"cereals" poems
*Lydia, Lydia,
There are broken angels
beneath your skin.
Your face is stone,
and white as snow,
where the color should have been.
Your husband is by your side,
middle school passion left undead.
Your sister over your right shoulder,
smiling like the day you wed.
You don't hear Zach's talk of cereals,
but a tight smile shows on your face.
The greif streaked grime of tears and salt
rims your neck like wedding lace.
Tomorrow you will rise
and pour milk into your bowl.
Look across the table,
just to feel your crushing soul.
To not see the eyes
that were there for twenty years.
To share no more secrets,
or confide her sisterly fears.
You both spent your life devoted
to three hundred sixty-five words
of repiticious hope.
Only to wake up with the flipping of a page,
to find a car bent in ash and smoke.
This hollow eyed shell I saw in the store
clenched her teeth up tight,
to suffer along like the people of The Book,
and hold Faith to Father of Light.
You made me shed tears for you,
Madison,
because you made me come to see
I would never leave my little sister
By any of my own means.
I felt cheated for you,
so joyous in your Word.
To spread the light of God
to every part of Earth.
But now you are away,
taking flight,
still this young.
I go home with knotted throat,
and my eyes felling as if theyd been stung.
I've been thinking of you both,
Sisters,
by blood and faith.
I'm so sorry for your loss,
the unknowing,
all the rage.
I weep for you, dear Madison.
You lived only in a blink.
But I weep for you still more, Lydia.
And I pray that you won't sink.*
Jun 30, 2014
Jun 30, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
i would take the first train back to the 90's,
when my lungs were nicotine-free
and there was always something worthy on TV.
i would wear my chucks in bed,
and have cereals for dinner.
i would not have heard of ****
i would have used the internet to find
the exact words to the songs on Nevermind,
because cassette inlays haven't got enough
space for Kurt's lyrics.
and if i were you, i wouldn't call this a poem.
-khai
Mar 29, 2015
Mar 29, 2015 at 9:02 AM UTC
next to my cup of hot bitter coffee
my bowl has a cone
an avalanche of heartache cereals
that is about to fall...
a plate of
peppered uncertainties omelet
beckons to be gulped and wiped out....
but, alas, i feel already stuffed
i can no longer swallow...
-----------
i decided to skip breakfast....
Sally
Copyright 2013
Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 9:17 AM UTC
The Breakfast Fairies (a humorous treatise)
Summoned for to break the fast
of sleep-and-dreams that can no longer last,
As the clock to noon draws nigh,
I happily paddle off to the cabinet
Where the cereals that I CHOSE,
Since I am now a grownup,
faithfully await, calm and in repose.
The refrigerator, in nearby proximity,
sources a Stony-field yogurt,,
A yogurt that I CHOSE,
light and sweet with processed fruit,
due to the miracle of Aspartame.
Distracted, back to the kitchen for
Some multi-grain slices to hail and toast,
Which I prefer dry (no butter)
and ready for anointing with oils of
Strawberry jelly.
To the table return ready to sound
The horn of plenty,
When I see the ****
Breakfast Fairies have struck yet again!
Cousins first to those that reside in nearby dishwasher*
The nefarious fairies guard my health
tho nobody asked them too!
My Crispix, with its malty sweetness,
And the ***** aftertaste of sprayed-on "enriched vitamins,"
has been smothered neath layers of
Granola, with cranberries and nuts,
Contaminated with a hint of cinnamon.
My processed yogurt,
vanished, without a trace,
replaced by their bacterial cousins from Thrace,
which is in Greece,
who, tho white, taste like plain yogurt sourpusses,
Even when littered with blueberries,
Nothing can replace the taste of my
Artificial Sweetener!
Dry toast has been sheeted and shined neath
A tribute of fattening butter,
rationalized by a commonality,
"Everything is better with butter..."
The last indignity is that my coffee,
Not the light brown I cherish
When kissed by whole milk,
Now muddled and muddied by skim milk, so named,
Cause they skim off all the taste.
Because they are fairies,
With fluttering wings,
Hasty retreat they beat,
But I know where they hide.
The next time it be for the morning meal,
I will eat it in bed,
far from their kitchen hiding places,
And celebrate my heroics with original
Frosted Flakes and milk,
And extra sugar just for spite!
