"boarder" poems
We live in a world, that's loaded down with greed. Man will do anything for money, falling to do a good deed.
Man will take a chance, to traffic people across the boarder. They pack them in like sardines, and like a selfish hoarder.
We will never stop allowing drugs, from entering our land. Men thinks that they are cleaver, by planting drugs, within the body of man.
With the technology we have, something need to be done. The slavery of woman who 's brought to our country, to them, it's not fun.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 11:58 PM UTC
My idea of a good night is staying in
And technology serves as my friend
With a glass of wine or bottle of brew in my hand
Talking to a list of favorable foes on the web
Where conversations boarder between flirty and scholarly lines
And typed dialogues lead way to theoretical thoughts and inspirational designs
Pondering ignites a spark that surges in my mind
I’ll begin to research the fast array of thoughts that run through my brain
Fixated on scientific data, predicted trends and worldly traits
Eventually it’s not enough for my thought
I’ll try to fight the inevitable feeling that starts to form in my gut
Leading way to the breeding ground for butterflies
Factual documents begin to get lost in the shuffle
As my attentions now caught by an excerpt or rousing photo
New tabs are opened over the old
And I always find myself ending at the same place
Looking up poems about love and images elapsed from past days
Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 6:20 AM UTC
on the last night
of the june breeze
that i spent tucked
between your hips
and my home
i heard
almost as faint
as a wing flutter
your tongue unfurled
the sounds of your streets
against my ear.
pavement hard but
sweet as a plum liquor
spelled out avenues that
have become rose pastures.
hoods that have
grown thick in themselves
with petals stained
of red rich violence
cross brown bones
but those bullets
bear no color.
taxi swift
yet city street thick
buzzing the sounds
of a place with half
the people
yet twice the traffic.
the kind of
tuesday twelve fifteen traffic
that i never understood
but you made action
where you lost sense.
dropped clips into the alleys
where the cops
wouldn't go
and pierced a limb
or two on the way.
cheeks filled with
with sticky bliss
bashed the demure
of downtown
cause the magnificent mile
ain't got ish
to the brick backbones
of them cook county temples
tourist tend to
trip past.
on my last night
here with you
i want to do
nothing more than wash
the windy city out of me
before state lines
baptize my view
of your anatomy.
pipe my gums
with this Crest
and brush your
taste out of me.
see big cities
have stained my tongue before.
new york is still in there
and i ain't even been there
in years.
i've caught tears
streamlining down
the crest of my cheek
at the taste
of chips of bay ridge
in my teeth.
so why don't
you just get lost?
the lingering lisp of your
shoreline sure does
last a tad
past welcomed.
matter of fact,
a tad past passed
two ticks before
your beach sands
sank my hips.
your lips have learned
too well
the outline of
my spine poured
against your banks boy.
so no thanks boy.
i don't want your tee shirt.
i don't need your silhouette
sketched in my memory
let alone my key chain.
and you keep saying
i'll be back
but i'll believe that
when i'm 30,000 ft up
straddling your boarder
by boeing.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 10:39 PM UTC
bottlerocket,
ski click &
shoot.
[empress impressed.]
petrol souls drift the skin & aetherous
of our holy mother lake midday.
by alpine,
lymph node,
spine of glimmering fish;
i never truly thought that love could destroy.
[to display the paradise boon and boom salute.]
her knife atop the stump.
*
yon machines construct art-form of reservoir (yon being short for yonder),
knee-boarder-boy wake to wake, he wags his tail when he dreams.
[lakeside.]
tribal the beach: a family drunk on juiceboxes.
rolling rocks. tall boys
& boulders/ bountiful canyon kids
with their beautiful gasping dogs.
****** knee **** and gallop at the foot of a mountain/mound &
sugar ants stomped, longing to empire.
mom bunches her fists into sand
of stolen crag, listening closely for her childhood in the whistle
of a casio conch.
margaritaville will do.
