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Nik Bland Oct 2012
Take me as I am, please
No. Please is too understanding
Take me as I am!
Wait. Maybe that's too demanding?
I don't think we understand each other
Maybe we're over analyzing
It's just that when I look into your eyes I stop
They're hypnotizing
Stop. No. Rewind please!
But I can't, the words are out
Could you give me a backspace button for conversation
That would relieve some doubt
I want you
Argh! Too lustful!
I need you!
ACK! Too needy!
Let's just say the world's a candy jar
And for your jolly rancher I'm greedy?
No? Not subtle? Too subtle? Argh!
Why is it so complicated to speak to you!?!
I'm like a 3 year old whose trying to make a picture out of glitter and glue
And the supplies just keep sticking!
Do you understand what I mean?
I see the perplexed look on your face and...
**** it, woman, you're pretty
Ack! Rewind rewind rewind!
Stupid stupid stupid!
The only way to catch an arrow is to say you DON'T want Cupid
So I don't want you....yes I do.
No I don't!
But I do!
No I don't!
Yes I do!
NO! I! DON'T!
Look at her!!!
....okay, I do.
But you wouldn't give me a second thought if I told that to you
I mean let's face it, you're so out of my league that we're not even in the same sport
I'm playing with the tiny tikes and you're in the pro team's court
But I would be a fool if this wall was all I feel on my fingers
And as perverted as that sounds I let the joke just linger
Because you're beautiful and I'm me
And who am I to attain a girl like you
The boy whose glasses fall down his nose and is missing one or two screws
I just want a dance... and a kiss.... okay, just a dance
No, what I want from you is the guarantee of a second, maybe third glance
To see you in the hallways tomorrow and know I make you smile
To know that you affirm we danced and liked it all the while
I want to be more than wallflower material and I want the prime
So with shaky legs, a corny disco ball, and a bad song, I stand and I greet you
And ask could this dance be mine....?

Your move. Gulp.
Blah Humbug
blah
blah
blah blah
climate
change
argh
argh
argh ooh
****** chango
Cop26
Cop that
Cop out

by Jemia
Mystery Girl Jan 2016
You
Why did you do it
Kiss me and tell me you like me
Spend so much time with me
Make me like you so much
Just to turn around
And I don't know
I saw her
The girl you called babe
I would have waited
As long as you needed
Been here as your friend
Regardless of what happened
But I feel betrayed
You said you liked me
But called her babe
WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT
Michael Joseph Dec 2019
They were all looking at the bubbles then it popped.

“Argh! My eyes! Ma!”

“I told you, you’re not supposed to stare at the bubbles when it floats right on your eyes”
“But it’s beautiful and I see the mini-rainbows while it wobbles in the sky.”
The mother and the child went staring at the bubbles floating as they fly above the orange skies.
He blew another, carefully - eyes shining with excitement.
“Look, Mom! This one is bigger! I blew it slower than the other, this one will not pop.”

The cold wind blew with the ruffling of the grass as if clapping.
The bubble wobbled and wobbled on the orange sky
Passed by the resting sun, magnifying its beauty, it glittered.
The boy’s eyes shimmered in excitement.

Pop!

“Not again!” the boy sighed in exasperation.”
He asked, “Where do bubbles go when they pop?”
She looked at him intently.
She smiled, “they become the clouds, like tiny bubbles watching over us.”
“Why would they watch over us?”

“For in time, they will know that the sun will burn our skin, then they will come as rain.”

“Well, let me make more bubbles, so we can play with You in the rain.”


Don’t Forget the Bubbles
Praying for the intercession of St. Philomena and St. Elizabeth Seton, patron saint of infants and parents who have lost their child.
For the young soul of  Von Abraham Tapit, may you rest in peace.
For Mercy Aguilar Tapit Lito Tapit Divine Grace Aguilar Tapit Eunice Tapit Mary Evangeline Tapit Eman Tapit Riza C. Tapit
At the end of this time with ????, I will look back on my emotions and force myself to believe they’re lies; this is in order to save me the burden of missing him but no, they’re the biggest lies I will ever force myself to tell. I think I love him. I love him like a friend. No. I love him like a…I’ve never loved someone before so I cannot make a comparison. I don’t know my limits or boundaries. Love is a limitless emotion. We have the capacity to love all with no end. I love everyone. I love ????. I want him to drown me with his presence, but I don’t want to dominate his time. I see him rarely in comparison to, most of the people that go about this relationship business- even those long-distancers with their Skype.
Whenever I do see him I want to hide in his arms, his kiss, his passion, his slumber. I want to lie on a space of grass with him, smoke and stare at the sky. We will look at the blue for so long that when we come down and look at each others faces we can see the sun circles fill our pupils. Then they will clear, revealing the space in our eyes. Unlimited life, galaxies and possibilities. We will claim we can see the future, our souls intertwined in a dance of laughter and stumbling. We ignore the stumbling, unsure of what disagreement may do to us. We debate, but on meaningless things which just spark our conversation and ends up in heated kissing.
I’m scared of his eyes. I will die in those eyes, when he inevitably leaves me for a pretty girl with a smaller **** and bigger rack. But then I see us bumping into each other in town later; he left the girl and wants someone less vapid. I giggle, he chuckles. We look at each others eyes, and like blinking back the burning sun spots we blink back our old, shared feelings. Our terrestrial sphere. Our insides whine, we ache, and we leave, part. A weeknight later I go to a party, I get drunk, I see him. Sun circles. I sit in the garden in my solitary hallucination, smoking the hell out of a pack and imploding into ash-ened lungs. I see him again, meters away, smoking. I call his name, he wanders over; and then we drink ourselves blind and make out. It starts again the same way. I worry.
I love to say his name, it’s like my tongue has turned to smoke and is floating away from my mouth in dissipating curls; I don’t say his name often. If he says my name I disintegrate, my shell chips away, my love for him increases. When he laughs and his face cracks into light, I want him. I want him to want me. I want him to think about me when I’m not around. I want to make him happy. I want him to love me. I want him to lust for me. I don’t want him to hurt.
He used to hurt himself when he was a small kid. He burned and he cut his neck. He was hospitalized a lot. He moved from Scotland when he was young. His favorite color is purple. His ex was…I just don’t want him to hurt. I ache when he tells me about everything that hurts him and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to hurt…I want him to skin me alive and use my layers as a blanket; if that means I can comfort him then, so be it. If that was the only way, I would let him, just so long as he can drown and suffocate his hurt. I will strip and hold the blade against the flesh myself if it spare him the damage. It’s such a ****** way to think, but my heart and brain agree that I would do anything to make him happy.
I would time travel, and cuddle him before he even started entertaining the thought of harming himself. I will dress up as one of the main ***** fairies from Zelda – I don’t ******* know, those fairies creep me out. If one of them told me not to hurt myself I wouldn’t out of fright towards that face. Argh those fairies faces…
...????….
You’re turning me obsessive; I smell your scent and I feel like you’re wrapping yourself around me. You’re so, so, so intelligent; I don’t care that you think you’re not…you are okay. You are the most intelligent guy I’ve ever met and ever will meet. You’re a sucker for keeping people happy, and that’s adorable as ****. You will never leave someone looking a bit sad, you will strive to make them smile and spark their inner fire. You’re a lighter. You’re someone everyone needs in their life at some point. Those who are lucky enough to share your time own the world, you are the greatest honor to accompany. I will continue to praise you because you are the embodiment of good. I would say perfect but, you’d argue against it. Why? No-ones perfect, but people are amended, think karma…yours is balanced. You’re perfect for your friends, your elders, your peers and me. I am an unrequited love for your entity. You drive me mad; mad with every emotion I can think of. I feel so happy. With you. Happy. Light. Sun circles. Usually I’m empty. Passive. What I know for sure is that, I love you.
I'm not going to tell you who ???? is. I was very drunk when I wrote this, and seeing myself be this...weird is not common. I don't like admitting my love for people but i think ???? deserves it...he will never see this though.
just moments ago, i went online and tapped Google
   if some miraculous spell
   could be drawn out of thin air
cause (this house husband

