"chucking" poems
The Pedicab drivers of Gotham all say
You should ignore a "Whale Hail"
because it just doesn't pay.
The city is hilly and
to pedal gets tough
when your passengers are,
shall we say, overstuffed.
Two tubby tourists out on the town
between them they weighed about
Eight Hundred Pounds.
They had wiped out the Sushi
at an all you can eat.
Much too lazy to walk
on their overstressed feet.
They hailed for a Pedicab
of which there's a multitude
Thats the sole explanation
for accepting their pulchritude.
Their ride started slowly,
but pleasant enough.
But then came a hill
and the going got rough.
He groaned and he struggled
as he trucked up the road,
but not even juiced Armstrong
could handle this load.
With two tubby tourists
ensconced in the back.
He slowed to a crawl
then stalled in his tracks.
Something had to give
with those two in the rear
The cab then turned turtle
chucking him in the air.
The two tubby tourist
were down on their backs
Their driver unconscious
and two tires flat.
An Ambulance came
and gave him first aide
The two tourists rolled off
and he never got paid.
If we banned too large colas
and sixty ounce beers
could we hope that these
land whales
might,one day, disappear?
Until then its risky
to pick such fares up
unless in a limo
or a truck thats Ram tough
Jun 14, 2012
Jun 14, 2012 at 10:38 PM UTC
Day goes on and days pass by
i don't know what m doin right now
I linger here n i mingle there
i don't know what am upto
This filthy mood n layering roof
Shutting doors n ringing phones
Chucking people n ******* weather
Strange outlook n fishy monsoon
Winters heading n lethargy prevailing
Less laconic n more problematic
More on fashion less in season
Exhausted fights n dull lights
To sweep all out magic has to be loud
—A.A.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 5:11 PM UTC
an octagon tent
wide enough that chucking rollies
to the sand made impossible
sprawled layers
you turned to quote Dali
told me how pale blue washed with lucy
shimmered skyline into dimension
acryllic-smeared sass drips canvas
into murmurs circling dilation
dimethyltryptamine stains
painting dreams on my eyelids
with flowerbrushes and silk,
mushroom dust gathers in discarded hues
on your pallet, where the colors of your irises
dry into a nebula of night-blooming jasmine
the scent of how you move when you sleep
and sleeping is never so sweet
as dancing through lucidity
with you as my sheets.
and i've traced your thumbprint so often
i'm sure if it were stretched around a marble
like buffalo skin on spirit-caller drums,
a globe would be seen
in which Greenland is finally proportionate--
the map on my wall always bothers you,
but I do too, and everyone does,
urging me under the geography
etched into the sea of your surface
by the crucible of your purpose
and working me into
empty behind your right
below the 22
between i'ching
and the forty two names of god
clasping your fore in silver
copper wound around my finger
hamstrings woven like wire
kambaba jasper, two to share
you hang Tibetan tektites
to elevate space
meteorite fragments
lodged in your helix,
stardust blood,
mandala sand from your mother,
and our tendons wrappe
by dexterous carpals
make such a pretty pendant
of my heart,
for synesthesia mistakes not
and my addiction to the pen has eased
for you breathe murals
and syllables never could
match brushtrokes of carbon dioxide.
Aug 7, 2013
Aug 7, 2013 at 1:13 PM UTC
The Master Corporal said to me
"I'm gonna do a show"
"Don't worry what I say to you"
"I just thought you should know"
Injured, badly two weeks gone
I was set to be held back
My knee was torn apart and
that, was not something I could hack
The day I was demoted
My Master Corporal came to me
He said "Turner, I hate to do this"
"But, it's for the best...you'll see"
I waited for inspection
With the others all on line
They were standing at attention
Me on crutches the whole time
"Turner, is there anything"
"That I should hate to find"
"Is there stuff inside your locker"
"of a non-military kind"
I stood there at attention
Waiting for the end to come
As he looked all through my kitting
Found dust upon my gun
He opened up the locker
And a moth came flying out
It flew past the Master Corporal
And then it danced upon his snout
The yell...was heard in England
"A pet...you've got a pet"
"Who said that you could have one?"