[to **** or kiss beetles.]
kiss;
the bitty prince.
maintain a steady alliance with all lifeforms and flora.
life is programmed as thus;
algorithm of love.
bright honeydew soaked slabs of wood,
or plank, tabletop treatise.
wet pile of seeds.
young small birds hoard seeds for winter;
teeter into spring;
& upon summer find solace in swift slip-n-slide daylights.
Sep 27, 2015
Sep 27, 2015 at 7:35 AM UTC
Someday if you are lucky, you'll return from a thunderous journey, trailing snake scales, wing fragments, and the musk of the earth and moon.
Eyes will examine you for signs of damage or change and you too will wonder if your skin shows traces, of fur or leaves, if thrushes have built a nest in your hair.
If Andromeda burns from your eyes.
Don't be surprised by prickly questions from those who barely inhabit their own fleeting lives, who barely taste their own potential, who barely dream.
If your hands are empty, treasureless, if your toes have not grown claws, if your obedient voice has not become a wildcry, a howl, you will reasure them.
We warned you, they might declare, there is nothing else, no point, no meaning, no mystery at all. Just this frantic waiting to die.
And yet they will tremble, mute, afraid you've returned without sweet elixir for unspeakable thirst, without a fluent dance or holy language.
No teach them without compass bearing to a forgotten boarder where no-one crosses without weeping for the terrible beauty of galaxies and granite and stone.
They tremble, hoping your lips hold a secret, that the song your body now sings will redeem them, yet they fear.
Your secret is dangerous, shattering and once it flies from your astonished mouth, they-like-you-must-dis-intergrate
Before unfolding tremendous wings.
May 8, 2017
May 8, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
South of the border west of the sun,
Cluttered emptiness cannot fill the hole.
Bridges fell in anger replaced by loneliness,
Murakami makes our languishing love raw.
The reflective silence eats into my soul.
The hell in the empty hello from Haiti,
Wanting you but I am on a different plane,
Knowing needs, the threads of our tapestry.
You my missing part I have been looking for
Love expressed in my doubt of past escape.
Coming back to you the fragile love of my life,
Bringing balance as my past pain takes flight.
We know the house of cards has fallen down,
Seeking new foundations for living loving life,
Can this "best thing" open a door to our future?
Smiling eyes become the windows to our heart.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:11 AM UTC
Pour all into bowl
then separate and cull
joy from sorrow
reality from fiction
peas from carrots
outline a writhing boarder
and then declare
These are here,
and those are there!
no more enclaves
assimilation
or gaps of no-man's land
from now on
clean cut
aesthetic
well defined
a beacon of chiseled hope
for the sick, the weary
the poor
so they may flock into your chapel
amass, wet eyed, to learn
the essence of humanity
never again to be confused
never to succumb to madness
never to grow old
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 9:57 AM UTC
Silly words like daughter and laughter.
Why isn’t dotter and lafter?
Both, moth and mother are confusing.
It all depends on the way you are using
Those mad silly words in our tongue
More bizarre than between and among.
And, of course there are the oughts
And ought nots of enough and thought.
Shouldn’t one sound per word be
Far less typographical insanity?
I mean someone wound a bandage
Around a wound on an appendage.
It’s just plain silliness of a high order.
You fix food for a boarder, not a border.
You can fish for fish, not sheep for sheep.
And, you can’t daydream if you are asleep.
There’s a rhyme about a wood chucking wood
But he only seems to do it if he would.
A dog can bark at a cat on a roof,
Which can be said either like root or woof.
In Britain anyone can go pound on a pound
In America, ground coffee can be on the ground.
And driving a car now your own can be fined.
But finding a free auto is something of a find.
It makes very difficult to tease other tongues.
Not even if you shout at the top of your longues.
Lately we changed things like light and nite
But, not white, night, knight or blight.
We changed you to one letter, a simple ‘u’.
Now, tell me please, was that so hard to dew?
Oh, wait. I mean due. No, I meant do all along.
