fast forward seventeen years
and still wake up to smoke alarms
how i would go into our kitchen
to find it empty
and the dinner smoldering
& my mother in her bedroom
looking through family photos
like it's a just another summer day
and the sirens are just the birds
i don't ask, i never say a word
in this moment
i am an archeologist
afraid to dig up the past
cause history repeats itself-
you see
my brother is dead
and my father is gone
they have been for some years now
and my mother
sometimes forgets
and sets their place at the table
like they're still here
and in the confusion
ends up ankle deep
in pictures of how it used to be
she let's dinner burn
and douses it in red pepper
hoping i won't know the difference
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 6:42 PM UTC
Human directives, veracities unverified
Bellies belching with anger, murderers
Udders dripping hate, foundling banters
Hunters striking the hungered, unfortunate
Glare sight to seek the truth, hold me lets sink
Tear motions and debates of inequality
My Dafur, the realm of the fur, demise
All armed in Sudan, the arid, a battlefield
Emergency alarms sirens from 2003
The indefinite complications and hunger
A land of the displaced, starving nomads
Hear me out in these non-dissolving conflicts
Guantanamo bay detention a prison vicious
A base for “war in terrorism”, reciprocal laws
Inhumane human interrogations persists
A breach, a revolt, the hunger riots devolve
Force-feeding, torturous measures applied
All undressed, humiliated, genitalia exposed
A Rwanda slain in divide and rule
Civil clashes, mashes, all trashed
Swaying war rapes, tapes, the raves
Machetes slashing necks and hands
A lust of power, a genocide slaughter
The Tutsi slewed and unsewn from a patch
Autocratic regime boring divisions
Territorial ethnic cleansing, a holocaust
The oppression of Jews, Romanis, Poles
Homosexuals, the disabled and mentally ill
Indifference pooled in pits and camps
The institutional social indoctrination
The honor and killing to expose shame
The violation and dishonor of moral fabric
For what is “good”, “bad”, fixated moral values
Buried waists and head, awaiting stones to hit
Confessional secrets of only what lays within
A torment watching witnesses, all dangling
Marxists calls ships to stow ashore
Masses kidnapped, confused in deceit
Invalid contracts awaits signatures
The white immigrants to be enslaved
All aboard, now abroad to revolve labor
Wage packages taken to pay for freedom
Humans bought and sold to be owned
Slaves yorked and counted as assets
Bounded to serve plantations and homes
A human, non human, a chattel, a slave
A debt ******* offended and *****
Untamed and made to obey a master
A falling global strings unturned
Tunes strumming hate, war and pain
Human trafficking, violence, inequality
Child abuse, civil conflicts, capitalists
Commercialism, zero hour contracts
For if we have no rights, I have none
For if we have no peace I have none
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 6:54 AM UTC
being gay won’t save me from touches i didn’t ask for,
because that’s what they are,
touches i didn’t ask for.
and you still punch me lightly in the arm,
like we’re fooling around, like you didn’t do anything wrong.
but i don’t like it like that,
i never have.
it feels so much worse when it’s forced,
or even when they're simple touches that the eye can barely see,
the alarms fire through my body at different speeds,
it’s absolutely riveting.
i'm learning the difference between want and need,
and i think when it all comes down to it,
you never even wanted me.
my eyes are up here,
not scattered in the crevices folded in my skin,
my eyes are up here,
but you don't care because you're wearing my favorite lopsided grin.
i believe in individuals having a right to their own consent,
and no offense, but you're not my romeo and i'm not your juliet.
liking the same *** won't save you from touches you didn't ask for,
because that's what they were,
touches you didn't ask for.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 6:45 PM UTC
You'll never know...
When you'll be head over heels
The most enchanting feeling in the world
Your unknown desires, it reveals
A current in you will endlessly twirl
You'll never know...
When happiness fills your heart
Having a precious bundle of joy in your arms
You'll realize in your life, he's the most important part
Not forgetting, he'll make the best morning alarms
You'll never know...
When your heart will be scrunched
Like a ball from a piece of paper
Feels like your chest is being ruthlessly punched
Your skin peeled off with a serrated scraper
You'll never know...