"It's not allowed...A PET"
The moth found the first window
flew back towards him once again
Left some moth dust on his beret
And he flew away right then
The Master Corporal's outrage
At being "mothed" by my new pet
Was one I don't think many
In our platoon would soon forget
He started throwing clothing
Chucking boots around the room
I knew it was all acting
But, those boots can really zoom
When finished he stood waiting
For a response, I stood and stared
I could not break out a smile
I had to show I didn't care
He moved on through the others
Looking for more moths on the way
But, that first one and it's face dance
Well, it surely made my day
He drove me to my barracks
Up to my new platoon
"I hope you liked my show today"
" I know I'll see you soon"
"Just do what you are ordered"
"And one thing don't forget"
"When you next have an inspection"
"Don't have an insect for a pet!!"
I remember fondly that last visit
He knew it hurt for me to leave
But, every word in here is truthful
You can choose to not or to believe.
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 9:22 PM UTC
He'd be more
than one page in your journal
this man, Yorkshire-born,
anthropology at Pembroke,
the one who wrote
about a fox and a song.
Piano music in the room,
British-bohemia.
You, enthralled,
wonderfully drunk
among turtle-necked boys,
friends of his
and then him,
the unscratchable diamond
you wanted bad.
'Then the worst happened.'
Earrings like tears in his palm,
two accents mixing,
new paints in a ***
Before long
he'd be chucking
clods at your window
though you wouldn't be home.
But his name would spray
from your mouth for good.
Feb 24, 2014
Feb 24, 2014 at 4:15 PM UTC
Got grabbed tight by a grizzly bear.
He rumbled and mauled me.
My screams went unnoticed.
For a millisecond in time.
I held my breath and how I prayed.
He pretended to chuck me down the stairs.
That wild rampant grizzly bear.
Six foot four and very scary.
Extremely hairy.
He's a caring grizzly bear.
He's my grumpy son.
He thinks it's just a giggle, seeing his frightened mummy wriggle.
He's only romping around in fun.
He'd never really hurt his mum.
Normally a gentle giant, who stepped straight from fairy tales of old.
He doesn't bite at all.
In teenage days of idiocy, he wasn't always quite so choice.
Now he plays at mummy chucking, 'cos he likes to hear my voice.
(c) Livvi
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 7:04 AM UTC
It was as bad as consuming a bucket of onions
Living, breathing, life
Getting up every morning
Taking a shower, getting dressed, getting out the door, and into the world
A break would’ve been pleasant
Being able to sit under the trees
Not worrying about time
Now that, would put my body at ease
Constant rush, increasing pressure
Life is like an on going natural disaster
What are we even after?
Who are we trying to impress?
We as humans are deceitful
We’re our own best friend
Yet our own worst enemy
I want a break
Fresh air
I’m tired of being stuck in despair
Let me lie under the trees and breathe
Completely let go of who I used to be
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 3:32 PM 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
I became jealous of my friend;
He hung around the intersections
Just a bit too long.
He used to slump around
In the corners of my eyes
And I didn't notice him when he'd frown--
We didn't notice him--until he hung around
That intersection for longer than we'd care to think.
I became jealous
Because he vanished
Right to that street corner
When he thought
No one would care but the coroner,
Right to the asphalt that received him--
Soft,
As I hoped my own
Last moments
Would be.
When I saw him,
Mama said he was sleeping.
He looked like he was,
But the lights were dim;
His arm cradled his head
The way he used to sleep
On his desk, in class
And for all I knew,
He was.
They said he was driving
Like he was late for something,
Like had he not been driving
Exactly 65.32 miles per hour
He'd have been late,
And it was only afterwards
That he'd figured out that he was
Right on time.
And when he arrived, his car blossomed into
A beautiful metal flower, and when it fully bloomed
He was the fruit
Which fell.
And all I could do was recruit the strength
I'd left at home on accident by the drain
The same one that ****** him into that downward cyclone,
Confused him and made him believe he was alone--
Not to just think or to have a hunch,
But to really believe it
To the point where he needed to expunge
Himself.