The way English is, it’s not hard to do it wrong.
Is it its or is it it’s? It’s dependent upon.
What kind of sentence you have going on.
For example if you have an itch on your ****
It’s on your **** but I’ tell you what.
It’s itch is its own, and needs no apostrophe.
Just one more view how silly things can be.
So, until later, when things get better
We had better do it rite to the letter.
Oh, wait, that’s wright. No write, no right.
See, I got it rite before the end of the nite.
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 11:54 PM UTC
And so she edited herself
to forgive herself.
Because I failed to fit into the boarder lines of society I am an outlaw.
I color my skin in 50 shades of make up, what they dont know is that what they see is 50 shades of pain, 50 shades of ****** up, 50 shades of death under the moonlight,
As I lay by the beach side death caresses my skin, we lay side by side.
watching the sun set, we talk about the future, horror stories that lay beyond the horizon.
beautiful shades of red that the world is yet to see.
I edit my skin because I wish that life would take a second glance at me... these emotions I go through, these smiles, cries and whatever I do to seem human are my 50 shades of pain.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
you are my animal, and
I am your whip.
what exists between us
is only dust—a milky
center of blood
tessellating
with
heart cells.
I’d hide in your
briefcase and
be smuggled across
the boarder as
a cheese knife
if only you’d look
at me—your animal,
my whip sending
flakes of fresh flesh
midway
along
magnets…but
be careful.
once you catch
crack of my sting
there is no going back.
Jul 11, 2017
Jul 11, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
deep pan cooking not hardeep cooking 21.08.18
monday started top draw
my venom going to spill
natalie is going to get poetry draw
forget girlfriends she will run for hill.
how dare she complain
when something is uncontrollable
insomnia through hardeep may rain
but freedom of speech not so honourable.
gabby and chloe showed they cared
how natalie was blunt
explaining hardeep was literally chaired
footage available now hunt.
onto shares and stocks
rodrigo learning how to trade
laughing off my socks
no barings even if bad bug won't fade.
nick and rodrigo in control
on boarder line ready to hassle
the biceps taking fall patrol
it was rodrigo not nick who liked mussel.
failure to the task
hunger will be plenty
one comment can not mask
hardeep can make something out of empty.
dans hands were magic
don't get confused
gabby refusal was award and tragic
like basic budget just amused.
was sally watching adverts
the aviva app dash cam i log
roxanne will need youtube diverts
it was a tin man not a brown dog.
nick explaining about travel
lands of paradise and greens
at airport all unravel
seeing face on all them screens.
legs up and over
natalie and gabby to exercise
hardeep with a nasty dig and sober
saying nick doing shopping add criticise.
natalie and hardeep getting louder
hardeep gets my crown
unacceptable all about curry powder
she bring herself not hardeep down.
going to end with a critic
natalie won't see no irony
vicious mouth and hyper-critic
its all add to cbb savoury.
Aug 21, 2018
Aug 21, 2018 at 4:59 AM UTC
Do you remember when you were little,
how your parents would give you jigsaw puzzles just to occupy your time.
You'd open the box and it would smell like cardboard and paint and there would be dust sitting in the corners after you dumped all the pieces out.
I always started with the edges first.
Work along the outside and get a boarder, then fill it in.