The bedroom fairies, living under the pillow,
Emerge to beg in iambic pentameter,
Won't get nary a bite,
Until they they return the poems they stole
From my midnight dreams.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
Porage Oats?
Porridge simmering slowly on an old gas hob,
In a large enamel *** that was kept for this job.
We stirred it occasionally with a spoon shaped stick,
This stopped it burning or getting too thick.
You knew when it was time to do the spoon test,
If the spoon stood up strait then it was at its best.
Served with golden treacle the way I liked it most,
That melted like a glaze Oh yes and a slice of toast.
Those cold winter mornings it warmed the heart,
We would all walk to school with a healthy start.
Just been too busy working all my life,
No time to make porridge for me and my wife.
I have tried many new cereals in the past 40 years,
Some not to bad but containing too much sugar.
They call it glaze with bits of chocolate to,
But with a threat of diabetes it just will not do.
Now that I’m retired I go shopping every day,
More time for cooking in the old fashioned way.
Last winter a large promotion caught my eye,
It was for porridge, I could not pass it bye.
Not the instant stuff, cooked in minutes two,
It's Proper Porage Oats that sticks like glue.
Is this a second childhood where I want to play?
No, just a wholesome breakfast for a frosty day.
Jul 19, 2011
Jul 19, 2011 at 8:32 AM UTC
Hey, I already told you that you were a little bit crazy.
What did you think—that I was completely nuts?
Come on, Cashew, and shake that walnut-sized brain of
yours, and then we’ll try to put together a decent menu.
Still, I ought to kick you in those itty-bitty sunflower seeds,
those ones that you claim to be your source of protein.
Hey, Macadamia Breath, accidentally lose the ******* hula
dancer and then fire the impending search-and-rescue party!
Your tropical trail mix was no good for each other.
You need a vacation from this deserted island, Captain Crunch.
Go down south and get yourself the businessman’s special.
You know—some old-fashioned brazil nuts.
Yeah, that’s the two-tickets-to-paradise, for sure.
Fool, you really do need to buff up the old almond.
Do I need to open up the **** aluminum lid for you?
You’ve been stuck inside this assorted, mixed can that you
try to refer to as an extra bedroom for nearly nine months.
Get out and take in a little hike and bike
right after you do the wake and bake.
Maybe you should go slow roast yourself at the beach a little.
Why don’t you go to the mountains and try to become one of those
pine nuts that end up in all of those overpriced health cereals?
Hey, Snickers, those dank trees really are beautiful, you know.
Would you quit acting like a frikkin’ flax seed already?
Just admit that it’s almost payday, for criminy sakes!
You pathetic Mister Peanut, you.
Please, Saint Chestnut, give this completely lost consumer strength
from high above store aisle number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Number nine.
Listen to me, Nutt Sack, will you shake those tiny little beer
nuts that no one can seem to stomach anyway?
First of all, they are becoming way too stale just sitting around here,
so if you continue to wait any longer, they will petrify—and then we
will eventually be forced to call you teeth-breaking Corn Nuts!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
you are there, in the kitchen
of my dream
at the stove making enchiladas
and tapioca.
you are probably one hundred and
i think you might keel over, dropping
your white head into the *** of yellow
pudding.
i wonder how you got so suddenly old
and i so suddenly young when
i can remember
reading fairy tales
buying you sugary breakfast cereals
and letting you sleep in my bed
even though you kick
and also tell people
the embarrassing things i say
in my sleep.
i am so hungry i want to eat it all
and leave none for you
but you say to wait
to wait until my eyelashes turn
into a million tiny butterflies
and tickle my skin
with their light wings.
but i'm hungry now, i whine
shoving past you
pushing a hot tortilla between my teeth
and swallowing greedily
desperately
before collapsing
into a sea of blue tiles.
i awake violently, your small foot at my chin.
staring at me is a toenail painted blue.
i stare back at it, into that
tiny ocean.
Apr 24, 2013
Apr 24, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
Derk! The Harold angels sing.
The muffin is my savior. Jesus lies.
Pacific Islands. The screaming of fires.
Rulers. Words. Meters. Feet.
The magnetic field is the only field.
If I could trust baseball, I would.
But cereals, Vonnegut, lies.