No.
No, no, no.
Not like this.
And so, now, I sit at the intersection
Chucking rocks with my weepy hand
At my grayish concrete reflection
Trying to see if he'll come around again.
I'm still
And still kind of mad within
Because life's not fair,
I'm jealous because he found the answer
And left us all to figure it out
On shards of glass
Pieces of metal
and intersections,
Which too long
He hung about.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
I do not mourn long Mondays--
Wednesday is gone before I
blink back an astonished Tuesday, and
at twenty-four already
I see my mothers hands sliding
across the page
That same scrawl following tip
of the exigent pen
Nervous mind idly stroking
bitter torments
That which is aggravated swells
inflamed. Like a
canker sore deep in
the inner cheek
The tongue rolling and probing,
absorbed by each sour pain
Carefully plotting little volcanoes across
the slick terrain
They burst like purple pomegranates
pounding spattered cement
on mild fall evenings
So do people sometimes
Through tectonics of the brain
Those which could be minor psychological
blemishes roar to life. Shifting
vast emotional plates
behind a cool gaze
People hurl carelessness at on another
like schoolyard boys
chucking helpless frogs at
jagged stone walls
Ignorant of life's high price
And though horrified-- I
Can not look away.
Eyes bulging, blown out anuses spewing
pale intestines slick with blood-- I
can not look away.
Each giddy chimp, feces
Proudly flung-- I
do not look away.
My heart swollen hungering for
that emptiness called humanity
Mostly pretense, mostly solitude, mostly cruelty,
All personal gain!
Meanwhile, brothers and sisters,
have you considered the fate
of your everlasting soul?
I didn't think so
Glassy eyes stare
beseeching from bathroom mirrors
Tear-stained cheeks belie
a quizzical half-smile
I will meet that insecure gaze
promising to seek my own perfect
imperfection
No longer guilt ridden and ashamed
I will hold the reflected stare aloft
with my own true eyes
and I swear-- I
will not look away
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 12:53 PM UTC
This rhyming tongue twister filled with S's and P's
Is said by Sally's sickly sister as she sits by the sea
Selling seashells as she tells Peter the Piper
To pick pecks of peppers presently ripe or
Else forage the forest for frog legs and bees.
But beware of the badger's butler named Steve
Who forgot of the fox in the box wearing socks,
Bought by the duck in a truck for a buck by the docks
Where witches make wishes, of which there are three
One wonders, two wander, but which one are thee?
Seashell selling Sally and pepper picking Peter
Then postulated how preposterous were the nauseous people eaters
Whose purple pales are full of quintessential quantities
Quietly questioning carefully the existential quandaries
Of buck-riding ducks driving trucks by the docks
With a box of a fox wearing socks made with locks
Who is literally elated over Luscious Lake
Where lucky duck Luke likes to lick lemon cake,
While eleven benevolent elephants and three blind mice
Might magically master their moves skating on the ice.
Thus this terrific travesty of a terribly twisted tongue twister
Seashell selling Sally sought to share with her sickly-sister
While the pepper picking piper, Peter, perpetuated his preposterous plan
To provide the purple people eaters with a conundrum of a can.
Can they can as many cans as a can canner could?
Or what of the wood chucking woodchuck should it chuck any wood?
And the purple people eaters ate no purple people that day
Because Sally's sickly sister this tongue twister couldn't say.
And the benevolent elephants and blind mice three
And the licking duck Luke were all laid to rest by the sea.
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 10:58 AM UTC
I saw this War Veteran on his porch yelling at this Hipster Kid who was tethered to his fence across the generational gapped front lawn, yelling back at him. And I mean, they got into it.
The kid wasn't doing anything really, just taking alternate swigs of foamy PBR and flat Red Bull and chucking the cans into the vet's unkempt garden, retorting Dylan lyrics and sentiments of Kerouac like the post-modern beatnik he was.