But it seemed inevitable that at some point
You'd lose a piece
You would get to the end and search the whole house
Under pillows, under beds, in cabinets, everywhere
You couldn't find it
Eventually you'd give up and go eat dinner
But months later, it would turn up
In the same spot you know you had already looked
It would be there
Waiting for you
It's kind of funny really because now, years later, nothing's changed
You go to school and you're given a box
Filled with college applications and marriage and kids and adventures and getting arrested on that back road and falling in love with that person
You dump it all out and they give you until you graduate to sort it out
What do you want to be
Who do you want to be with
Where do you want to do it
Put it all together by the time you graduate
Get a plan
So you start with the edges
Graduate, go to this school and major in this degree
Move to this city, get this job, make this much money
But once you get the edges built you start filling it in
You fall in love with a boy who drinks too much and smokes unfiltered cigarettes
You sit on rooftops with him and you love him, God do you love him
Eventually you tell him you've got to finish the puzzle and you push him to the side
You fill in all the rest of the middle
Husband, kids, raises at work, vacations, red wine that you secretly hate, all of it
Eventually though you get to the end
The last piece
The piece that has happiness scribbled on the back in a blue ink pen
And you can't ******* find it
You look in your home and in your children and in your husbands wedding vows and it's just not there
Life goes on, you sleep in a different room and pretend to still be in love
For the kids sake of course
But one day you're going to be standing in a coffee shop
The same coffee shop you know you already looked in
And he's going to walk into you
Spill his drink down your blouse and murmur that he's still in love with you while you discuss the weather
You're going to find that puzzle piece
Just try to find it before you lose patience and cut something else to fit in its place.
C.a.l
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Long after my injust exhile from this site I began a time of deep thinking.
And after many cervasas and long nights with ***** women I thought.
Where is my life going besides to the free clinic every other day to cure
the ******* of fire.
It was then I remembred a wise amigo a man amoungst many men
not because he was strange they just happend to all gather togather in that spot.
Unlike a bathhouse once I only went to a few times to have some male bonding
time and to enjoy a nice backrub.
But enough with my college years.
My once mighty amigo told me.
******** dont ever let them hold you back for the evil forces are many
yet you cant **** crazy well maybe with a gun but that would take many bullets amigo.
It was then i knew I must return to the land of Hello.
To bring joy to many and annoy young teenage writers who think vampires can walk around in daylight and werewolves run in large packs with other amigos in Alaska.
How I wish i lived there as well.
It had been far to long since this gravyard of like button zombies had taken off
there pants turned off the lights and had a hot oil ****
At least I hope that was oil.
It had been a cold summer south of the boarder but that doesnt mean there wasnt fire down below.
Much like with older women.
So I packed the pinto and like a really fast minded person moving at a well
much slower gear I was off.
For where there is a need there is well a place people
probaly want something to suit that need.
So spank my spandex wearing *** and call me MR Pickles.
Cause The ******** has returned amigos.
Ole!!!
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
Being a Father is a special being...
only father can understand...
or a child can understand....
When a mother is carrying a child in her womb...
for 9 months...
a father is carrying his child in his brain...!
when a mother is taking care of covering the baby all night...
Father is busy arranging the roof over that room where the baby will sleep...
When a mother is busy teaching the baby first letters...
Father is busy arranging funds for the best school the baby will study...
When mother is busy arranging food on the table..
Father is busy making sure the groceries reaches the house for the family to feed...
When mother is lovingly saving child from getting scolded from father for some mischief or other...
Father is busy making arrangements to make sure the child can be prepared to live a boarder's life in hostel....
All those moments when a child is getting cosy with mom...
loving mom to the bottom of its heart....
father is making sure the bond stays like that ever...