When a friend will turn his back
Whose hand you held, all these years
Intentionally causing an emotional attack
In disbelief, you gather invisible tears
You'll never know...
When you'll be caught in an unexpected plight
Daily reflections occur, due to lack of wisdom
To ease your dark path, you yearn for a ray of light
Nothing much you can do except to crave for freedom
You'll never know...
When the time comes, you might bleed to death
Tears will flow drowning your skin
As you breathe your last breath
You wish you had more time to atone for your sins
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 6:14 PM UTC
They say there was once a bird,
The silent type always unheard,
Hovering up in the sky,
For all of eternity would it ever fly.
The touch of a human upon it was always forbidden,
Making a biological secret be forever hidden,
Due to the transparency and the height of which cannot be reached,
It makes another lesson of evolution not breached.
What is know, however very little,
Is the bird makes one feel rather belittled.
It contains an immortality so great,
That it is forever the same and never grows from it's traits.
However, even though the phoenix of true legend is made of fire,
This version is something that will always stay higher.
It moves ever slow, like a turtle moving its bare arms,
Yet it seems as if it forever sounds its alarms.
Our alarms we sound at the dark times, though,
As this phoenix creature begins to cast it's own shadow.
All citizens race to their homes,
Awaiting a closer strike from the phoenix within the clouds that roams.
The phoenix moves, but notices no one near,
Feeling the shivering of the cold and the town's fear.
Emotion shows as small drops fall to the ground,
For the phoenix finally screams it's thunderous sound.
The great ground pound hits with the force of the phoenix's body,
As if saying, "I wanted to be nice, but you hate me now, so nobody stop me!"
One human man walks out to know what's going on,
And realizes that the phoenix is blocking the sun.
The phoenix above continues to cry
The tears that do not heal, the ones that fall into the man's eye.
He quickly wipes them off,
And then looks all the way up.
A question to the creature, "Why do you cry?"
The phoenix responds with another tear out of it's eye.
The man explains, "Now, listen please.
I only want to be the one to appease."
The phoenix slowly stops crying its last tear,
Almost agreeing to listen the man's prayer.
The man continues, "Unlike your brother who can heal,
Your tears can do the same as the unreal."
He explains, "Your sadness affects us all,
As are our ears deafened by your great call.
Now, all I hope for you is to select a different place and find it,
So everyone, including you, will have some needed peace and quiet."
The phoenix slightly nodded, with one last drop.
It suddenly broke apart, with one final pop.
The creature broke away to seek it's next destination,
As it needed to go away and not cause more devastation.
The phoenix is seen no more,
Though I'm people have still seen it before.
Look out in the sky with the best possible sight,
And you may see the phoenix still hovering in it's slow flight.
May 21, 2011
May 21, 2011 at 11:30 PM UTC
1.
Nymphomaniac-addicts,
Overweight bisexual vegetarians
Climbing trees to stay fit
and eating 80’s fried chicken *******
2.
just imagine
Aquarians full of class valedictorians
Swimming on display for graduation ceremony…
reverse-symbolism of how Moolch drowned His *****
3.
Better yet, just imagine
Holy wars,
Beautiful words written to describe the burning pains
Of holocaust...the Kristallnacht nights
Under the mistletoe,
Watching Hall of fame ball hawks on pivot toes
Driving through hoes
After the whistle blows
4
College Literacy classes teaching basic:
Ideas that good questions leads to good answers,
Reading reminders
Free association conceptual constructions
5.
But ************ professor:
free association **** shticks
misfires, false alarms
are all art, too,
Like sticking a dagger into an apple,
Not the edible, but the technology.
6.
Go head, deconstruct the philosophy
Of oral cute-tification,
according to the Tautology of Leviticus,
With the same three half truths, pogroms
against biological deviant... FLAGS!
7.
Cryptic gospels of a ************
Where three F.F.F’s
Stands for six six six
Like how 1mg of juxtaposition
And a dose of metamorphosis
is the repertoire of a king of curmudgeon
‘cause even the Holy Ghost
drinks from the cup of Christ’s blood.
8.
Reading,
Self-flagellation gospel-manual of Pope John Paul II,
At shrink sessions under the daze of heron Piper methysticum blunts
With sweet phat butts like lit lickerish that droop eyes
Like the psalm of Valeriana officinalis root extract.