I couldn't make out what the Old Vet was saying. His voice was missing from probably smoking too many Benson & Hedges Black down in the trenches. I know he must have been saying something uncalled for, though, to get this Kid so riled up like that.
I'm not sure what they were arguing about since I awoke right in the middle of this altercation, hanging upside down on a bench in the park across the street. I suppose I'll just wait until the Vet goes back inside so I can go over and release the Kid and ask him what that was all about.
Mar 8, 2014
Mar 8, 2014 at 9:31 AM UTC
These special summer afternoons
have no time markers,
no human dividers,
no watches watching
or clocks clocking,
just grins and smiles,
divining the divide,
painting lovely
the one canyon
of humanity and nature
attending to each other
These summer afternoons
have no time markers,
but drift perfectly sequentially
from sun to nap to
black striped grilled franks,
and red watermelon,
orange cantaloupe,
cold coronas,
and desserts of
indeterminate beach walks,
and quiet talks
These summer afternoons
are as close
as I remember,
what it was like to
be seven or eight,
years of age,
knowing only
carefree summer months
that were
carelessly treasured,
thinking there is
always another,
looking forward to tomorrow
to do nothing in
exactly, happily,
the same way innocently
I am an adult
and that means,
cares are ever present,
ever fair or fear not,,
they lurk and
attack the goalie,
with noisy or subtle unrelenting attacks
but as I overlook the waters,
scenario soul gentling me
under the cooling coverlet of
the perfect breeze and
what lurks
is the moment
the eyes and heart
are fulfilled,
satisfied by what they see
The bay,
dotted with the boat traffic
not too much,
but just interesting,
a right tiny armada
to entertain,
all of us,
inattentively observing
the submerging
descent of
summer daytime friends,
and I think of you only,
at this perfect second
and I am besotted
with grief
and guilt
why can I not grant you the moment,
that I desperate wish to share
my arm is not, not,
careless slung, but
grasping firm with squeezes tight,
finger under chin chucking,
come friend be with me,
and for just this moment
your anti-toil tool here,
your plight beyond my comprehension,
though I live a life on the unknown edge,
what matters is the relativity of us,
and I relate to your weariness,
I weep with desperate knowledge
transporting you here is still an
impossibility
though my eyes see glory,
though my heart cannot refuse
the scene's peace invading me,
it is not fair, it is not fair
and I want you
to have this more than me
so I can keep it too
until then it is a glaze,
surfacing the coating,
that is me
but substance is untouched
until this guilt morphs into a
shared pleasure
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
Stoners go hippie with the sticky sweet smoke
Dope-wicked hope stricken trippin' sinners don't choke
Sellouts sell jail cells in the cellar downstairs
Hairs-frayed-from-hairspray stricken sisters don't care
Tell me where are the werewolves wearing skin overcoats?
Not a body dare boast that their coast is a host
For a problem don't got one when the team boat won't row
Don't tell me you got hope when the dough runs the show
Don't tell me that you care when to sin is to share
Don't ever tell me that you know when your love never show
You're fuckin' bloody-gut, up-chucking sick
Don't ya know?
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Well, let me begin my announcing to the HP community that I just pulled my ex-best friend's child's mother's hair out of my mouth without realizing how it got there since I haven't seen her since Saturday. Yeah, good luck pondering that breech of physics. Also, I realized that I've been breaking the magic rules of drinking at work as laid down by Cracked.com with impunity since before that majestic article was written, which kind of makes me feel like a badass and also like a terrible alcoholic whom the gods will eventually strike down. Or perhaps, everybody at work with me is also drunk and/or high all the time, a suspicion I've had for about a year now, but have not been able to prove, despite careful observation. Sure, the typically WOW playing awkward dude gets a box of not one, not two, but three bottles of beautifully crafted wine delivered DIRECTLY TO THE OFFICE every month notwithstanding. And does our supervisor say anything even remarkably reprehensible....no, not while she's on the clock. But she did steal my Don Corleone hat, and by thunder she still owes me for that thing, since I'll bet all the money I made this year that she got some fantastic head because of that hat. There are minor arguments in the breakroom over how ****** the coffee actually is, whether it's police station or AA meeting detestable, and on slow days people are chucking gigantic medicine ***** across the room while laughing at the destruction they cause. Then, Monday through Friday, woe unto you if you call the 24/7 line between 10 and 12 at night, since you will be picked up by me, the 3-midnight guy. If you're an idiot, or loud, or from New Jersey, or can't seem to be able to wipe that bleached ******* of yours without assistance, DO NOT CALL. I will be drunk, and while drunk I will take whatever ****** excuse you have for being a worthless and pointless human being and very tenderly, very politely, shove it up your *** on the end of a very thick nine iron. This is real life, and this....this is where I work.
