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When it pours she finds the rainbow
In the sun she lets the wind flow
Through her sun-kissed auburn hair
Til the scent of perfume fills the open air

When it’s cold she lies real close to me
Til we breathe together in harmony
And get lost inside a dream
Waking up into a love supreme

When I’m late she says, “Don’t drive too fast!”
When dessert comes out we like to make it last
And give each other one more special chance
To make love with just some cheap romance

She’s the killer of all my doubts and woes
Wherever she goes happiness follows
If I lose a job she says, “You’ll find another”
She wants a grandkid for my darlin’ mother

When she cries it takes the man outta me
Knowing I’m not being what I know I can be
So we cheer up with a slowdown moonlit dance
And make love outta cheap romance
For a country song; for those who aren't in the club.
Jolan Lade Aug 2018
It was the light aroma of a cheap perfume
The music playing loud out from the speakers left on a high volume
Her quite sharp eyes catching mine
She is, looking determined while crossing the room, ready to twist and intertwine our lives.
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Brooke White Jul 2018
**** the twin-size mattress,
that cheap indigo color.
Where my best friend’s legs,
her hands and knees,
were entangled in struggle.

**** his barbell body
heavy and cold to the touch.
She had been hunted  
by someone that she trusted.

**** the world that assumed  
she was kissed. Not gripped,
nor crushed under his pressing force.

**** the cinder block walls  
of that college dormitory,
where she stared and refused
to sleep in her own bed
After that night.

**** the catchy tune of breath
rolling over teeth  
that play in her head.
**** her father. He would say
he doesn’t approve of her *******.

So, she chose to stay quiet.
Forgettably quiet.
Samantha Cunha Oct 2018
cheap thrills
& white pills
Dream worlds
Are danger
For the troubled mind
A captivating space
For the soul
Whom craves escape
From time to time
Serena Aug 2018
I don't want any of these people
And I don't want their cheap thrills
Their need for a love that only lasts til dawn
Lies shield their hearts
And inhibition disallows anyone to see their true selves
The selves they hate and abuse

I have waited for you since our last lifetime
And I'm so tired of waiting
Every night I go out to meet people
My heart sinks with the absence of you
And I sink with depression into emotions I need to forget

I have bought their cheap thrills
And I remain unsatisfied with the results
I lost strength as the liquor stupefied me
And pulled me to a person to whom only saw a short term pleasure


I don't want to settle or second guess
I want you
I want to meet you
I want to know you
And to love you
I want to experience with you
And reminisce with you
And I want to die with you and wait all over again
giofuellos Sep 2018
Pencils are opportunities, it dulls as you write,
mistakes slowly burns the red rubber ****,
and sharpeners are luxuries or government help or socialism.

But what about cheap pencils,
whose lead dulls or breaks easily.

Pencils are all equal if you look it in the outside
but what you can't see is that these cheap pencils
does not have a solid ***** of lead inside,
it has some small quantities of opportunities to write.

I need to sharpen it once in a while
so I can clearly write.

But not everyone has sharpeners nor extra pencils,
some even bought this kind of pencil
with all the money they have
and they cannot write their stories
and their happy endings,
when the luster of their leads are constantly fading
into white, swallowed by the open
free-market place of ideas blank paper.

And I can't blame the poor vendor who sold me
these substandard opportunities.

However,

I am blaming the owners of factories,
for making such lousy imitations,
for exploiting my hunger to write.
I am blaming the government,
for allowing such pencils to ever exist!

Their **** for power, their greed takes away
my opportunities to write clearly and continuously,
I am blaming them for assuming that all of us have sharpeners!

We should not pay for social sharpening services!
Sharpeners and pencils should be free!
Brandon Conway Sep 2018

September 16th 2018 1:34 pm

The war started between the illegible instructions and chunks of wood. I decided to enlist, well, more like volunteered. I arrived at the camp today and met a few loose screws. They don’t have time to train us, we are being shipped out as I write this in my journal.
I hope to god I survive this thing so I can see her face at the end. She will be ecstatic to see me alive, I know she has her doubts. We can not let the engrish win.

September 16th 2018 3:17 pm

We have arrived to our camp. It’s a pigsty. Styrofoam specks cover the yard like snow and cardboard chunks are blown to bits just over the trenches. No time to settle in. Just enough to down a cup of dirt coffee before we charge in. It’s been storming all day, everything is covered in mud.

September 16th 2018 3:56 pm

Stage one has been complete. We have a wall up. This should help stabilize anything that comes after us. It was no easy task and we have been told this was the easiest part.