Feb 12, 2012
Feb 12, 2012 at 12:46 PM UTC
The beast loving the beast he didnt have
sympathy for beauty and the way that beauty should be treated.
Beauty she didnt have the hard core nature of
reality that means the way a beast should be. Beauty and her Beast
The tender love and affection that beauty needed.
Was often ignore rejected and neglected.
from the beast.
The same way, that beauty wasnt able to
saddle the hard core meaness
and the rocky foundation.
That the beast was used to. To accept him being what he is.
Unloving uncaring ungiving.
because he is better known as this beast.
Beauty and her Beast.
Beauty would often be torn ravished and taken for granted.
While the beast would often feast on the tender meat.
Of Beauty! Ravishing and seeking, beastly taking.
Barely ever having anything descent to be giving.
No kindness no loving ways, no maturity.
Because the beast didnt even love himself.
This beast he be!
Sometimes as beauty would be recovering
she'd reach for him in his rocky
hard core places and it would leave her torn.
In tragedy torn ripped places because Beauty.
Needs peace beauty needs sweet relief.
That couldnt be provided.
By a ravishing Beast.
Beasty and her beast.
The way he seeks,, the way he treats the way he harms.
The way he rings alarms.
Beauty would sigh love me! The Beast would say Hate me.
Hate me I am Beast!
My Features are beast My ways are Beast.
My Heart is beasty. For I remember am Beast.
Beauty would cry Love me, desire me, want me,
Cherish Me, feed me nourish me.
comfort me, cradle me.
For I am beauty and I seek love and maturity.
I am Beauty. Do Not Devour me.
But nourish me and treat me kindly
And Know that I am beauty.
I seek sweet sleep sweet deliverance
For I am Beautiful I need not a Beast!
Don't be beasty let me transform you into my Prince charming
my romantic knight and shinning armor.
can I kiss the beast and he turn into my romantic beast.
By SelinaSharday.. All Rights reseved S.A.M 2018
Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
Forget chivalry
Forget familiar nicety
Best tread carefully
I'm not my usual me
I'll not be the hero... Doing good
Simply because I'm in no mood
I'll go about my business
Steer clear, don't be careless
No sweet chirping of birds
Only sarcasm laden words
I'll wear no smile... Only smirks
Behind which may hold sharpened dirks
Don't waltz into my space
Like you know your place
Don't think I won't lash
Don't think I won't be brash
No 'Mister Niceguy'
Just let this day go by
With no alarms, no surprises
No incidents, no clashes
I might be back tomorrow
But today you must know
As I lace my steeltoed boot
Today I don my antihero suit
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 10:29 PM UTC
Translation From Catullus.
Equal to Jove that youth must be—
Greater than Jove he seems to me—
Who, free from Jealousy’s alarms,
Securely views thy matchless charms;
That cheek, which ever dimpling glows,
That mouth, from whence such music flows,
To him, alike, are always known,
Reserv’d for him, and him alone.
Ah! Lesbia! though ’tis death to me,
I cannot choose but look on thee;
But, at the sight, my senses fly,
I needs must gaze, but, gazing, die;
Whilst trembling with a thousand fears,
Parch’d to the throat my tongue adheres,
My pulse beats quick, my breath heaves short,
My limbs deny their slight support;
Cold dews my pallid face o’erspread,
With deadly languor droops my head,
My ears with tingling echoes ring,
And Life itself is on the wing;
My eyes refuse the cheering light,
Their orbs are veil’d in starless night:
Such pangs my nature sinks beneath,
And feels a temporary death.
8.2k
Ignore the itch you can't scratch deep in the palm of your hand.
Ignore the morning alarms, just sleep right through them.
Ignore the sound of the coffee bubbling over, let it spill.
Ignore the toothpaste stain on your new shirt.
Ignore the voicemail notification, who listens to them anyway?
Ignore the mailman at the mailbox, he didn't really say hello.
Ignore the stare of the drunk man in your lobby.
Ignore the morning brigade of children running behind you.
Ignore the damage your heels are doing to your feet.
Ignore the whistle from the man half your height.
Ignore the traffic light, the cars are going the other way.