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:24 AM UTC
I want to do fun things
like sing, joy bring and blow some smoke rings.
I wanna do so many things I know make no sense,
but somehow the dumbness of the act brings a rush of childhood innocence
so in my own defense
******* Disney told me to not grow up
So I got drunk and acted dumb thinking I'd never be grown up
but man I've drank til I've thrown up
bone dry lips chucking fluids from the stomach corrupted guts
**** outta luck and then you say maybe it is about time to grow up.
But **** that I wanna drive in cars above permissible speeds
and I've had my car taken away for doing the deed
highway tow truck repossession sessions
is bad endings
sorry we'll have to call a cab friends.
But that's not where the night ends.
Lets take these bad feelings and squeeze em into a bottle
examine and give them meaning. Or am I dreaming?
How can I still aspire to admire those who do stupid things like set things on fire?
I am no burning man.
But like I said, fun things is what I wanna do.
Take too many drugs and get in an **** somewhere like Bonnaroo.
Like what would you do? these thoughts never occur to you,
I do dumb things not for wealth
I'm doing them for myself.
I wanna dress up as the grim reaper and photobomb the pictures at every marriage for money,
now THAT'D be funny.
I'd look back and laugh and one day they'd look back and say who's that?
Or maybe they won't.
Or maybe they will when it is over cause let's face it, it's a ******* wedding photo.
What's the point of looking you were there and you lived it.
But please spend copious amounts of money for the memories you might one day lose.
Spend all your money.
Your dimes, nickles, dollars, buy gold and diamond rings,
You do that dumb **** and I'll do fun things.
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Breath catches
Snatched away
Hidden from lungs
for two whole days.
Company's good, but
Lonesome brings pain
Seek camouflage alone in
The rain.
Looking for comfort
but who the hell cares?
College is noise, loud boys
and glares.
People look to unload
Upon you their stuff,
not knowing that you already
have had quite enough.
Feeling fatigue
Teachers all laugh
"If you're really this lazy
how are you going to pass"
Chest lights flame
and head hurts like hell
Counting the hours
until there goes the bell.
Going to dance
to search for release
You weren't to know,
it now only brings grief.
Everything hurts,
***** are too large.
Your back feels the strain
as you stumble adage.
Everyone brings pity
but no one brings hope
and those who don't know
keeping chucking you rope.
I won't give up,
I refuse to give in
I'll staple once more
to my mouth a grin.
Repeat the mantra
alone in your head
Try to stay afloat,
rebirth the undead.
You can do it,
you've done it before.
At least this time,
you know not to ignore
Yourself
Think First About Your Health.
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 5:05 PM UTC
Like two drug infested adolescents tied together
in a knotting of legs and arms
grasping onto their other in a desperate out of breath race to taste artificial oxygen.
We waltz in our movie picture romance
like ribbons clawing the air with satin misdemeanour.
"I love you" thy lady will sigh, with a rush of body limbs
and a chucking of worthless organs into the partners coma-patient,
poisoned state.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 5:25 PM UTC
My dear mother managed to reel me into the mandatory pre-christmas cleaning
Which drives me wildly insane
Rearranging cutlery and scouring the sink is not my ideal way of spending a Wednesday morning
I could think of worse things to have been engaged in
but this wretched activity is way up there.
