rained-on parade Aug 2016

The car will edge past the truck maybe
and maybe we'll survive this message
playing on repeat, apologies like daft lilies
and then you go ahead and tell me that you've never
learnt from your mistakes, or my mistakes.
That mistakes are only bad unless you change the order
of analogy. This experiment has been contaminated.
Now a fresh batch. Trust me, there's a point to this.
I'm counting back from a hundred and two
and you've got me standing in the middle of the highway,
blindfolded; this is what loving you felt like,
you said. But I think it was more dramatic in my head.
Nuclear fission and the seige of Dresden dressed
up playing Adagio in D minor; I'm dust. I'm dust.
I've become ash and misery and I'm trying to stay inside you
but you've been coughing a lot, and who's to say
you were holding your breath for something exciting,
I just know for a fact that at the end of this beep,
you'll know what to do and yet
you're not going to leave another message.

"Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us."
Richard Siken, Scheherazade
am i ee Sep 2015

beep beep go the cars
beep beep go the SUVs
beep beep go the trash trucks
beep beep go the busses
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the fire engines
beepeeeee beepeeeee go the ambulances

beep beep go the shovelers
beep beep go the snow trucks
beep beep go the Fed Ex guys & UPS ers

beep beep go the watches
beep beep go the alarms
beep beep go the microwave ovens
beep beep go the washers & dyers

beep beep go the beepers
that are driving me beep beeping insane

beep beep

beep beep goes the Road Runner
but that one does not
drive me beep beeping insane!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

beep! beep!

Okay, now, really,
you have driven me beep beeping insane.

and the ear plugs aren't a workin' fer me.....
help i need somebody, help, not just any body.. help...won't you please help me.....  please....
bucky Oct 2014

Show me, you say, show me the hallway.
                         Show me the bedroom, show me where we used to live. That tree, over there, with the apples.
                                                               You, and then not you.
You, crossed out.
                                                            ­                          You, in the windowsill
                                                   with your hair pulled back.
Take me, I say, take me like we're already dead.
                                                                ­                  You know how this ends.
              My hands, your hands, harmony.
A lit match, maybe. And death itself, there beside us.
                                        Fuck me, you know how,
              you've done this before, I say, panic and soap that smells a bit too much like your brother's wake.
                                                           ­                     Play me a funeral song. Impress me, and you say,
                                                            ­        what's left to impress?
And maybe I'm not the antichrist, but it's not like you are, either.
           This, our hands, you, the radio stuck on one station, crossed out.
Red pen.
                                                                ­        This isn't a temporary solution.
            You're singing, I say, and you just keep on, say,
                                                     this isn't a funeral,
like it's none of my business.
                                 The radio again, playing the only way it knows how.
The mountains, over there in the distance,
                                                       ­                                               spying on us.
Your hands, my hands, tied up like knots, like
                                       this is the only way we can love. But it’s not, is it,
             don't you remember the treehouse?
Three blocks down the road a man has blood on his hands, and you are the man and you aren't, all at once.
                                                  You, me, clockwork.
A bell, tolling in the distance.
                                                       ­                                                                 ­                                                                                                            Repeat.

i don't know how to write poetry
raw with love Apr 2014

in the end,
we're all
reduced
to
                                                                                
                                                                           "time of death"

abyssinia Jun 2015

"Beep, Beep, Beep..."
It was the beginning of another day.   "
Just a little longer."
I thought as I  reached across the bed to hit snooze

story of my life
schadenfreude Feb 2015

she waited
and waited
and waited
to the beep
of her phone
feeling sad
and happy
and nervous
all at once.

she waited
and waited
and waited
til her eyes
had gone to
wonderland.

she waited
and waited
and waited
and died waiting.

Jorge Echevarria Oct 2014

Always wanted Her but she ran too fast
Doesn't matter id never last
Got some drive but no destination
Lost with a road map no transportation
Your hand in my headlights
As I drive away...

bucky Sep 2014

guess you shouldve thought about that
before you broke your mothers back,huh,sweetheart?

in my anthology that will probably never be published this and vol 1 go right next to each other so people see the contrasting lengths (~841 words vs 14. yes)
Braden Kreft Nov 2014

My brain went out fishing
No king to run the keep
If my words you're wishing
Leave a message after the beep

Skald Skaldun May 2016

​I have this watch that every hour produces a beep,
making me count every hour I'm losing sleep,

Because no matter how hard no rest i can reap,
not knowing how you are or hearing from you make my skin creep,

No matter what because you've manage to every pore seep,
utterly from under me my very being you sweep,

And I know my words by now seem very cheap,
but they along my being are yours to keep.

M Clement Dec 2012

My fingers
Worn
My wrists
Tired

I can feel the energy leaving my arms
As if there's nothing left to write.
It can't be true; however,
that there's nothing left to write

There's got to be something
Mermaids
Unicorns
Rainbows
Flowers
Life
Death
Sodomy
Ab­use

That got dark fast.

I could write something,
I think I have the energy
But what to write about?

Becca DeMateo Dec 2013

You're beauty
I'm the beast
I wish you would come save me...

I don't know this has been rewriting itself in my head for 3days now I figured I'd I didn't get it wrote down now then I never would
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