Ignore the loud honk from the trucker as he speeds off.
Ignore the liquor store, and the desire to take a shot.
Ignore the "Baby let me talk to you," from the **** wannabe.
Ignore the text message, don't let them know you have a phone number.
Ignore the cigarette smoke invading your lungs.
Ignore the baby boy getting slapped by his mother.
Ignore the bakery with the tres leches cake you like.
Ignore the bank, you're probably broke.
Ignore the homeless woman, she just wants to buy drugs.
Ignore the Facebook notification, just another ALS challenge.
Ignore the time, you're at work early.
Ignore the habits, listen to your conscience and speak loudly and clearly.
You are so much more than ignorant.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
You Sir, Are An Electrician!
**technocrat
— noun
a proponent, adherent, or supporter of technocracy.**
This city boy was expert at
Turning the lights on,
Unlocking the front door,
Putting new batteries in flashlights,
And calling the handyman to
"Please come upstairs"
When the degree of diving difficulty was a
Positive number.
Also,
Freezing the semi-permanently the DVR,
Triggering alarms,
Killing car batteries,
Making laptops question
Human sanity,
Tearing up when reading,
"Some Assembly Required!"
Raised in a city of experts,
He was unskilled in things electric,
Becoming apoplectic,
When a device had an
On/off switch that ignored him.
Somewhat famous he was,
For engaging the inanimate,
In a verbal dialectic,
Which included words highly phonetic,
But unsuitable for children's ears.
She was raised in rural pastures,
Corn fields used for hide n' go seek,
Riding goats after school
Just for fun,
Familiar with innards of
Deus ex machina, a/k/a
Minor engine repairs, and
Doing what he called,
Making reparations.
IOS7, heaven.
Cabling laptop to external devices,
Icing on the cake,
Dis and reassembling a German coffee maker,
Did not require calling an 800 number.
She never read an instruction sheet
Without pleasurable laughing at
Japanese English.
He was unashamed of his skilled
Unskilled characteristics,
For such is the way of the world
In the human kingdom,
Some of us two handed,
some of us, bi-standers.
But upon occasion,
He would bemoan his fate,
Decry his inability to survive
On a post-apocalyptic Earth,
Like the people on tv and movies.
Periodically he would grow morose,
Listless, at his inability to adapt to a
Point Oh world.
Uncomprehending
Icons and symbols whose meaning
Were wholly unintuitive,
He secretly ashamed of his need for
technological ******
She would sense his frustration,
Wipe away his inner condensation,
Climbing into his lap,
Whispering the following:
**You sir, are an electrician
of words, a verbal technocrat,**
Plumber of the depths where
Few fear to tread, explorer of the head,
Restorer of human paintings unmatched,
Without your ilk,
this world would be unbearable,
Your heart's warming silk
Comforts bodies and souls,
Speaking from experience personal.
Then, she flicked his
On/Off switch,
On.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 2:43 AM UTC
What is it men in women do require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
What is it women do in men require?
The lineaments of Gratified Desire.
The look of love alarms
Because ’tis fill’d with fire;
But the look of soft deceit
Shall Win the lover’s hire.
Soft Deceit & Idleness,
These are Beauty’s sweetest dress.
He who binds to himself a joy
Dot the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.
6.3k
pulling back the covers
dimming the lights
an owl calls
from the holly tree
just outside
of my window
the garden below
has grown beyond my control
weeds sprout vines tangle
in the summer squirrels gnaw
on the green holly berries
littering the courtyard
with half-eaten haws
in the spring mockingbirds
gorge on the bright red fruit
their florid songs
celebrating
light sky life sun leaf air
closing my eyes
I think back through the decades
to when I planted the tree
it was a time of hope
a time when we dared dream
of a world without
mortal enemies
when you could imagine
shaded islands of calm
hidden coves immune to rancor
now look at us
heads down lost hurtling
stumbling
under a trance
we have turned on one other
distracted by those
who grab wealth and power
under the cover of night
confused by the constant
trumpeting and alarms
blind to what we share
we retreat
into the darkness
of our fears
Tom Spencer © 2018
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 7:50 AM UTC
Translation From Anacreon
I wish to tune my quivering lyre,
To deeds of fame, and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
When Atreus’ sons advanc’d to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus rov’d afar;
But still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to Love alone.