Having a father is a privilege,
having a father as rock in your house should be appreciated,
taken care of & loved...!!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I grew up on the boarder of city and country
On neo-folk and punk served with romantic classical
The kind of music that paints pictures
Rainy days were my favourite
My Mom didn't pay much attention to me so I learnt to play
With my wild imagination
Until Dad came home
He'd leave whenever he got mad "I'm going for a drive"
I loved dogs and horses and all natures creatures
Except cockroaches
Dear god did I ******* hate those things
My Mom was a pagan my Dad the member of a Catholic church
Mom told me if I am good in this life I'd be a unicorn in the next
My Dad just taught me the lord's prayer
My first friend told me I was going to hell
I knew she'd be a slug in her next life
School bells
I enjoyed school
I was a prodigy child in everything except math
Dad pushed me into Karate, Judo, Rock Climbing, Soccer, Boxing
I liked playing my piano and drawing my dog
Sports made me uncomfortable
My first kiss was with slug girl
She was pudgy and had a cute smile which I was jealous of
But she screamed and ran away
That was the first time I heard the term "gay"
I started to like boys because I thought it was "right"
My Mom said "we all love our friends" but my Dad frowned
I loved my Dad
I wanted him to love me too so I kissed the boy I grew up with
It was gross
I kissed many boys after that and tried my hardest to forget slug girl
We moved into the heart of town and I wore more black
I stopped playing with my Matchbox cars
I stopped galloping about like the horses I desired
I put on a little eyeliner and the bullying I faced when I was younger
Made me weak
It got worse
They tormented me those kids
I wished them all dead but I knew Karma would get them
Eventually
Now I am still drawing animals and writing and playing piano
But I wont ever forget my Dad and his silly beliefs and *** Pistols
I embrace my gayness although not to it's shining potential
But I will always love myself for everything I was
Am
And ever will be
My story is far more dark and complex than this but to tell it would take a lifetime
My whole lifetime
And more to come
x
Kaity
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Yellow hearts.
Yellow hearts flickered in and out of her view.
She couldn't tell if they were actually there or if her mind was once again playing tricks on her.
As of late, they’d been doing that quite a bit.
She would see many things, yellow face, yellow shapes, yellow animals But most of the time they were figments of her imagination.
Sleep.
She hadn’t gotten much sleep lately.
She'd lay in bed night after night, unable to sleep, her mind a frenzied Mess she was unable to file away in organized boxes.
Consumed.
Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the peace she thirsted for And the man her soul, which hardly resembled that of a living being, pined for.
But for now all the peace she got was from her imaginary yellow Shapes.
And as small black boarder began to form around them she paid them No mind.
It would take time for the cold black to seep in and delude her beautiful Yellow.
And so, until then, she would continue to find solace in these yellow Shapes.
Yellow dots.
Yellow boxes.
Yellow stars.
Yellow hearts.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC
I have used all the energy left in my gaunt body to escape this bed
Now I travel down steps that creak with noises of our past love as we wore them out by always racing each other up them to get here
Now I trudge down these stairs, alone, into the kitchen as I let the white french doors swing open to let the spring breeze join me
The wind recoils off of my pale face as I hold the cheesy tourist coffee mug that still bares your lipstick on its brim
I return back to the table where I find the morning newspaper with a date on it that reveals I haven't left the house in quite some time
And I flip to the crossword puzzle that apparently you solved many weeks ago, but the clues are hidden as I now recall the day your pen exploded in boisterous blue ink and we laughed together as we scrubbed each other's hands
Sink water splashed all over and ruined your flowing white gown, but that was no issue as we danced like it was raining and my hand creeped along your collarbone onto your shoulder, until you slapped it away because it was time for work
After brief lapses of intoxicating joy, the color in the walls and outside the windows oozes down Earth's canvas to uncover the true flavor or black and gray that surround me
It's in this return to reality that I utilize my lasts bits of sanity and avoid the sleeping pills to enter back into my slumber
I make my way back up the hollowed-out steps that are void of love, and collapse back into this bed as I drown in it's disturbingly comfortable sheets and pillows
In a few hours I'll arise again to trudge down to the kitchen and see if you're there, smiling, singing, solving strenuous puzzles with your immeasurable skill
And on the precipice of madness, the brink of lunacy, I'll whisper your name so I can stop tip-toeing along the boarder of suicide
For in these repeating nightmares, my balance has grown weary, and for moments my only desire is to join you beneath society, and into the great beyond
Goodnight
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 2:07 PM UTC
This is where the beech tree fell
all that remains is a splintered stump
all the birds morn her death
and with no songs bow their heads
The forest weeps in silent tears in falling leaves
for she was the last boarder of the ancient woodlands
now her shadow with never be cast in her majestic frame
never one liken to her will ever be seen again
Through the years by the new road
she had endured motorized impacts
even her new buds of early spring
would replace their own when singed
Mighty was her endurance of winds swift and fast
she had withstood the blight of many a parasite
had broken off limbs for the fear of loosing all
on hot heat waves that could finish ones all
In her younger years of life
she had witnessed great battles
seen many a brave man
fall on her espied battlefield
Yet that night of that great tempest
she made her whispers to the others
and as the corn turned ****** red
she resigned herself to her death bed
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Aug 28, 2013
Aug 28, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
Someone whispered “There’s peace in the dark”
At night, she was calm and feeling better
But she heard noises outside the boarder.