   feels a bit embarrassed to divulge),
   but at present,
   the will to live aye cannot bear
cuz  after an ample lather of soap and shampoo,

ah pronounced heady effect became immediately clear
where times gone by
   (even as late as early January
   tooth how sand and eighteen),

   the strands clumped, glommed, and matted together
   as sieve ma noggin got sat upon by a deer
no matter after shaking head banging fashion
   (imagine rock stars of yore

   whipping their wild locks) from ear to e'er
butta noah such dizzy inducing antics
   resulted in absolutely no fluffiness,
   hence my worse fear

(irrational?) yes, an obsession i.e.
   thy hirsute outgrowth fixation dated back
   tummy boyhood when cranky gear
and defective cogs somehow impacted

   preoccupation concerning
   every singular follicle fostering hair
strand, but during prepubescence,
   this now grown man took a fancy
   to this, that, or the other lad,

   who sported a style envied yours truly,
   hie wished said thatch tubby upon mine
   ma lil oblate spheroid,
   and pleaded (weathered and in vane)

   with fate to make magically ap pear
this, tis minuscule wiggle room
   to muster support from rear
guard, hook offer me wiggle room

   asthma body electric goes on a manic tear
precious seconds ticking closer
   to the final count down where
this mwm might remain bed ridden
   for an entire year.
Carolyn Jul 2014
Me: RIGHT! I DON'T DESERVE WHAT I WANT BECAUSE I DON'T DESERVE ANYTHING!
him: I never said that sweetie.
Me: YOU ******* IMPLIED IT
I never ask for anything because you always ******* say no!
Every time you trust me and I'm good you take away my privledesg
so whats there to stop me from doing whatever the **** i want?
I mean, seriously
Like, ARGH!!!
Dad: Carolyn, calm down, you need to look at this with logic.
Me: I DONT EVEN KNOW WHY I'M YELLING! THIS ISNT THAT ******* BIG A DEAL!
GOD!
UGH!
I just had a fight with my dad, so i thought I'd write it down. Its really ****** actually. Posting it anyways
Upon (die) re rhea ding previous poem
     All In The Name Of "Progress" zen
a glaring, leering,
     and twittering left par wren
     dared to a right (i.e. bribe)
     corrective punctuation measure
     slyly slipping Special Ops symbol ")"
     for so many yen,

thus see slipped thru my excellent
     proof reading, when
lo and behold consternation,
     inconsideration, and perturbation
I thought to take a page
     from playbook of Sylvia Plath,
     and stick my head in the oven
but lo, a sardine recipe

     (though a bit fishy),
     could be found necessitating cauldron
     only available for purchase in Turin
thus donned with a shrouded cape,
     aye didst make whoosh,
     hence, went there and came back
     and frankly tubby earnest,
     thence began stir'n

a bubbling concoction brew
though duration for perfect consistency
     aye lacked any clue
thus, needed to contact
     Hannibal the cannibal
     asper what to do
in order (I explained)
     to sever livingsocial,

     and forever hang my head in shame
     cuz, accidentally omitting
     one right parenthesis too few
hence, esteemed flawless glory,
     (sans error free grammarian
     reputation pitched downward
     where careless evinced
     Kamikaze nosedive, where

     matter of fact gross humiliation
     instantaneously grew
and the only viable option
     forced me to hew
admitting to egregious, fatuous, abhorent
and readily confesses
     compunction viz, grievously
     blatant Anglo Saxon

     Horrifying transgression
involving backward curved "C" sin bent
a most execrable,
     incorrigible, and unforgivable
     literary faux pas incurring
     major cosmic event
stripped of title special
     Das Scribe double bubble "A" gent!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Upon complying never to err again
Matthew Scott Harris since
     accepted plea bargain
accepting sentence resting his chin
til indelible necklaced "U" lettered grin
forever visible to kith and kin.
Sum It Sep 2013
Annoying Affections of mine
For reason I do not understand
For reason I should have understood
but which do not get inside my head
or which are unacceptable on my heart
I suppose that is why it is said
Being blinded by love; literally
Sarcastically; Seriously.

Annoying---- that is the exact word;
the word to describe my feelings;
my feelings which I suppose as
emotions of affection
but Annoying --- this is to her
the woman I show
my emotions of affection

Texts carrying my Number
Mails sent from my address
Phone calls with my voice
Letters with my initials
Best wishes with my deepest regards
if anything is connected to Me
My and Mine
annoying--- that is the exact word;
Argh! Annoying affections of mine!

Affectionate chills
Flames of annoyance
burns these hearts: hers and mine!