Fir’d with the hope of future fame,
I seek some nobler Hero’s name;
The dying chords are strung anew,
To war, to war, my harp is due:
With glowing strings, the Epic strain
To Jove’s great son I raise again;
Alcides and his glorious deeds,
Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds;
All, all in vain; my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft Desire.
Adieu, ye Chiefs renown’d in arms!
Adieu the clang of War’s alarms!
To other deeds my soul is strung,
And sweeter notes shall now be sung;
My harp shall all its powers reveal,
To tell the tale my heart must feel;
Love, Love alone, my lyre shall claim,
In songs of bliss and sighs of flame.
5k
I'm barefoot in 46 degrees and I must remember that my perception of things must not encapsulate how I truly perceive. Soldered commentary is bleak but is all I've left, all my years have given me and my years have been few.
To be constantly bombarded with the question, "what is it that I really want?" is fervently exhausting and consistently hypocritical and I'm a hack. The conclusion is always that I'm a hack without a win to present or a failure to fall back upon. As a hack, I've left myself with very few plans to alter or hungry mindsets to feed.
After glistening the only thing that remains is to burn out and the thought of extinguishing so prematurely provokes a physical falter and frequent respiratory failure.
Ask your brother if he lingers at times. Ask your sister if sometimes, she means what she says and she should always say no. Ask your friends why you should be anyone's friend and whether or not the chance to swing into hyperbolic criticism ever affects how they make their choices, hoof their steps.
Their answer should always be no and their input should always be invaluable.
Ask yourself if brain power should always be set to alter mind power and ask yourself is alteration is ever even possible. The answer should always be no.
The conclusion to draw should always be his. The choices you make, always expert and ground out by consistent respiratory failure. Ask yourself if you'll always be an animal and when will that stop. Ask yourself if time will determine whether or not this "thing" is worth doing or this "thing" is worth composing. Ask yourself why you're not the young girl who sings soul on the street, whose tremble sets off car alarms and inner requisitioning. The answer will never be the same.
Feb 11, 2014
Feb 11, 2014 at 5:08 AM UTC
Verse One
Tie me down,
I'm scared of floating away,
Take the crown,
I'm tired of the game of swords we played,
Hold myself steady,
Soul is heavy,
I should have sounded the alarms
When the charm
Spilled from the heart in your hands
Chorus
I've torn down the walls in my home,
Won't build them up so I don't feel alone,
And you left me to clean up the tears you spilled,
Hide the mess and the shame of the time you killed,
Under the floorboards,
You were only bored.
Verse Two
Take my hand,
I'm too frightened to fall,
Beneath the sand,
To lose sight and sense of it all,
Step back slowly,
I'm so lonely,
I should have screamed when you struck
And I ran out of luck,
Yeah the glass was too **** full
Chorus
I've torn down the walls in my home,
Won't build them up so I don't feel alone,
And you left me to clean up the tears you spilled,
Hide the mess and the shame of the time you killed,
Under the floorboards,
You were only bored.
Bridge
I'm busy swimming through quicksand,
The pole balances in the palm of your hand,
Turn your back and walk away,
'Cause you were bored and I was your
Entertainment for the day
Chorus x2
I've torn down the walls in my home,
Won't build them up so I don't feel alone,
And you left me to clean up the tears you spilled,
Hide the mess and the shame of the time you killed,
Under the floorboards,
You were only bored.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 4:32 PM UTC
My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass
We linger longest over John
Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags
...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed
No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”
Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--
mostly
sorta
...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...
******* crazy-- John!
He was enough for one day at a time
like when
he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect
"Get off my fuckin' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!
He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”
My phone is set to speed dial
911
____
“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”
How we miss him now
How quiet
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
A heart that's filled up like a landfill
A job that slowly kills you
Bruises that won't heal
You look so tired, unhappy
Bring down the government
They don't, they don't speak for us
I'll take the quiet life, a handshake of carbon monoxide
No alarms, and no surprises
No alarms, and no surprises
Silent
Silent
-Radiohead
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
Blaze of a rubble-car a man in faded jeans shouts, hurls a bottle -- smash -- a thousand shards of
broken glass shine orange on crowded street.