September 16th 2018 4:32 pm

The foundation has been completed. There were casualties. Henry, a brave man, lost a hand and had to be evacuated. We can hold them back if our aim is true. I hope there are angels watching above.

September 16th 2018 4:33 pm

There are no angels watching, only devils in the disguise of pictures with the number on the wrong side and the finished side flipped around. The foundation had to come down. Back at square one.

September 16th 2018 5:56 pm

The foundation has been rebuilt. Correctly, I hope. More men have been lost. I know this is dark, but one had a flask on his body that hasn’t been emptied. It is now emptied.

September 16th 2018 6:29 pm

The wheels have finally been installed. We are now mobile! Thank god. We can now trek over anything that gets in our way. It’s still pouring rain. I wish I could find another flask.

September 16th 2018 6:53 pm

Hooks and roll and top have all been fitted and examined over. We may have done something right for once. There’s hope that we will win this thing after all.

September 16th 2018 8:48 pm

We stumbled onto a cache of cold ones. We lost sight of our goal for a while. We are back on track marching forward.

September 16th 2018 9:17 pm

The last wooden peg has been hammered in, the last ***** has been ******* and locked. This is it, it’s finally over. We won!

September 16th 2018 9:18 pm

“It’s about time” was my only reward.

It’s ok, I came out stronger than what I was. I have scars I can tell my kids about. The blisters from using hand tools and the knowledge on how to decipher Chinese disguised as English. Useful talents I’m sure.

September 16th 2018 9:20 pm

Finishing off that cache.
Today I put together a cabinet island.
Lefa Mzondi Apr 1
Words don't mean jack to me no more, only actions does
No sweet nothings will work, only actions will
No romantic poems will work too, only actions will
No love song you can sing will convince me otherwise, only your actions will
You can say you love me to the stars and back,
You can even promise me the world, and I'd still won't believe a thing
Even your tears don't move me no more,
Only way to convince me, it's through your actions
Show me, so that I know it's real
Because baby, Talk is cheap..
Woody Aug 2018
Do not listen to hunting dogs
baying in dark woods, or the black
flies buzzing around in your head
remembering long dead friends

Poets have done this before
and they’ve wandered off
alone and unheard of to bury
the caul of their own stillborn

Every time I open a bottle
of red wine, the bad Moon
dowses blood from the ******’s
stone thighs and I think I am
handsome, young and drunk
again, eternal as a ****

Poets have made love and gathered
at the cheap joints, cutting their fingers
toasting one another, curse words
hidden deep beneath low breaths
and the noise of a singer’s raspy voice

They’ve gotten cold feet
at the crucial moments when
left alone with the student
that had the saddest blue eyes

Poets have done this before,
I assure you, my friends

Every time I see a young man
tucking a gun in the back of his pants
I want to say forget it and drink
or have a seat, my brother, let’s rap

Poets have done this before,
I seen it behind dark eyes at night

We are but dust under the hooves
of horses running side by side
with the fog, thinking all that moves
us to write is something new, like light
that shines for the lonely bone moth

Poets have done this before

I know it like the cigarette holes
she burned through my tablecloth
on those cold nights she spent writing,
like her cough I could hear, so long
a time ago, I’d rather not remember.
interesting. Those disappearing downward thumbs skurrying away like rats.
zelda rangel Dec 2016
vii
his sun kissed face buried in my neck
as he whisper words going through my head
he feels so cold between the sheets of this bed

cheap thrills, blue pills, wounds that can't heal
red lips against my skin, giving me chills
but i love him too much for me to keep him
edit: this is only a concept lol idek how i came up with this idea
“death everywhere, not age or ancient, just an infiltrated lack of life”

a puzzling, troubling line in a personal message,
instantly isolated for further review,
needy indeedy for a second medical opinion,
for it’s a description of two,
an actual place and a state of being

a place where death seems more commonplace,
not from agedness or honor,
but from a madness drunk from a special cocktail of
heat, guns and pseudo-rock stars, with beer chasers

imbibed by those who imagine themselves INRL  
in a movie genre of specialized urban cowboys,
subset horror flick,
self-appointed angels

part of a world view
so pervasive that it infiltrates the mental water supply
and modifies the pure children early on

demeaning existence, with a sense, a sendup,
life is unreal, cheap, so taking it-is ok,
justice delivered, for we angels,
are subset,
angels of death

in a country where
seven out of ten believe in angels,
and one in four confident that
the sun revolves around the Earth

look to blame
polluted water
the ever-overheated atmosphere,
bringing typhoon and storm,

I do not know

how be sun and water,
the essences, the originations of all life
today come to the planet days still
clear and warm,
yet can not infiltrate our personal mystery,
respire, re-spark the notion of the spirit,


the simple sanctity of life peculiarly human
call me by my other name
mystified momma
Pyrrha Aug 2018
You don't know me
The places I wanna see
The things I want to know
What I want to be told
No, you don't know me

You can't hold me
Or tell me everything's alright
When I know you hold her
Like you used to hold me

You tell her she's made of gold
You know her favorite food, her favorite dress
And all the other things
That you don't know about me

I know you've memorized
Her face, Her voice
Yet when you turn around
Can you even remember my name?