-ectomy. The ubiquitous suffix.
Suffixes make the world hell.
-ism, -itis, -like, -tude, cease
your
silly
constructions!
Constructions
are
power
I will smash
bye bye now
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.
She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.
Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.
The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.
Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.
Jun 15, 2015
Jun 15, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Miryam meets you at the bar
of the base camp in Madrid.
She has an orange juice
and cereals
and a coffee chaser.
Did you sleep o.k?
you ask, sitting beside her,
with a coffee
and toast and cigarette.
Sure,
she says,
afterwards.
Her eyes light up
like lights
on a pinball machine
when it's played well.
You? she asks,
you sleep all right?
Sure, but the ex-army guy
wasn't too pleased,
me getting back in the tent
at that hour,
you say.
**** him,
she says.
No thanks,
you reply.
She sips the juice,
her lips hold the glass
as she drinks,
her mouth is fish-like
as she swallows.
You talk about
the ex-army guy's moans
about his mother's boyfriend,
how they don't
get along(he
and the boyfriend),
and how he feels
left out and how
he got thrown out
the army because
he was suicidal.
She sips,
and you watched
her eyes feasting on you
as they did
the night before,
and you recall her
********** in
the small space
of her tent,
the girl she shared with
off ******* some guy
she'd met on the coach,
the tall guy
with an Australian accent.
You watched her,
as you disrobed yourself,
the space throwing
you together,
each touching each,
kissing and **********
and kissing.
He still feel suicidal?
she asks.
Guess so,
you say,
tried to talk him
through it all,
laying there
in my sleeping bag,
half asleep,
listening
and talking to him,
eyes closing,
and his voice
becoming a drone.
Anyway,
he seemed happier after,
snoring not long after,
as I was laying there
thinking of you.
She eats the cereal,
talks about the girl
coming back
just after you left,
well ******
and happy,
glassy eyed,
giggling
and stinking of *****
You sip the coffee,
take in her small ****
pressing against
her coloured top,
flowers and balloons,
patterns, eye catching.
She begs a smoke
from your packet
and you nod,
and she takes one out
and lights up
from the red
plastic lighter,
the cigarette,
held between her lips,
kissable lips,
lickable.
Yes, it had been
a good night,
you and she
and someone
strumming a guitar
from the bar,
nearby,
loudly singing,
not far.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
I bought carrots, and kale,
coconut oil that was on sale
avocados, and blue berries,
vitamin supplements
in a desire to stay healthy
out of fear of my mortality.
But I miss donuts
and sugar coated cereals.
I miss monster energy drinks,
taco pizzas, and cheeseburgers.
I miss what was killing me slowly,
suicide by snail’s place.
I once raced to gain weight.
Now I eat things I hate,
longing for something dangerous on my plate.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 12:46 PM UTC
Sunlight seeps in
glass windows all
and yet with blinds drawn,
"click'..put on
the electric light,
gives a worthy feeling,
of course
sort of false pride!
The mirror reflects
a haunted look
insomnia
on the face,
mirror, mirror tell me true
so saying
put on more lipstick
more rouge and mascara
Nina Ricci perfume!
Toothpaste
Colgate advanced formula,
or else brushing futile
breakfast cereals
latest blends
tea labelled "Twining"
I-phone pocketed,
boutique shop clothes
stilettos clicking
you get started
feeling good
racing the sports car,
race as if
borrowed happiness
will escape,
its after all
everyday happiness
on a lucky credit card
older bills
still pending,
still pending!!
and yet
these everyday happiness
keeps you going!
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:17 AM UTC
I need things explained
like why cereals cut the roof of my mouth
why I bite my nails too low too often
why my dogs bark at 3 am
why I want a partner so badly
why I'm stuck on old memories
why I've let go of every friend I've had
why a letter has to equal a number
why my parents think it's best to leave me alone
why I suffer from such severe depression
why I can't stick to a routine
why I exist
but I do not live
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 10:22 PM UTC
I have come to a conclusion.
We are in an endless cycle.
We wake up and think about food.
We eat sugary cereals for breakfast
so we go to school or work thinking about food.
Afterschool, we watch food and beauty advertisements
that make us feel bad about ourselves,
so what do we do?
Shop for food and clothes to make us
"feel better" and to "fill the void."