Shouts, cries, infants sobbing loud---sirens, car alarms, a man ***** back his hand,
holding a brick---the crack of a driver's-side window breaking. Wild yells---everyone is
sprinting. Fire & wailing.
Sunny afternoon---birds sing in treetops; a woman under shade on sunlit grass in brown rags & an
old hijab sobs over a slab of concrete, decorated with flowers
and a photograph
with a golden frame.
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:00 AM UTC
Peppermint creme-filled fingers
dabble nothing;
sleep through alarms and dislocated anger sockets
every morning.
And there are flyers littering my floor
speaking truths I never wanted
and never knew
through band names shock factoring
their ardent prisons.
Attention is a world currency,
just like ***
just like symmetry,
and the plates shift
while my plates sit
in the aluminum sink
in my kitchen.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 1:02 PM UTC
In response to the text: *"who wants to get ********* this weekend?"*
I reply: I'll bring donuts, Gatorade, and Cards Against Humanity.
I tell the girls that the snacks are for them, so they don't get too drunk or hungover.
But really I know myself too well, and I binge when I feel lonely.
Its hard not to feel lonely, when you're the only sober one there.
At the Party:
Never Have I Ever reveals more than I ever thought it would.
I might be the oldest, but I am by no means the most mature.
Things I have never heard of, things I could have never thought of are things of which they speak.
Two donuts are gone.
Their alarms all go off at 10:00 for birth control. They take out their mini purse packs of 30 pills, no bigger than a credit card.
I don't take birth control, because my periods are regular, and well:
Depression+antidepressants+confusion of sexuality= no *** drive at all.
I mean zip, zero, nothing.
Leaving me to be the only ****** of the six girls here.
Three donuts are gone.
Hours ago though, I took my 300mg of Seroquel XR.
I timed it just right.
This time I won't fall asleep hours before everyone else
'Pong' requires drinking so I sit their and watch.
Four donuts are gone
Shots are taken.
I pour more tea into my mug.
Five Donuts are Gone
Drunk face-timing old friends who have moved away results in much yelling, and her hanging up.
I start a new group text where I talk only to myself.
All Donuts are gone
There is no wonder why alcohol and depression don't mix
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
I'm trying so hard
I don't know what to do
My heart is aching
Thinking of you
A small square of paper
Sits on my tongue
With razor sharp edges
and tasting of dung
It takes me to spaces
Deep in my mind
Where there's too many places
and not enough time
I've been drowned in guilt
and I'm suspended in shame
Repeatedly killed
like in a video game
Written upon
the sharp paper square
are words for destruction
and guilt and despair
It's a trip like no other
you won't even feel high
you'll feel like a bother
and just want to cry
'...You're wrong, you're wrong,
you're wrong, you're wrong
How could you do this
How could you
do this to me...'
I'm floating in place with
no lover to face
trembling, trembling
trembling heart space
I'm spinning in circles
looking for miracles
and it's proving to be
horribly difficult
Trying to fly
with no wings to spread
I crumble and cry
a song for what's dead
the sound of alarms
ring in my head
Take me
cradle me in your arms
Drifting in place
dead in deep space
You left me here with
tears on my face
Crystalline droplets
scintillating pearls
spinning in circles,
spirals, and swirls
Why did you think
to leave me alone
at the cold ugly brink
a frost to the bone
the cold hard shoulder
feels far colder
than a lifeless boulder
I'm cold, I'm
cold
I speak with my music
and these notes are my words
My harp is my voice
and these strings are the cords
I try hard to play
But you've cut them all off
My harp is left bare
naked, unstrung
I'll move all the pedals
But unto what end?
I can't speak my heart
I can no longer pretend
It's time to stand up
and take a great bow
Walk off the stage
The end is
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 9:17 AM UTC
Chemistry:
It is in your kitchen, the way you cook your food
Either it was boiling water for the soup
grilling your favorite steak for tonight's dinner
frying french fries for the kids, for this afternoon's snack or
simply freezing leftover foods for tomorrow's breakfast
and on rare occasions, burning your food to coal
turning your fire alarms on!
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 1:10 AM UTC