In all honesty my mother's (bless her) kitchen qualifies to be on an episode of Hoarders
Depleted from obsessively dusting off countertops
I sat down sipping my green tea
Watching her take on the rearranging of the pots in the dreaded corner cupboard
Chucking out the old
Indecisive when it came to some
When the job was done
The space left was aplenty
Seeing the rusted pots and charred pans to be thrown in the trash
Then it hit me
If one harbours filth, negativity or the past
Newer and better things have no space to make their way into and settle in one's life
Re-birthing is only possible if one completely purges that which deters them from metamorphosising.
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
**** chucking his weight around.
Hardship chap is sailing away,
Filling in forms on office computer.
From yesterday into today.
And into the future.
And **** he says you're much too early, got you by the short and curlys.
Chaps a freaking telly tubby.
Wearing no hat but, his jobs worth hat.
Me, well I am no snob.
Will be glad to start my job.
Sitting in benefit heaven.
Watching the security guard pacing the floor.
Snotty mother, him not me.
Benefits given for free?
The porky chap is joking.
Asked to use the lavatory.
There isn't one within,
Where on earth's this old woman to go to discard her gin.
(c)Livvi
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 10:02 AM UTC
Inhabiting a rubber state
Where bullets fly.
It ain't too great.
Politicians living in perfect glass houses.
Surely not green.
Never fragile.
Not throwing sticks.
Nor chucking stones.
They're draining the deserts and scoring the Arctic.
Drilling for oil.
Recoiling in horror.
Planet dynamic.
Ripped through her heart.
Redesigning circles.
Pictograms.
And block graphs.
Financial mutations of dignified nations?
Shiny panels for catching the sun.
Making ugly buildings.
Commonsense won.
Sustainable energy.
Keeping warm.
Heaven be praised.
For the warming sun.
Next thing we know.
They're bringing back hunting.
See you next Tuesdays.
Fox slaying.
And fining the homeless.
Them with no money.
More or less.
Hell of a mess.
Its all about war.
Its all about money.
Parliament run.
By brainless numbskulls.
(c)Livvi MMXV
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
Auntie Ellen was already crazy
The day her brother moved her in.
She was not my relation but
Everyone addressed her like kin.
She was Auntie to everyone
And she got rather hollersome
If you didn’t call her that way;
She’d shout until kingdom come.
Rumor had it she met a fellow
When she did factory work.
He led her on and dumped her.
He was that kind of a ****
Something snapped inside her
And she was never the same.
About that time, she started in
Telling people her choice of name.
She lived down the block, alone
And you could hear the music playing.
She’d wave when I passed her home;
I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
One time I started to walk closer
So I could hear the words she said
But she got very angry all at once
And chucked a dirt clod at my head.
We all felt sorry for Auntie Ellen
And didn’t think she was a threat.
The occasional dirt clod was not
Something any of us would sweat.
Her brother came around at times
To see how Auntie Ellen was faring.
I don’t think anyone ever understood
Her words to know if she was swearing.
She was sort of our neighborhood’s
Crazy person we kept in the attic.
She looked strange and sounded worse
And her behavior was quite erratic.
But she never harmed anyone here
And her dirt chucking always missed.
So, we just remembered her as
Auntie Ellen who was usually ******
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
The incision I make on my own skin
the vermillion blood dripping thin
why can't I stop the cutting
why can't I start believing
because mama is going
no shes already gone
because its hard remembering
what is actually wrong
because he stares at me every time
he see's me yet he causes so much pain
because my sister she's shutting down
won't admit something is wrong
because I'm afraid my love will go
I know I told you to put the blade down
but I feel safer with it dragging against my skin
pulling blood away dribble by dribble
am I chucking my life away
will the scars ever fade
slits up my femur
I count fifty six
I try not to do it
Its force of habit
fifty seven, fifty eight
wait
fifty nine, sixty
trickery
you play me again
sixty one
my heart was true
sixty two
set me free
sixty three
my life was torn
sixty four
I don't want to be alive
sixty five
I need my fix
sixty six
Now I'm going to heaven
sixty seven
no that's not my fate
sixty eight
one last time
sixty nine
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 8:24 AM UTC