After shopping, we get tired and watch television
where we, yet again, shovel even MORE food
into our lifeless pieholes.
We also don't want to cook anything,
so our meals consist of Campbell's soups, frozen pizzas and leftovers of whatever casserole is in the house.
Even after eating dinner, we are tempted to eat more,
so we have DESSERT!
Because of our constantly on-the-go lifestyle, half the time we are not even conscious of what we're eating.
Ironically, yet predictably, we go to sleep thinking about what we will have for breakfast the next day.
Mar 13, 2014
Mar 13, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
Yiska rests on her bed,
smoking a cigarette.
The sky is dull,
the room darkened.
She inhales,
watches the smoke,
she's just exhaled,
rise ceiling wards.
Her husband is out,
fishing, *******
who knows, or cares.
She exhales again,
at times like this
she reflects
on her young days,
her schoolgirl years.
Naaman was a love
back then.
School crush thing
some thought.
But no,
more than that.
She inhales so deeply
that it seems
her whole body
is filled
with nicotine and smoke.
Naaman kissed good.
That time on the field.
Lips and tongue.
She exhales and smiles.
He'd be in his 30s now,
a year older than she.
She can still,
if she shuts her eyes at night,
see him as he was.
Even when her husband
is giving her a quickie,
she thinks on Naaman,
imagines it's him on top,
not her husband's sad efforts.
She inhales
and closes her eyes.
He is there
in her mind still.
Even on the day
she married,
she hoped Naaman
would show
and whisk her away
on the back
of a motorcycle,
her white dress
flapping in the wind,
she giving her groom
to be, an up you sign
of middle finger.
But he didn't show.
She knew he wouldn't;
she'd not seen
since he left school,
the year before she.
Moved away some place.
She exhales
and smiles out smoke.
When she goes shopping
in other towns,
she wonders
if she'll meet Naaman there,
bump into him
on an aisle,
next to cereals or cheeses.
She recalls that time
in the school between lessons,
seeing him,
and wanting him
to drag her into some room
and kiss her
and do things.
But he just smiled
and walked on
and into a classroom,
leaving her hot
and gagging for it
(a term some girls
used back then).
What if he had?
Some empty room
in the school?
That day would have been
burned into her memory
if he had.
As it was,
she walked on,
to her boring art class,
bubbling
with upset hormones.
She sighs,
opens her eyes,
and moans.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 2:08 AM UTC
You met Janice
going to Baldly's groceries
to get a list of goods
for your mother
how goes it?
you asked
Gran tanned
my backside yesterday
for going
on the bomb site
when she had told me
not to
Janice said
sorry I got
you into trouble
you said
not your fault
I’m responsible
for my own actions
she said
I knew Gran
had told me
not to go
but I chose
to disobey
so paid the price
guess she's annoyed
with me too
you said
I didn't say
who was with me
she said
how did she find out ?
a neighbour saw me
and told her
I was on a bomb site
with other kids
and that was it
where you going?
you asked
got to buy
some cereals
for breakfast
she said
going to Baldly's groceries
but not to get any
with those
free toys inside
why's that?
Gran said it's a gimmick
how about going
to the cinema
this afternoon?
you asked
can't
she said
not allowed
after yesterday
she said
shame
you said
got a good western on
and the good guy
has two guns
and has a neat way
of going for his guns
which I want to copy
and practice
she looked sad
I'd liked to
she said
but maybe
another time
when I'm out
of the dog house
sorry
about the trouble
I've landed you in
you said
my fault
mea culpa
as they say
in mass
mea culpa ?
you said
it means my fault
in Latin
she said
I got my backside tanned
once for peeing
in my toy box
you said
she looked shocked
peed in your toy box?
yes I was trying
to impress a cousin
but he told on me
and that was it
I never told
on you yesterday
she said
thank you
you said
she kissed your cheek
best get on
with the shopping
she said
ok
you said
and so she went
in Baldy's with you
and did the shopping
and afterwards
you walked back
your separate ways
after a few words of farewell
and a wave of hands
hoping to see her
again sometime
after her punishment
for the petty crime.
Dec 26, 2013
Dec 26, 2013 at 4:54 AM UTC
"I watched a snail crawl along the edge of a straight razor.