Eventually, she was disturbed by it and surprised by the spark
It was massive. An intense explosive.
She kept walking trying to find; trying to stop.
And until she can’t feel her legs anymore.
The pain was unbearable.
The noise was unbearable.
She tried to close her eyes to ignore,
But she started crying.
Until she decided to breakdown sobbing.
In the end, she was betrayed by her own consciousness.
She fell into the trap and started to feel helpless.
She shouted her heart out with full of sadness
She thought the dark will kept her stable.
But the truth is the dark will set you free with your heart and soul inseparable.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 11:19 PM UTC
I have been
Friendzoned,
Many a time.
It is a common experience
Among both geneders,
For it is truly
The best way
Do deal
With that issue.
But now,
Now let me tell you
Of a far greater pain
And longing.
For I have been
Timezoned.
For my love,
She is across the country,
Our great country,
Our far too expansive country.
She is over hills and mountains,
Rivers and valleys,
Plains and forests.
She is over the Appalachians,
Past the Blue Ridge
Around the myriad waterfalls
Of Western North Carolina,
All sparkling in their magnificence
As the light crests over the hill,
Spilling into their deep pools
And flowing drops,
Yet they all,
All of them,
Pale in comparison to her,
To her golden skin,
Her flashing eyes,
Her smile
That beams down upon you
And radiates with
Joy and happiness,
And her hair,
So-called ***** blonde,
But to me,
There is no purer,
For it flows
More freely
Than the waterfalls
And looks
Even more gorgeous
As the sunlight hits.
For she is more beautiful
Than a Sunset
Upon the lake
Where she lives.
She is over the great Mississippi,
Which flows from Canada
All the way to the Gulf of Mexico,
Streaming across our country
As a boarder
Twixt east
And west.
The only thing
Even larger
That I know
Is her kindness
And compassion,
For those are
Without end.
She lies
Past the cornfields of Nebraska
And past the plains
Of the olden tribes.
My love lies beyond them,
And of all things
She alone
Could make those miles of wheat
Joyous
To drive through.
She lies over the Rockies,
Past the Tetons,
And around the great apple orchards
Of her state.
For her I would climb
The Rockies,
Tunnel through
The Tetons,
And harvest
Every apple
In the state.
But alas,
That would help me
No more
Than hacking off a limb.
To be timezoned then,
Is to end
What barely began
Not because
Anyone wants to
But because
Simple geography
And age
Makes it impossible.
It feels far worse
Knowing that,
If you were there,
If you lived within
A three-hour drive,
You would be
With her.
But alas,
I am not.
I live
Forty-five hours
Of non-stop driving
To the east
And south.
A seventy-hour long bus ride,
And a 6 hour long flight.
And yet I know
That if I were there
I would be with her.
But I am not,
And so someone else
Is.
What hurts
More than rejection
Is acceptance
And then having
The cruel fates
Swoop down
And stop
What would have been
Amazing.
What could have been
Perfection.
But what was instead
That
Which barely
Happened.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 12:56 AM UTC
My mind is the enemy, drawing lines in the sand,
They boarder my life, and choose where I can stand.
Between Heaven and Hell, I am with no cause.
A moment of hope, and all is not lost.