I guess it's too much to ask
For redamancy these days
As loyalty has gone out the window
A word of the past

But you used to tell me
That I was made of gold
And that in your arms
I was only yours to hold
But your hands have roamed
So far away from me

And it's not fair
To make me watch
As you do with her
All you did with me

We used to talk about the future
But in a single heartbeat
You have changed our destiny

All those words of yours
Come back and haunt me
Everytime you called me beautiful,
Was it just practice for telling her?

Well you were right about one thing
I am made of gold
And that girl of yours
No matter how much you try
To mold her into me
She will only ever be pyrite
Just a cheap imitation
Of the treasure you will never hold
Pyrite is a very common mineral that is called fool's gold as many mistake it for gold.
Erin Johnson Nov 2018
She's a strong
Cup of black coffee
In a world
That's drunk
On cheap wine
And fake love
Helen Raymond Aug 2014
You and I
A song that started clumsily, mid-stumble, then fell into a beautiful flurry of violins playing lithe.
It’s a Shakespearean epic draped in a cheap suit of modern conjectures that caught my eye.
You and I
It’s climbing up a mountain-side, daring & tempestuous -cherishing every moment, not just the peak, but the hike.
Even as you’re pushing so hard its hurts to breathe, the air so thin your gasps are overlapping fighting for air– you’ll die if you quit, having the time of your life.
You and I
Seeing sheet-music for your favorite tune, as an illiterate fool, but somehow feeling the rhythm and time.
It’s enticing & startling, it’s the smell of privet-hedge and pine –familiar, refreshing, & divine.
It’s you and I.
laura Apr 2018
when the sun burns my skinny
skin off and there's nothing but
the heart beating for all to watch
the fingerprints you leave on me
compliments like poison, an agent
of all my sighs, eyes sore from first moving

quit treating me like a girl
with all your sentimental online messages
like you're afraid to touch my bones
mysteries too cheap to come by
wings to thin and fragile to fly with
holding on til July

because my sanity's getting loose
MeanAileen Aug 2017
***** *** and cigarettes
bad decisions, no regrets.
Painted lips and fingertips
lace, leather, gags and whips.
Cheap motels, steamy nights
sweaty flesh and candlelights.
Pushing limits, breaking rules
***** dips in swimming pools.
Getting high while living low
riding rails, pure white snow.
Playing games & telling lies
the look of **** in lovers eyes.
Rendevouz in seedy places
sloppy kisses, hot embraces.
Ménage à trios, or even four
anything goes behind locked door.
Shots of Jack make it all alright
just another dirt-bag night...
50% fiction...
Larry Potter May 2013
I once had a Simple Plan
To bribe a lady for a Kiss
With a Nickleback in my hand
And an Eagle tattoo on my wrist.

I brought her to the Linkin Park
And gave her meatloaf and Bread
But it had Red Hot Chilli Peppers
So she ate the Pearl Jam instead.

My tongue was like a Rolling Stone
As I tell her my Nirvana of love
I made promises with my Pink Floyd finger
As she watched a Led Zepellin flew above.

Her Metallica heart didn’t waste time
And she rejected me within Thirty Seconds to Mars
I treated her like a Queen
But all I got were Iron Maiden scars.

It stung me like the Bee Gees
Or a Scorpion tail’s as fine
The Beatles are all crawling down my skin
When she broke this Heart of mine

Guns N Roses were the choices
That were left for me to Root
But a Cheap Trick with the latter
Ended my romantic Journey afoot.
http://www.meegoh.com/
Eryri Sep 2018
Thank you for the memories,
The unexpected, sudden hits of nostalgia
Taking me back to carefree days
Of playing football after a summer rainstorm,
Of laughing in woodwork class,
Of my grandmother's awesome cakes.

Like time travel on the cheap,
You weather away the years,
And the strata of cynicism and regret,
Momentarily eroding my reality,
Revealing the manchild at my core,
Allowing him the briefest chance to once again explore.

But these are unpredictable reveries,
Three dimensional snatches of memories.
It's time they developed some kind of smell recorder,
Just like sights and sounds can be held for posterity.
But such technology would not compare to my physiological wonder;
Magically transforming scent into vivid memories.
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