That's my dream. It's my nightmare. Crawling, slithering,
along the edge of a straight razor … and surviving."
– Col. Kurtz, Apocalypse Now
~
Remember
the golden age, Wally ***
And the songs
my mother taught me?
We sang about what was.
Or might never be.
Like permanency.
Distinction comes
out of stiff and frozen silences.
Take it with
a spoonful of disdain.
Take it in the eye.
Actors are like breakfast cereals.
They're obvious
and according to taste.
I stopped needing them
long ago.
Beautiful
Tallulah.
Beautiful,
"less to this than
meets the eye"
Tallulah,
dismiss me,
that I may be free
to find Tennessee.
Open windows
and closing doors.
Always a breeze,
but never a way out.
Right on cue
the cards shuffle.
Butter and cotton *****
tricks of the trade.
I mumble to be heard.
I am legend
to disciples
of the Method.
I wear my friends to bed,
burn them like newspaper.
They call me "Bud"
—cigarettes at dawn
after devouring the night.
And now my song ebbs,
as the stylus hits the leadout groove.
Tomorrow, I'll be better.
Today, I'm just me.
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 11:04 AM UTC
my worries remain. my double is moving up the ladder. you think he is me and your thought is convincing. I know I have a skirt because I’m wearing one. the youtube video displays a duration of 5:11. my mother pops in with a bag of sugary cereals. there are great lengths that end with my father’s open mouth. I am heartbroken that in the video the SUV has tinted windows behind which a daughter is supposedly processing the beating her dad takes at the booted heels of bikers. if my double has a second life, I dream it.
Oct 1, 2013
Oct 1, 2013 at 9:07 PM UTC
You have boxes of cereals
I have boxes of crime,
Don't worry about it
I am not like that serial killer vine.
My boxes are not illegal
But regarded as trek,
I designate them as crime
Because it's done on beck.
The first crime is universal
Which is eating during a class,
And if you get caught
You will get a detention to pass.
Second needs a little courage
Which is bunking the lab,
And you will roam the whole school with friends
Without hiring a cab.
This crime is something planned
Distracting teacher from her study point,
Asking tales about their life struggle
Because we got bored from her english coined.
This crime is nothing less than others
Which is cheating during a test,
Not everyone will accept that
Because not everytime it did help them to score their best.
If you start to count them all
It will take your whole life to wind,
You created memories that are crime
Which you won't ever mind!
May 14, 2020
May 14, 2020 at 11:13 PM UTC
my life is a million things or a million and one look at this situation words dribbling from my fingers like raindrops I want to feast
on every piece
you are willing to display to roll out and reveal
no matter how fragile
I feel my bones groan for you but I all I have are these syllables stationary on a screen
the idea of something more an improbability
we can share our language and breakfast cereals and our feet will rest
on the table with the murmur of the TV in the background and oh my god I am sprinting through a blizzard as fast as I can but I was never a good runner my toes are almost numb but I want want want to experience it all
ripples of reality it has bypassed me
carved a pear-shaped
lump out of me I am tied up in string
I am oblivious to kisses and loving and intimacy
the rush the blinding delirium I see everybody glisten it seems so but every person is ravaged
by a manic voice flaws written high and glowing
I try to explain but my handwriting
indecipherable
a blister-free relationship glorious silence delicious shiver
of something like love between us over our shells I am out of it in a make-believe land
drag me to real life and I’ll burn like a slab of meat before I trip
into a lake of salty worries
Nov 13, 2016
Nov 13, 2016 at 4:21 PM UTC
Anne put her crutches
by the table
on the lawn
and sat next to me
how's it going Kid?
ok
I said
what's for breakfast?
porridge or cereal
or toast
I said
no egg and bacon
and sausages?
she said
no
I said
**** me
she said
who eats toast
or porridge
or cereals?
pass me a glass
and pour me
some of that
orange muck
I poured her
a glass of orange juice
and put it
by her hand
she sipped it
I've tasted better
she said
I want you
to push me
down to the beach
later Kid
can't stick
being stuck
with these other kids
they drive me
up the wall
with their
goody-two-shoes
nonsense with the nuns
especially Sister Paul
the stuck up *****
I looked back
towards the nursing home
other kids
were sitting about
other tables
and here and there
a nun was attending
to them
got any more wine gums
from your mother?
she asked me
no they've gone
Sister Bridget took them
to share
amongst the others
****** communist
she said
I looked at her
sitting in the chair
her one leg visible
the stump
of the other leg
hidden beneath
her blue dress
the dress had little
anchors and boats
on it
had your look Kid?
she said
you're always trying
to look at my stump
aren't you?
I can't help it
my eyes are drawn
to the missing leg
I said
she lifted her dress
and showed
the stump of leg
have a good look Kid
I looked at the stump
then looked away
towards the windows
of the nursing home
when do you want
to go to the beach?
I asked
as soon as I’ve had breakfast
she said
she pulled down
her dress to cover her stump
and sipped the juice
the red ribbon
in her dark
straight hair
had come loose.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 2:45 AM UTC
Marcus' Homeland wave said the source of suffering was Mad Max's flexibility in the area of the New Museum; The world is in error, and the delight of my work be done; John. . . John, if you are a good soldier, Newly Risen Dawn is the youngest of the cereals; And in general, the shadow of the light at the end of the United States is the shadow of death; women, now totaling six, highly clothed with strength. Satan stood up, raised up for the sake of the tree of life by Irinka as a seething mass of light; the waves of the fish, as it were of the six lakes of Asia, and the black ants of Africa at Allen's service; and turning to the women with every right, that is, from his exploration of the variety of their fantasies, the abuse of drugs, and her eyes, as the source is according to Mad Max; A ****** and the toes, and mouth to mouth, mouth to mouth, and the mouth of the mouth to mouth, and speaking face to face to face, and she loveth not knoweth not; the name of the feet, and she besought the people go, that they may not merely be in one oven; and showing a red color, indeed, it is his work, all the problems of the world of the high-priest of a fever which is la-la-la; The discourse with the Holy Spirit, named Carlos, who is the fountain of bread and one from us, drunk in the night, when the weather is very clear, as in Isaiah, the Breath of Freedom! In recent years, the image is of the girl singing the song as good as the song exchange; 1 Go the Cam, she tells them! The letters speak of the world next to this world in the next case, and another voice from the prostitutes and learning their culture are the shadows of the others; The Reforms of the DEA are limited to the crowded sands of the US, which at the end of the day includes jewelry, ornaments and decorative accessories. § If it is not, as is true, the competition is in the form of the exhibition; global players, and as it were, Maecenas paying much for most of the pages, and it came to pass from Asia to Cicero, and that was the history from the common people of the mountains and the hills, to the provinces of Asia, that is all the way around the world, and they will not be in the memory after the destruction of the hill, is the plan of Haman for the city that opens onto the broad places of the Jews, who were out in the restaurants where a stranger with a very little **** teaches that the way of God into the belly is the way of destruction, but whose end, however, he will bring to pass.... for he is he who doeth, and has made the signs and wonders, and with his Aussie lass and other drugs only to be known to _him_ ...
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 7:18 PM UTC
you know that I love you he lied through his redsauna face as the tv shouted the importance of cereals fortified with vitamins and minerals. Billy sat and watched his untied sneakers make snakes on the floor as the voices shook his feet.
no, really, the liar said turning towards him if you were gone i wouldnt know what to do.
Billy kicked a little and the snakes coiled and sprung.
youre all i have left. youre everything to me. i know that sometimes i ask too much of you, you look after yourself and you look after me too. you nurse me through the badtimes and its all because of the beer. you dont cry when i hit you even though you must be afraid.
Billy knew the shape of the beer stink mouth, ******* up with a memory of dead feelings, even tho he wasnt looking.
you put me to bed and clean up my mess and you look after yourself and you dont tell anyone. it's not fair for me to ask but you do it.
and he went on.
Billy thought of this so that he didnt have to look at his father, lying through his redsauna face, saying sorry for what he did, but not being it.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 11:10 AM UTC
i.
you wore a summer high school shirt,
with your arm poured at my skin like milk;
back then cereals were all i could long for.
i hoped for some electricity,
but the night was too strong to be lit;
mildly frustrated light turned into heat.
darkness had become a nice home,
where all the weirdness collided
like cotton candy and a starstruck heart.
you spoke, as the sky fell,
with your lips swollen like honey;
that was the time i found moonlight.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:47 AM UTC