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:03 PM UTC
I'm telling you I love you
You're not saying a thing
but I ******* love you
I keep finding blood on my sheets
*but I ******* love you*
And I haven't been sober since
the day you left
I don't think I've been sober since
the day we met
Because whether you're staying or going,
you're always leaving bruises
You're always leaving
Tell me how this game works;
You're the one with bullets for teeth
but I'd do anything to be your target
if it meant you'd call me back
I bled at the boarder of
life and death for you
because I couldn't think of a time without
your violence
I hate you the most on the days that I don't
And I hate that I want you back
I'm still wounded and healing
but I just want you back
I'm telling you I love you
You're not saying a thing
*but I ******* love you*
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC
Your timing's uncanny
I stepped,
Lightly
Like the feathery flow the clouds give off every morning I wake
Wherever you went
I've lost you,
Indefinitely
There was a cave deep down somewhere along the road you traveled
Alone
A cave dripping with wet icicles
that drip with the boarder line,
Insane, temptation
to hit you dead,
In the center of your doe, eye
****
God ******
We only see each other through the trees film
Between green goddess leaves
and the white on your teeth
You're Jesus, the devil, and my breathing lungs
Pull the trigger and let me bleed out,
Quickly
baby,
With haste
I found the trail of your fingernails
Torn and worn
Chewed up like a cowboys tobacco
Spit in between your crooked toes
splattered on top of a yellow
mountain of decayed flesh,
Spit everywhere except inside the *** you haphazardly aim for
Story of your life, kid
Story of mine
Your skin flakes glimmer, in between
your mess of your
depressions merciless obliteration
You laughed,
With the insane vigor
the wolf displays when
he howls his affections to the moons
unrequited love
Love,
Blood dripping from the corner of my lip
My teeth found their scratching post
Ill crawl, crawl, crawl
under your covers
Ill search for your forearms
meaty assurance
Ill grab on tight
and tear at you until you're sure you can feel once more
Ill swim through your sheets sea of rage
so we can sit and laugh together
Laugh at,
the white walls, life, the old ladies yelling at the cockeyed birds, your feelings, mine, our love, or absence of it, my death and your death too
Together or apart
We will laugh
and find our refuge with the crazy wolves howling with passion
that cuts like a knife
through our chains that keep us stuck,
Indefinitely.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 11:34 AM UTC
Buy me a book to write my life away,
My weird fuckery, ***** nasty thoughts
laced with you.
Days pass diluted with memories of you.
I remember when the sun danced for you.
It danced off your mahogany skin to mine.
I remember how you kissed every part of my soul,
Caressed each line and bend of me.
My heart wrote music for you once,
Melodies for you ears only.
Buy me a book and I will fill every page,
line, space, boarder with you.
The man of my past and present
who traces scares with intent to kiss.
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 5:10 PM UTC
oh better not say that
weaving tongue
better not cut my ***** off
with malignant algorithm's
better not think lions shredding hyenas
while veiled demons lick ******** for car payments
and boarder children gnash heaping tears of blood
desperate for their parents loving arms
and soft troubled kisses
God looks upon his creation and says
"and it is good"
what will people think
am i a nice person
birthday face
shut eyed stiff
not dangerous, like a gun in the face
did i say the right thing,
cypher of morality
the knot of good, a slow strangle
a frightened worm
that wont risk tears
eeek
here come the scissors
technology brains wired like weaponized monkeys
eater of crumbs
heatless heart ransomed for the ******* rent
can i disappear
like a dead cat in a black box
better then tripping all over my self
strings attached with hooks
to digital shunted limbs
relics of modernism,
office life
boring like seamless gray linoleum
talking scapegoats hissing
always haunted by what's missing
guts spilling through clutched fingers
apologizing to a faceless crowd of sea shells
and bagged heads
spread sheet minds like computer screens
sitting all day, tabulators
data schmata
narrow chairs; bellies cascade and bloat
frenetic fingers and burning eyes
lungs exhaling only
robo faux; shut up
happy chappy snappy
key punchers
punched out
there's a part of me thats been crying since birth
be careful
the wolf is at the door
in this land;
the land of the free and the brave
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC