"bumpity" poems
the novelty fades
along with the glamour
sprinkling down like a cheap glitter shower
a spring shower;
soft
creeping along your hairline with the smell of light lilacs in a secret garden
dribbling wonderfully through a greasy scalp
one of the most ****** showers that’ll take place for a while
leaving loose indentations and wet feet and a swirling drain clogged with six years of hair
i should have thrown myself a line
now there’s just stale-smelling rooms and a lost little creature
rich in words
shallow in talent
its mouth is a river and help help it’s drowning
my head’s turned to mush and my heart’s turned to stone
i'm a rock caught between the spokes of your bike
twirling and whirling my hair brushes the ground with the bumpity-bump-bump of each rise and fall
it's hot down here, so close to the pavement
worms are frying, they better watch out,
or the rubber sole of a midnight wanderer will eat them right up
also your feet stink I would wash your shoes if I were you
i wish i wish i wish i wish
i wish i could make words fly from my tongue and spin worlds and not cower from the unseen
i wish i could melt through carpet and slip through cracks in the concrete
i don't want to be anymore
being is hard
i would be satisfied with a nonexistence
no more bridges to burn or heads to crack
no more bleeding eyes and empty shampoo bottles that cost too much and run out too early
no music that will get old
no glasses that will drain themselves
no more trying to fix something that isn’t there
no more pathetic musings
no more tear-stained pillowcases and forced laughter through one-way glass
goodbye persona 182
you were beautiful while you lasted
Jul 13, 2013
Jul 13, 2013 at 2:46 PM UTC
It’s a lovely day for a stroll. The yellow thing’s come out to play
again.
Cloudless skies, lush green grass; it’s the sort of weather I’d
die for.
Take a stroll through town, just to see what’s there
today.
Not much different from last time; there’s more chewing gum
on the floor.
He bumped into me, said he was sorry,
begged for mercy.
Can’t blame him, but I didn’t believe it. He wasn’t
sorry at all.
Pull out a knife. Nice and shiny,
for now.
Everyone’s screaming, like I’m the idiot.
He started it.
Plunge it into his throat. Gut him.
Go for the heart.
Stab at his eyes a little. Doesn’t stand a chance.
The juice gets on my clothes.
I hate it when people bump into me.
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 6:18 PM UTC