Sigh
*Annoying Affection of Mine
Written on August 6, 2013
Michael Murphy Jul 2018
To travel to a place
Of wonders, few have ever known

To see the beauty under
So seldom has been shown

Explore the valley lush
Such pleasure lies within

Exploding in such rapture
Exposing lovers skin

To feel her hands upon me
My world begins to quake

Just about to taste her lips
Is the moment I awake
Not sure if I love those dreams or hate them
Adeoye Favour I Jun 2019
Molten Magma  
There is nothing after no more
And no more after nothing

When a rock get crushed
When a mountain turns powder

When a bone is broken
When the baoba is fell

When monument burn to ashes
When the land rupture
       Giving way to fiery fury
And chaotic chasm,
    
Then there is nothing after no more,
And no more after nothing

When the beginning takes off from the end
     And the end from the beginning
And a poor soul at the receiving end of their tyranny,
  
Then there is nothing after no more,
And no more after nothing

When a poor soul had been poured
like a drink offering,
He becomes the cup and the drink,
He is a product of time immemorial  and
disruptive transformation,
  He becomes the fire and the ice,
  The wind and the whirlwind,
He becomes the roaring thunder
       And the thunder roaring
Argh,he becomes the molten magma,
Threatening the foundation of the cosmos
*Fell (transitive; to strike down,**** or destroy)
© Adeoye Favour I.
@Favwrites
@Favcreatives
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zTgCn4qmRvU
Sometimes, i think i knew who you are,
because i build you in my mind,
and this makes you ok.
Like i have looked through the eye-hole
of my handmade gun,
and let you come in.
Though really,
i don't know who the ******* are,
or who the **** i am dealing with.
I don't understand, 'you'.
I don't get why, i have to leave, to walk away,
but yet,
I want you to follow,
even just to ask me if i am ok,
even just as a friend,
and it didn't matter that we had ******, quite a few times.
Did i hurt you?
No, i definitely don't think so.
Do i appear emotionally erratic?
I don't think so, but,
Yes;
because people like you, and before you, before,
used words i don't understand to hurt me,
uttered from their mouths, that they then used to kiss me
and tell me 'it's alright', or 'you're mine', or 'you're beautiful',
and you knew about them,
or am i erratic because i wish to mean nothing more than great ***, wine and food, to you,
but, some kind of respect would be nice;
i mean, i show more love to my hamster, and he can't talk.
What's wrong with that?
I don't mean to reel you in,
and have you;
Indeed i like you a lot,
(sorry liked),
but i don't understand why it is easier to ignore me,
than talk to me,
or is it because,
because you can't feel anything then,
or you handle the madness you created?
Or was it my madness to begin with?
Or was it just you being an emotionally errant piece of work,
who once got your heart broken by someone you unequivocally loved,
and it divided you, and both made you in to the man you are,
So, who are you? Man or mouse?
But also,
is it true that you can't handle the knowing, that, you did this.
To someone you liked.
I know, because you told me.
Because its easier to ignore and pretend it never happened.
That's such an easy play....easy peasy lemon squeezy *******.
You are responsible for your fuckwittery.
You reacted in a emotionally unintelligent childish way,
calling me names, ignoring me, judging me, telling me i had a certain disorder,
(tho you never read Kant, left school at 16, and well, no job, slept around, lived in a fantasy land, anything else? Exhibitionist? Master? OCD?)
**** knows, but i didn't fit in with your world.
'you are a victim, you play it so well, you're looking for a hero'
Now that was a good one,
so good it broke my heart,
and i never even loved you,
but apparently you thought it was ok,
to break another human being, just because you can't handle........what the **** is it?
So now i think i know who you are,
I test you once or twice,
I contact you,
because I like to believe in some insane, maniacal way, we were, ooooh dare i say, friends...?
And the reaction is the same.
So it lends me to believe,
you liked me enough to **** me,
but when you liked me enough to care,
or because i 'would mean something to you',
or 'you don't know me at all',
or did i emasculate you?
and that, it really really, wasn't ok.....
So here is my responsibility taking effect;
I am truly and utterly sorry if anything i did or said hurt/offended you in an invisible manner i knew not of because i didn't know you, and you didn't let me in, for many reasons, (probably the aforementioned heartbreak/or your masculine ego), and i am sorry if i somewhat acted erractic, crazy, stalkerish, because i had no clue as to what was going on or had happened, with us.
Enough?
And, phew, argh,
For something i do not understand,
I see through you,
but me, in my own wonderful way
think you're more than that,
a better person;
but i did not deserve your full on ******* egotistic-defense full on eradicate mode,
(because one of you,
one of you, i really loved.....
but its ok because,
born a rag doll, always a rag doll, isn't that what you said?
To think that, I loved you **** good baby)
'You do it yourself, you do'
That's a good one
And no, I am no more 'mental' than you are a '****'
Think about that as you judge me
on your internet throne
ignoring me on your black book phone.
What the **** is this ****?


Revelation through writing has never been so empowering.
Megan Hoagland Mar 2013
Why can't I write?
The words refuse to flow
or drop like rain...
All inspiration stuck
in the great in-between.
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
First see new photo, or else won't make sense.

Word is out
Animal kingdom on red alert,
No animus allowed near the chair,
Tween human and animal.

Good eats, good writes to be had,
Near that ye old adirondacke chair,
Where scribbles float in
L'air du temps,
Ripe for the plucking.

Arrived in the night dark,
Twelve eyes grinning, sheepish,
Wasn't tho no sheep, just a  veritable
**** deer herd munching the shrubs,
Who when head lighted, indifferently said,
Yo *******, it is September, remember,
Get the fk off **our
lawn!

Argh.

Morning.
Coffee-armed. Tablet shotguned,
Went to write in the fall sun,
When to my shock n' awe,
A gaggle of geese, awaiting.

And I mean a good-god-**** giggling-gaggle, no sht!
Probably resetting, resettling, looking for forgiveness,
For ******* all over the hard scrabbled grass.
Well no atonement boys, Yom Kippur notwithstanding,
I ain't the forgiving type!

No, no poet!
We stand before you on the Jewish Judgement Day,
Decorously waiting, in a row,
Before the throne, tho honking a little rudely,
Impatient for inscribing in Natalino's
Hall of Fame, Book of Life for the coming year.

Harrumph.

Well, in that case,
(Ego melting secretly inside),
Here is a poem just for you.

Fly south safe,
Inscribed and sealed you will be,
In both the Book of Life and Prosperity,
But only if you, stay off my grass in perpetuity!

Done and off they flew,
Me smiling, proud of my new fame,
Until I found their presents
Under my flip flops.

******* deer.
******* rabbits.
******* geese.

I wish they were not such
Poetry fanatics.

Ok.

Forgiven.


10:11am Yom Kippur morning.
The photo of a dozen plus geese lined up to hear me recite has been changed.   Send me a message if u would like to see it post reading the poem. N.
Cry Sebastian Dec 2009
Hide and seek,
I take a peek,
you come so near
then disappear.

I see your smile
but in just a while
I'll hide away
for another day.

the game I play
is truth and dare,
I've worn it out
like an old worn rag.

I don't know you,
you don't know me,
I wont tell
but I actually care.

It's a shallow life
and a shallow dream,
alluded hope,
illusion love,
you're not actually there-

My million pretty faces on an empty fake pedestal.

You weave through my life
like a dream
turned nightmare
turned dream
turned nightmare.

Time is so ****** short to waste it on *******,
Cant you see I'm trying to find you?
How high must I build my castle?

How is it that you're so illusive and far away-
but your scent fills the room
and chokes me with sweetness?
I hate this incessant soppiness!
Argh!

My crazy obsession I try to lie and hide so well-
But it's written on my face in flashing neon colours,
desperation is so ******* unattractive!

Where in heavens name can I find myself a cheap plastic heart?
That doesn't breathe
or feel the need to heal?

If you want money I'll buy you.
If you want freedom I'll lie to you.
If you want a bicycle-
well I'm not really into cycling but I'll see what i can do.

I see so much fear in your eyes-
relationships shipwrecked-
and now you've made your mind up about the facts of life.
You've become the rock of Gibraltar-
tough as nails.

You're scary-
ready to weather any storms-
lonely-
but I still know you're soft inside...

You're just choosing the lesser of two evils-
well for now at least.

I know you still cry for your dreams,
stories that make you long,
but then you remember.

Hey! I get just as **** scared.
I mean, who burns themselves time and time and time again
without changing their formulas on life?

I do.
Anais Vionet Jul 2023
When I was little, my stepfather and I would be outside, coloring the driveway with chalk or throwing a frisbee and he’d stop and say, “I’m gonna go stir your mama up.”

He’d go in the house, coming out minutes later with my mom hot on his heels, waving her arms and haranguing his retreating back. She couldn’t see the big grin on his face as he approached me, “It’s good for her heart,” he’d say, chuckling and resuming whatever we were doing, “We’ve got to keep her on her toes.” He’s a master of dolorous mischief.

Flash forward to a cold, dark, Yale, winter evening in 2023. Peter and I are in the suite’s common room. Four dorm rooms share this ‘living room’ area but we’re alone, which was rare.

I’d been reading for about an hour and I was only half done. A chemistry PSet was next. I closed my Chinese language studies book and looked up. Peter was there, sitting on the floor, leaning back on the far end of the red corduroy couch where I was sitting. His long lanky frame was curled around the book he was reading, like an awkward python.

As I watched, he plucked a mint-chocolate milkshake off the white coffee table, bringing the straw to his lips without ever taking his eyes off his book. Homework, homework, homework.
I was bored and wanted a little attention, a little fun.

“Was I your first choice?” I asked him, as he noisily slurped at the last of his milkshake.
“First choice for what?” He asked.
“To be your girlfriend,” I clarified, emphasizing the last word.

He thought for a moment, “No, I had salty love-jones for Ivy Waters in second grade. Why?”
“I don’t know, It just occurred to me to ask,” I confided. “so, why did you choose me then?”
“Well,” he said, raising his eyebrows in all, fake sincerity, “you know all the best jokes,” and with that, he went back to his milkshake (argh!).

“I know, you’re finishing your doctorate,” I said, “but you could be a flight attendant!”
Peter stopped trying to stir the last of his milkshake into a slurpable lump and froze in thought. “It’s TRUE,” I continued, “Really - you need to be flexible in your planning. I read that most physicists slave away in povertude.”

“Povertude, huh?’ He said, and resumed his mint-chocolate work - his straw making a loud “ssssuuuuusssssskkkkkkkkkk,” empty-cup air-******* sound.
“AI isn’t going to replace **** flight attendants,” I offered, as my last argument in the matter.

After a moment he asked, “You really think I could carry it off?” Putting his palm on his hip and wiggling his shoulders in a provocative shimmy.

“I KNEW you’d leave me at the FIRST opportunity,” I said, turning sharply away, pretending to ignore him - the universal cap of girlfriends everywhere - with a condensed absence of attention that, I hoped, spoke unspoken things.

Setting his milkshake down, he gave me a lecherous smile, which made me giggle, and began crawling in my direction.

“Eeek!” I shrieked, laughing, as he climbed up on the couch, “I still have homework!”
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Dolorous: "causing grief."

Slang…
PSet = problem set (homework).
salty = mad
love jones = crush
provertude = the state of lifelong poverty
cap = playful insult
MysticRiddleton Mar 2018
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best poem ever
Hurricane Mathew

I ask a third or fourth time,

When is it supposed to hit?

I ask

one second time later

But it's the

New day

Not a one

And not a

crucial
piercing

blue day




A simple tiny little
                    You
Day


Reformat

My mind from memories


Thinking then

Then the thought

making steps
a bit more pleasant

Healing the try and burning the gauze

For a brighter

(And th3n)

purified future

The outcome father,

Has me quoting melodies
Closing my eyes

So that now I am seeing

My childhood's house burn


I chew the candy now


Pink...

... moving lobes


Moving...


the boys scratching your newly
(Insert ****** possibly insectuous) painted siding

And that wasn't remembering



That was
   (Or is it now)

Over and over
And it's over

Oh so oh oh


I mix my mediums

You've made a mistake



I mixed my mediums


Betrayed by blood magic



A sequence of sounds

The pen

A barn

And my
((And mine alone))

Crystallization

.

I wondered once
And surfed

I lied once
And shivered

I woke up
And spoke once

A pool of blood
((Nurses telling you))

It's a lot of blood

And the drummers shake

My death

My . .


I wish to say
My pen leaks


Wish and pray because of Saturday

So today I stay
  


   A madman

Oh...

so

mad
Man


Breathe wind breathe .

Breathing.

Win.

Win but breathe.


The shorter term breeze


And you'd say (I hope)


There he goes again.


Argh she blows.

Again.


And I continue this


A death without

A death  tasting oh but so foul


Picture me as I stay asleep


A microphone's pop

Ad

And the sweetest feeling of kissing me

Not knowing

I cramp too soon

And I hide
bug poison
In my thinning hair


But what is that?


Virulity is

And power....


And all of this....


It is abracadabra

It is alakazam.


Life is a few minced words..
Tragedy
FILTHY DIRT
nestling between my toes
AND EATING ME
while I sit and wait
FOR YOU, YOU *******
to come back in your usual manner
AND BEAT ME UP
and watch me cry warm,
SALTY ******* TEARS.
...
ARGH!
Okay.
Am not sure if I genuinely like you
Or its the alcohol talking
In my sober mind the thought of you thrills me not
Yet when I'm intoxicated all I want to do is say something to you
I'm pretty sure I'm drunk
Coz otherwise I wouldn't have texted you
They say alcohol makes you brave
Brave enough to say stuff that's on your subconscious mind
More like brave enough to do something stupid
I don't know...I can't tell
Coz am drunk
Ask me tomorrow, perhaps I'll be able to analyze it
Argh who cares
It doesn't really matter
I'll just toast it up
Drink up to my subconscious mind
Coz at least I still have one... Right?
Show me the text tomorrow so we could have a good laugh.
NitaAnn Jul 2013
A bottle of white...a bottle of red...perhaps a bottle of rose' instead...…
A bottle of red, a bottle of white...Whatever kind of mood you're in tonight…
Thank you, Billy Joel for the prologue…
I am literally swarming with the urge to hurt myself tonight.
My skin feels like bugs are crawling all over me.
I'm barely breathing.
Right now I am tense. I am frustrated. I am angry.
I have a migraine. I feel out of control.
I can’t breathe.

Argh!!!! I want to take 10 Ativan
And wash them down with a bottle of white & a bottle of red,
But I don’t want to deal with the side effects tomorrow.
Seeing that my head hurts already,
I should probably refrain from adding bountiful amounts of sulfates to the never-ending ache. Breathe. I’ll give it an hour.
I would think that if they can make glasses in about an hour,
Surely I can talk myself in from this ledge.
I just need to breathe.
It’s that simple – freaking breathe!
I’m sure I’m rambling now…I'm just trying to ride this out.
I just need to breathe.

GD! Shut up about the breathing!
I'm trying to breathe.
God, my chest hurts right now.
It feels tight, constricted – that’s why I can’t breathe!
Okay.....think…what will help?
I wish I could hear your voice right now!
Tell me to freaking breathe!
Remind me where I am!
What the hell am I sitting on….I’m not hot or cold.
But my freaking chest hurts!

Still trying to not go down the “dead-end street of self hatred”…
Trying…trying…that’s all I can do, right?
Try. Breathe.
Trying to understand why?
I seriously need to puke.
And I want to cut myself.
But instead I’ll go shut myself in the pantry and scream into a kitchen towel.
I need an escape and I want to go away right the f@#k now!
From what?
Frustration – anger – fear- no one listening to me?
Is anyone out there?
Nope – all I hear are the voices inside of me.
Nothing else!
Just the freaks inside of me who won’t shut up!!!!!!

I’m breathing….
Okay!....
I’m freaking breathing!
I am exhausted.
I have zero energy -
There are dishes in the sink
And I’m too tired to do them
(tomorrow morning when I have to look at the filthy mess in my kitchen,
I’m going to beat myself up about it).
Why do women that i like
Always say **** like
"I like you , but I'm not ready for
something serious!"....right ....

Sounds like ******* to me
Cuz if she liked me she'd be
Ready, but instead she
Doesn't sag what she means

Cuz what she means is
"I think I'll wait for someone better"
Cuz I'm good enough to be
Friend zoned,  but she'll never

Admit I'm not good enough ever
Cuz I've seen this before
Some people get scared hearing
Gun shots but A closing door

Causes me way more horror
Cuz truth is the whole package
Doesn't consist of a fat body
Cuz I maybe cute but unattractive

Overall, so overhauled yet again
Is the familiar reflection
That personifies rejection
So I'll answer the question

Of why she doesn't like me
Cuz I'm a sketchers, not Nike
a no name handbag, when Gucci
Gets the coochi, so ***** likely

Will go to some ******* unlike me
With less heart to offer
who will take her for granted
But as long as he's hotter

Or makes money like a doctor
He's automatically above
I guess that's why I need drugs
The only substitution for love

To fill, what never will be filled
By a companion, cuz a bangin
Full gallery of Personality,, don't
Beat salary, so hangin

Like a man from a rope
as suicide takes air out his throat
Left dead, is my chance to advance
like I choke on hops

So of course back to dope
Is how I cope, but I know that
All I have to offer, isn't hotter
than the beauty of a 6 pack

Left wishing I was like crack
Like I was anything that stops me
From being inferior, like an exterior
Less inferior, so she'd want me

But like always all I'm wanting
Seems to just be too much
why can't someone want me
and not be , saying what she does

when she doesn't say
what she says , not saying it cuz
she don't wanna be rude and say The truth... I'm just not enough
Anais Vionet Apr 2022
The Batman Movie (a review). The clues part was cool, but the end of it got boring. I liked that Batman kept a journal - I like the idea of men keeping journals, because, do men have many thoughts they share? Men’s thinking seems so ephemeral.

In this Batman resurrection, Pattinson’s Bruce Wayne & Batman are Kurt-Cobain-like emo and that seemed to work. Didn’t you just want to take your hand and get his hair out of his eyes? I think guys should have hair - I like hair on guys, not buzz cuts. I liked the muscle-car Batmobile.

I liked Zoey Kravitz, she was girl power, but not in a hot girl way, she had her own motivations, she wasn’t just in danger and served up to fuel Batman.

The movie is too long though. They need to bring back movie intermissions - I’d vote for that. As usual, I drank my giant slurpee and ate ½ my popcorn before the twenty minutes of previews were finished.

It’s a three hour movie. I had to *** so bad by the time the movie was ¾ over that I was grinding on my popcorn bucket to keep it in. I finally had to make a dash for the bathroom - I was afraid I’d miss the KISS scene. Argh!

Let’s talk about Robert Pattinson, the actor, and his arch from Twilight to Batman. Of course, doesn’t every vampire turn into a bat? (joke) but it’s always Pattinson being moody, being hot, figuring himself out and the introspective man - the broody man.

Are broody men ****? I don’t like broody men in real life - I feel that only one of us gets to be moody in a relationship - and it’s going to be me. Pattinson seems almost zany and cheeky in RL so the brood is his method act. I Like that Pattinson didn’t buff-up for the role - I think the buffed-up muscle-man as superhero perfection somehow relates to capitalism. Pattinson’s American accent was good.

What was missing from the movie was horniness. Batman didn’t seem HOT for Cat-girl - he just stood there for her to kiss. What’s boy-girl attraction if it’s not horniness? Where has the horniness gone in movies? Sexiness is missing from ALL the superhero movies - I guess the age demo is too young.

I give it three out of five stars
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Resurrection: means "revival, resurgence rebirth”
Aha - argh... oh my dog...
don't mind me muttering, eh?

Earlier today (May 5th, 2020),
I forget thee exact hour
found me utterly beside mice elf,
matter of fact even at this moment,
yours truly doth feel mad at himself
cuz Aldi's merchandise (mostly food)
needed to be restored to their proper shelf.

Upon further contemplation
me thought quite futile
and pointless to expend energy subsequently nill...
best swallow figurative bitter pill
and maximize opportunity to take quill

in an effort to salvage sanity lest poetaster
schrieks with voice noticeably shrill,
thus if curious to discover visa vis
motive poem got crafted read further if ye will.

Electronic Benefits Transfer (EBT) card, i.e.
formerly known as food stamps
I never secured into wallet for safe keeping,
mine minor ohm my dog oversight surged thru me
(as if charged with a bajillion amps),

said aforementioned revelation occurred
while standing in a long line at Aldi's
attested whereby other patrons stood
pipsqueaks in tandem with their gramps
which snaked all the way to "5th and Japip."

Pointless regarding yours truly,
ordinarily insightful and adept
(in short, a generic and garden variety
local ******) who schlepped
courtesy rubber express
(think shoe leather) - except
sneakers adorned little (mine) feet
thus imagine hypothetical inept

hobo or ***** his bindle
slung over shoulder
traversing countless miles,
cuz an odometer he (I) kept
indicated staggering and sprawling distance,
sometimes on all fours (faux pas) he crept
hence no way would exhausting effort
be made for nought.

Riches to rags summarizes bio in short
former spendthrift and prodigal son
with lip service paid toward quaffing port,
whence reduced to penury, a courtship wasted
mein kampf of pennilessness insync with sport
despite feted happy occasion,
I discreetly did cavort
unbridled shenanigans bedding young nymphs

entailed minimal effort,
when lavish catered affair slated to celebrate
one lovely slip of a lass,
she (no rookie) beguiled
stealthily intended marriage to abort,
nonetheless gaining handsome dowery
with quintessential private escort.

We both acquired deserved comeuppance
therefore allowing, enabling and providing
me opportunity to attend contra dance
by going stag
wowed by gamut of coeds

moost who with subtle nonverbal cues did entrance
oft times imagining traipsing across France
courtesans attending every private need
ah... so much for castles in the sky
invisibly concocted via
strong swooshing dominant arm with lance.

In reality scratching out what began as prime
motive to detail forgetting ebt card
intending poem to communicate
spending more',n dime
times one hundred

hemorrhaging checking account
as momentary lapse of reason with rhyme
as often occurs time and again
poem takes fabulous convolutions
squeezed like figurative lemon going from
ridiculous to the sublime.
Anais Vionet Feb 2022
(a billet-doux to HP)

4 minutes til (virtual) class
“Dang”, I think. I need to post today's poem!
I paste the poem, the title, the tags.
I have the sense that once the page says “saving draft” I’m *******.
So I quickly press save.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Argh,” I say under my breath, glancing at my clock.
I press refresh.
Do you want to submit the form?
Of **** course I want to resubmit - I press submit.. and..
502 bad gateway
“Oh my f-king GOD!” I yell at my iPad
I press refresh.
Do you want to resubmit?
Yes, yes, YES- I resubmit, I submit, I supplicate, I grovel.. and..
502 bad gateway
2 minutes
I scream a line of obscenity that would **** the Pope if he were here.
I refresh
One of my roommates inquired, “Are you ok?” from her room.
I resubmit and.. and.. and..
“Yes!” I yell, to reassure my roommate, “Website issues,”
it finally, finally posts.
A “Whoom” sound announces the start of my virtual class.
BLT word of the day challenge: billet-doux: is a love letter.
Please don’t tell me this has never happened to you.
Anais Vionet Mar 2022
Yesterday’s weather was squallish, so Mich and Lisa were posted-up all day. They’ve been hanging together lately but tolerhate each other - I don’t get it.

Mitch, a Junior, is the snippiest man I’ve ever met - except for my brother, when he’s actively trying to be a ****. Everything Lisa does seems to rub him wrong, but he’s got a massive ***** in her direction.

Sometimes Lisa lets him intersperse his harsh music and we get “Neural Milk Hotel” or “Bikini ****” - screemo tracs that set me pinching fingers close together THIS close to unplugging the **** router. I don’t think he’s a comfortable fit.

So, the three of us were going to pick up dinner at “Charley’s Place” and bring it back for the room. We get about ten feet out in the rain and Lisa says, “Argh! My Phone,” holds up the “1-second” sign and turns back.

Mich, with the rain lashing down, is clearly irritated. He turns to me, looks me up and down and says, “Should we sleep together and see what it’s like?”

I decided that either his irritation with Lisa was emboldening him - or more likely, he was making a joke. “Wow, you’re really smooth with the seduction thing,” I say, hoping he takes the joke path.

“I’m being direct,” he says, bending his legs or something to look me more directly in the eyes. “I like you, I’m attracted to you.” I looked away. Then turn back.

“It’s wrong. The whole idea. Deeply wrong,” I say, deciding that he’s serious and starting to get mad, “Lisa’s my friend,” I say, wondering how I can tell her about this, “die for that.”

“We know each other - it wouldn’t be like sleeping with a stranger,” He says, trying a logic so odd I almost laugh.

“Collapse already,” I say, dryly, as the dorm door opens and Lisa emerges.

I put Lisa between us. “You know,” I say, sweeping my hair back from my forehead but keeping my palm pressed there like I’m taking my temperature, “I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Awww,” Lisa says, grimacing disappointedly. “Really?” Tilting her head in concentration as she searches me for reasons, symptoms, or a change in heart.

“Yeah,” I say, giving her a hug, “see ya later.” I turn and go in, as they walk off arguing.

I decided to work on an essay I’d been putting off, but my heart wasn’t in it - I couldn’t concentrate. Everything was irritating me - my clothes felt like wool - thinking I was going to have to tell Lisa about Mitch’s proposition.

Forty minutes later Lisa’s back home - with sandwiches for both of us. I’m sitting on my bed playing Animal Crossing when she scooches onto the foot of my bed and tells me she decided the Mitch thing wasn’t working anymore.

“Thank God,” I say, letting my head fall back on my pillows, “You couldn’t trust him.”
BLT word of the day challenge: Intersperse: place or insert something at intervals"

Slang: post-up = staying inside   tolerhate = hate but tolerate

There’s a song for this: All I’ve ever known by Bahamas
Anais Vionet May 2023
Grandmère = Grandmother

Peter and I are in Paris, we arrived this morning. We’re staying at my Grandmère’s Champs de Mars residence - near the Eiffel Tower.

One of my Grandmère’s oldest and dearest friends is a Catholic Bishop. When I was little, he was ‘Monsignor Jean-Marc’ but now he’s ‘Bishop Jean-Marc.’ He’s been around so much of my life, he’s almost part of the family. I wouldn’t be shocked to find out that he has his own apartment somewhere in each of her houses.

Jean-Marc is old. I think that’s fair to say. He’s white haired and the kind of short that comes on slowly, with age. He’s a disciplined kind of thin and his deep wrinkles are tanned from years of gardening. His teeth, always visible in his salesmen’s smile, are as white as altar candles.

When I first glimpsed Jean-Marc from the hallway, he was sitting on a cream satin settee, in conversation with my Grandmère. I knew something was up because he was wearing his red trimmed cassock and red sash, instead of his usual black suit.

What I couldn’t see from the hall, was that the room was packed with matronly ladies, dressed in matronly dresses of glittering white, glittering beige, glittering yellow and glittering gold. Argh! I was wearing a white Polo tennis dress, Keds mini canvas sneakers and my hair was ponytailed. I wasn’t dressed for a social. I swiveled to give my Grandmère a sharp look, but she took that moment to be interested in the drapes.

As I’d come into the room, Jean-Marc stood and greeted me cordially saying, “AnnAAAas!” raising both hands up over his head as if he were channeling the pope. Ok, I thought to myself, this is happening. I offered my most innocent smile. “Bishop Jean-Marc,” I said, while performing an involuntary curtsy, conjured from somewhere deep in childhood reflex-memory.

I don’t like priests. Slam me, sue me, **** me. When I’m around a priest, I’m reminded that I’m a sinner and I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. It’s the worst kind of guilt for a Catholic, because we don’t earn any credit for it.

Opp! I just thought of Peter, so there’s lust, right on queue - that’s a sin. Unfortunately, Peter’s not here. He and Charles went on a chauffeured driving tour of Paris. Envy - there, another sin, I’m on the road to hell but I can’t seem to stop, one thought just follows the next. Where’s a priest when I need one? (to confess) Just kidding, there’s one right in front of me.

The bishop began asking me a string of unimaginative questions, like an old friend catching up. “How’ve you been? How's university? As he grilled me, slowly, like a steak in a smoker, the herd of matrons ambled slowly our way, closing in to listen in. It was a scene straight out of the walking dead. I wanted to escape but my Grandmère held me in place, with the full wattage of her proud smile.

Ordinary boredom is an un-experience and all you need to free yourself is a phone. High society boredom is one of Dante’s circles of hell, because you have to interact with strangers when you could be doing something fun instead. The gathering finally broke up about 7pm and I was free to go. I was starving, my throat hurt from talking (about myself) and I hadn’t heard from Peter. When I checked “find my,” it showed him there, somewhere. So I went in search.

Peter was in his (our) room, on his back near the edge of the bed, one shoe off and one shoe on. He was as still as a corpse but a soft snoring suggested he wasn’t dead. I leaned over him, his black hair was somehow more disheveled than usual and his lips, moist and slightly parted, looked invitingly ready to kiss. I didn’t do it though, that would have been asking for trouble. Instead, I smelled his breath, slowly and deeply. Cognac. Charles had gotten him drunk. How helpful.

Once I tucked Peter in, I went looking for Charles, only to find him shooting billiards with Jean-Marc. He looked none the worse for wear and the gleam in his eyes told me he knew what he was doing - avoiding me with the bishop.

As I prowled the room, trying to decide what to do, while picking up objects and weighing them as objects to be thrown, a server brought in a tray with three bowls of cassoulet,* which smelled incredible, my stomach growled, and I remembered I was starving.

Charles, sensing a shift in the mood, said, “He (Peter) needed to reset his body clock. He’s young, he’ll be as good as new in the morning.” I just laughed. Charles knew I’d come looking for him and he’d ordered me dinner. I can’t stay mad at Charles; he knows me too well.

The cassoulet was to die for.
We’ll start our vacation, for reals, in the morning.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Cordial: “in a politely pleasant and friendly way.”

Champs de Mars = “The field if Mars” It’s the name of the Park (the ‘Central Park’ of Paris) where the Eiffel Tower is (my grandmothers house is across from it).

*cassoulet = a gumbo made of white beans, pork, bacon, duck, goose and toulouse sausage in a tomato stock of garlic, onions, herbs, and goose fat. A dreamy French comfort food I haven’t had since last summer.
Emmanuella Apr 2018
Gloom rocks back and forth in that old rickety chair,
Weaving a noose in her lap when Perfection draws near
Singing a song of cheer.


"Hello, Gloom!" he greets.
"Hello, Perfection." Gloom greets.
"What may I do for you today?"
"No, Gloom." Says Perfection,
"What may I do for you today?"


Gloom sighs. "Well,
Your fingers will do well to weave this noose for me,
Won't they?"


"Aye! They will!
They will knot a noose so fine and well
It will be the finest noose ever woven!"


"Well, yes,
I suppose so.
Here, the noose.
Have a seat,
While I go to snooze."


And upon getting the noose,
Perfection weaved...
And weaved...
And weaved...


"Curse it! No good!"
I must unravel this!"
And unravel this, he did.
And his fingers went to work a while.

"Ahhh...look! A piece of fiber!
If not perfect, I will be seen a fibber!
I'll weave this again!"


"And again!"


"And again!"


"Oh, no!
Not quite yet.
Argh! my brow has broken a sweat!"
Time and time I have spent!
Why will this noose not be perfect?"


"Oh, Gloom...
Her work imperfect be
And now mine alike.
Oh no...
I cry. I cry.
I'll tie this noose and die!"
Anya Sep 2018
You know,
The frustrating thing
Is that almost all
The good poetry
Comes to me
In the night

I try to sleep
As newer and newer
Pieces
Loudly
DING ****!
The doorbell in my mind

Then, of course
My body is inclined to roll over
And my hands are forced to
Pick up my phone
And
Begin typing
...
Argh!
What must I do to sleep!?
Me man,
Me strong,
Me work you all night long.

Me no fear,
Me not queer,
Me is primal
Me is....

Argh, no WIFI!!
Yolanda Smith Jun 2013
Small things dispensed with a shrug that make most people cry and rock.
Groping around at each other mentally,

Hold me lightly,
hold me tightly
random minutes of total understanding,

as we  plead mendigas,
Things unexpected
from the people the world know.

I can't remember a word
you spoke to me that first year
Except that you loved me

Argh!
I remember telling you
you never spoke to me.

You laced your way
around the delicate fabric
of time to give me
this period of leavening
as we travelled different directions,
your gift of ages.

A love so large and hope as thin as a filament.
A broken heart is no small thing.

As I try to shrug.
2nd Quadrant Revisited; mental mingles transcendence poetry, exploration & tactics; gelly surfer dust stories; silly spells; buck bait
Courtesy of AskJeeves, and a special acknowledgement
to the Google search algorithm, this anachronistic Travelocity gent
lee blog, a factual fictitious vignette takes add Vonage of Samsung viz Clark Kent
incredible computer software programs and sturdy Mainframe he kin lent.

Bass sic Lee (this savvy poetic end-user) opted incorporating what he doth **** sitter
tubby both thee hottest n coolest common bots unseen that ping and skitter
n thrive within binary bitmap digital boot not embittered nor iz he a quitter
as unseen electronic/ microscopic realm, whar can tweet and twitter.

Since a countless number of applications constitute the hum maze zing
information superhighway (thank you Al Gore), this computer addict plucked on a wing
n broken kin prayer juiced a random sample per significant thing
hearty soulful itty bitty byte size flickr patented technological silent ring
tone signaling data communications packets fueling hand held devices did ping.

So many automatic, cryptic, esoteric…et cetera fiber optic pulsating stupefying vectors cross, twas impossible but to winnow down the selection process, in virtual sector
which smattering of Apps countless twenty first century human projector
where computer applications anachronistically don the following epistle like nectar
I Trump pet smart word smith re: scrivener effecter.

Shiloh Golong and describe, which Apple of my eye (amidst all the Core **** sans millions of equally omitted, yet equally appealing, enlivening, incorporating Wans
et cetera populate virtual reality) resonated within Chrome moe so mull Bing vans.

Skype in n Angry Bird n If ya need to take Avast break please Compaq to this Century21, Foursquare kilometers from Instagram Pennsylvania, who (despite kiss
sing eternal Allianz with the fountain of youth) witnessed The Birth of Cosmos - hiss
story give or take a million years, and can remember when Geico caveman dis
cover Victoria’s Secret how to make fire,
   which kept warm re: covergirl company in this now over lit Circuit City amiss.

This Earthlinked, Googly eyed (brown), Hotmail wannabe doth dwell in Dell a where valley thinking About such notions as: Airgas, Comcast, Excelon…. Veer
eye sin plus responding to interpersonal classified advertisements x spear
ment tang feigning tube be a bachelor.
   Hoop ping to dance with female stars purportedly accidently twerking ma rear.

Oh…Methinks a desperate gal from Ashley Madison, AdultFriendfinder, Badoo,
or purdy than from any other website fancies friend ship with this nebbish, goo goo
doll doting generic goofball perchance seeking somebody aesthetically attractive ta moo

Va the bowels of mein kempf imagination, thus envision, a slight shift in action Lifelock drama as fealty to fair *** necessitates discerning whom rapping or mebbe a mock
MineCraft softly (echoes SoundClound) infuse this creaky body limp as a wet sock
with a sudden jolt to beat a path to the door fast as greased lightening shard o rock.

Hmm…the sudden ruse to quick forge an invisible IdentityGuard  axe like a KickStarter, a throwback to those glorious atavistic arboreal days when fate did ensure tartar
sauce appeasing Plentyoffish edenic, idyllic, and lipstick Joyus ness n warder.

To quench thirst, now dear Rabbit Reader (unwelcome Reddit news hints
struggling to hastily springme to action upon my super attenuated like gooey mints
noggin Natwest ted yet will be let down upon discerning what issues **** as quince- rat…tat…tat…ring…ring…ring.” oh my dog – psyche does wince.

Campbell soup and please pardon moi while pullup these gangly limb
and attend to an unexpected interloper. All ike kin manage to mutter Kim
Kardashian - nothing amuse zing- comprises “oh sh…sh…Jim
me John, Shutterfly, Keeblers, Aldies, and quickly experiencing him
a lay ahs aka, the sensation of falling into an abysmally cold welled bank

Argh! Dave and Buster (two super tramping security details impossible to contact
on this Blizzard besotted day. While thoughts whir like Buzzfeed. Donald redact ******* blitz, he anoints himself styled ace of spades. Figurative cards stacked
when Sarah Palin, pledged gubernatorial endorsement Survey Monkey tracked
opposition, outliers immediately banished when the angel of Merck whacked

me upside the BirchBox size head n OkCupid (the one perched and Twitter on me right shoulder prods me to tell the truth, This har Motley Fool (holed up in his actually quite confesses to be a mailer daemon whose Pinterest constitutes prevaricating a kooky plight
while athwart his abode, which Orbitz a Chrome colored sun light

Whence, he (sometimes called Mac) keeper of this Oculus Rift;
SnapChatting with renown architects About MapQuest ting plans Lyft
ed for a SolarCity alone in the Whirled Wide Webbed wilderness a grift

Tor from Lake Woebegone, where all the women strive tubby on Youtube,
the children  Facebook endlessly amidst the global tract of teenage wasteland, ****
Rick hating, and every GoDaddy inquires WhatsApp while puzzling Rubik’s cube.
Nat Lipstadt May 2014
leave the tv on switching channels every minute
for something you have not seen,
then lose the remote somewhere in the bed,
now, you stuck on an infomercial for fulfilling
a need you did not know you were needing

play ka-glom, an older version,
of candy crush
while not watching tv,
but hearing the sounds as warmth, comforting

read poetry, write some,
trivial sit puff stuff,
like this or
stuff about suicide - argh
and every pandora ballad
rhymes with everyone sad

poet up to take a ****,
visit the vast emptiness
of the refrigerator cause
you ate it all, and was
consumed thereby


The two concessions to
Pretend
is you leave her side of the bed
undisturbed
and the lights off

and when she calls
and asks how ya sleeping,
you say fine, for what else
can you say,
you already wrote
so exquisitely,
re life without her here,
sad mad bad

the boss knocks into your chair,
around three in the sleepy afternoon,
thinking
"that boy, what a party animal!"

*ain't that the truth...
Lexander J Aug 2015
You're pretty and you know it
using those glassy eyes to tame -
my heart's suckered 'n you know it,
post-*** love purely (surely?) to blame

my mind melts as I grow weak at the knees
your gaze flitting from sultry to predatory -
blood gushes, adrenalin flushes
sweat dripping upon my skin lust-crazy, expectedly

oh I'll burn these nervy butterflies
with this blistering searing fury,
argh, stop this Pretence girl
'cause it's just starting to bore me -

Mind Control to Inner Soul;
"what's your status?"

Inner Soul to Mind Control;
"help! The guts are dead and the heart is fractured!!!"


my body slowly dying, polluted sick
with the caustic affection you instil
"WARNING; cytoplasmic deterioration imminent -
extreme ******-***** overkill!"


for now I know I must give up the chase
the Neurones have received a final transmission (oh please no, it can't be);

"This is .. Inner Soul to Mind Control..
we're all so tired.. so tired .. so .. sleepy - - -"


*CLICK

— The End —