"bics" poems
Our brains run on the
Same frequency, a precise
Pitch. Subconsciously stumbling
Into a cranium-themed cohabitation.
With Bics in hand
We catch inconsistent and
Rapid glimpses of a
Contemporary "real" world.
Shape-shifting from one
Ideology to the next.
Using time as a distraction; it's
Human nature to pause for countdowns.
They're all painted over. Oceans and
Gulfs covering lava and intrapersonal
Insides. Scrape it all off and you'll find that
Without all of the adhesives they bruise
Easier.
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 1:50 AM UTC
I want to be the graduating
class
of we ******* made it
despite the trials and tribulations
I want to scream and throw up my cap
say that was well worth it
that those endless all nighters
the coffee *** on
my walk to class iPod on
blast songs
of inspiration
of that serious dedication
stacks of books and notes
post its and reminders
binders
spiral bound
college ruled
schooled on all
walks of life
on all types of wrong and right
all the mistakes I want to erase
and refunds for the W's and F's
what's left?
but to tell myself it's all ok.
black and blue bics
papers double spaced
**** it I want to be the best I can be
class of the underdogs
the freaks the ones who thought they'd never make it
the class of we *******
we made it.
Oct 10, 2014
Oct 10, 2014 at 3:11 PM UTC
1) The sky is the color of cracked television screens and in your sleep you're mouthing silent screams that sound like needles on vinyl.
2) I'm scared you've done lasting damage. I'm scared I was a monster before I even knew you.
3) The moon is just a paper plate and the stars are all LiteBrites.
4) Pictures of girls that are prettier than you, cigarette burned around the edges.
5) Betraying myself with every line I write. But my old heart beats like your knuckles on my ribs. Like your teeth on my lips.
6) Romeo and Juliet except the Capulets are pill heads and Romeo is an orphan.
7) I'm getting pretty good at not controlling my moods. It's the only thing that makes me feel like the passenger seat of your mustang did.
8) The alcohol burns but only half as bright as you do in my heart where you sculpt horrible ice sculptures with cigarette butts and bics.
9) So now smoke is all I breathe, gasping deeply at the chemicals that help me purge you from my system like a sickness.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 5:40 AM UTC
She's numb
To the last crumb
Eyes like stale bread,
Lying there as if dead
Her bed no coffin,
But wood not lacking
She welcomes no feeling,
Her hair pushpins
Nails like chalk,
She won't talk
All her thoughts are sins
Send her reeling
Hear a cat hacking
Fur ***** and she's coughing
Blood into her hands
Blink again
And it's saliva and phlegm,
Clouds and rain
Are all to her; pain,
The skie's greys are black
Makes her heart a heavy sack,
To push much less carry
She can't even cry
Just sigh all dark and dreary,
Return to sleep, living lie,
As her hope is flickering
But she's a Zippo among BICs
And though her thoughts are bickering,
No heart beating is just she's a Rolex with no ticks...
© okpoet
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 4:32 PM UTC
Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.
Or is it upbringing
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...
"Worthless idiot"
She spits on me
Like her rednecks and niggar ****
Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.
Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows
Outside the picket fence
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo
When the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)
Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide
Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses
Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open
Escape...
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy
Barely half / legally life blind
And lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind
Home.
Mar 31, 2017
Mar 31, 2017 at 8:37 PM UTC
In clouds of rain
caught sight
Among the stars
took flight
Torn asunder
oh sweet thunder
And well ****
What year is it
Set the alarm for 9
and snoozed
till half past 10
A warm bed
and lovely dreams
or frigid realities
of white bics
and dry wicks
So off to lecture halls
and faulty seals
to restore
what is not yet forgotten
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 2:48 AM UTC
Antipsychotic licks, lyme disease ticks, pick up sticks
Cutting wicks, playing tricks, flicking BICs
Just another hick, way you look at me, like you got whole books of me
Come cook with me, write a hook with me, become a crook like me
Static backpeddle, piddling on the ant pile, been lost awhile
Cross-cut file creasing cuticles comfortably, clutter-free
Oh say can you see, why did they lie to me, why did we go to war?
Was it Junior settling Seniors' score, or something more?
We sit and snore gently, herbivores, wonder why the carnivores are hungry
Love me, if you can, I'm as temporary as sand spilling sideways
Fresh rays of sun, this photon was the one to finally find me
Chain reactions and Lurasidone interactions gives sanity in fractions
Join your faction and justify that violence, my two cents
Begging for pence and pennies, eating garbage behind Denny's
A whole scrap book devoted to ladybugs
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 4:03 PM UTC
Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.
Or is it upbringing
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...
"Worthless idiot"
She spits on me
Like her rednecks and *****
Big pimping
Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.
Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows
Outside the picket fences
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Some kind of
A Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo
Since the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)
Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide
Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses
Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open
Escape.
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy
Barely half / legally life blind
And lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind of
Home.
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 1:37 PM UTC
Indigent / outcast
trailer trash
flotsam.
We are products of our surroundings.
Or is it upbringing?
Taken / down
Far from home
If it's where the heart is...
"Worthless idiot"
She spits on me
Like her rednecks and *****
Big pimping
Her tricks
Quick to flick
Their Bics and *****
Bringing home the other
Black.
Reynolds wrap and points at the back
Hiding in the thickness
Of weeping veils
Of willows
Outside the picket fences
Just beyond Royale Park mobile
Some kind of
A Community
Missing it's gate
All the times shivoo
Since the South is clammy
Sweat shop swamps
And blistering
Hot like Gold
Coast fires / petrol dragons' breath
(She's a mockery
Of the word -- revelations
Turning pages
Now napkins and coasters
Tissue for ****** noses.)
Vagrant vespers
In the dark
she lets the men
Inside her double wide
Inebriated bruises
Polka dot excuses
Even in the city
It's funny
How the homeless can hide
Out in the open
Escape artist
Pacifist spaces.
Indigent / outcast
Trailer trash
Minutiae boy
Barely half /
Legally blank
life blind
Yet lucky to be alive
Still in search of
Some kind
A Home.
Dec 5, 2018
Dec 5, 2018 at 6:58 PM UTC
The Klouds are in the morning.
As soon as I hear the birds chirping
Once the sun shines in.
Lines are For the night
Since I can’t flick the bics light
Lines last longer
klouds Hit stronger
Thank god for hot rails!
A combination of both ❤️❤️
The best of all is the needle
You feel all the **** blast through
Such a warm loving feeling.
Oct 14, 2017
Oct 14, 2017 at 4:21 PM UTC