"coca" poems
Skyscrapers and mango trees wearing boxer briefs.
The tantalizing wind blows caressing paperclips and mortuary signs—
turning them indigo red for we all know that dead bodies are nothing but dead.
Hymns of love and soliloquies of the unconscious ego—
Id of our time but men of the past be our hero.
Leaving to wonder, if king Nebuchadnezzar was a crack-feign
would Coca Cola still educate penguins on the importance of Lesbian Existence?
For in this war of life, cockroaches are the real winners,
and the taste of excellence is only reserved for fire extinguishers —
so if nuclear clouds persist,
let the fire burn with love and you lay on the bed of oblivion
cuddling the moral that capitalism leads to schizophrenia.
So insure your sanity for free 99, this, with warm regards from yours truly,
Rhizome of Golgotha.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 8:19 PM UTC
The first time I kissed you it felt electric
It was cold and raining, and we were hiding from teachers
At a school football game because you were in uniform and didn’t want to be seen
The first time I kissed you we were both holding hands
My head resting on your shoulder and you looking down at me with soft eyes
I sighed and giggled because the moment was too cliche and awkward for a teenage hookup
But then we kissed and it didn’t feel like that
It felt , like I was loved or at least liked
Your lips tasted like cotton candy, which was strange because this wasn’t a carnival
Just a high school football game with hot dogs and Coca-Cola
And when you pulled away and looked me dead in the eye, you said
“That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.”
I laughed because I’m stupid and I wanted to believe that you were honest
And so, for that one blissful afternoon, we were ‘together’ and I liked it
I liked you
So, for that one and only afternoon, my world was only cotton candy kisses
Aug 9, 2018
Aug 9, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Picketed, another generation pushing for advancement in the age of reason,
Logical, radical movement
Trying for less invasive measures of medication
To take the blinders off the prejudice of non-conformity and reach the masses
A promise to ease the pain, promote healing, the overall good
Met with violence, verbal slander, from mommies and daddies afraid of a world outside their white fence,
Fearing independence, the expansion of the mind, an openness in their youth to allow radical change.
The bloated belt bent backwards, white collar replaced by hedonistic practical libertarians in pursuit of happiness for all
Sick, disgusted with the man, the one behind the podium whom allows for this animosity on a group that did everything right, legally sound
Tired of hearing the whispers across a university, the hopeful gushing’s of elated individuals bright- eyes naive
Of a system that won’t allow something this controversial into the public, afraid to lose their hold on a potential capitol
On something that should be as easy to find in a free market as Captain Crunch, Coca-Cola, and Rice Krispy Treats.
Grinding down, fluffy-green-crystal bud
Dank yellow smoke smoldering out of pipes end, seeping out of closed lips billowing out of nostrils
Dragon fire down a throat coated with a week worth of soot, and experience
Choking, coughing, laughing away the misery
The disappointment in her fellow man to refuse to even consider the validity of a proven product
Knowing that if it was anything else a miracle drug composed of fairy dust, unicorn hair and the ***** of a thousand angels; approval would have been immediate.
Whip lash.
Flick, flame, fumigating
Baking myself into a calmer state, watching with ****** off grace
Twitching with the need to take action
To control this negative reaction, to slap the of face limp **** conservatives
So consumed with themselves, blind to the pain of people who have lost hope in other forms of relief
Alternative therapy shut off by a system obsessed with its war on drugs.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:13 PM UTC
i've been
reading poetry
ee cummings and--
sylvia plath
pretty pools of words filled with color
--and ducks
charles bukowski is a
***** old man
lots of ***** old
words
and images
but real dirt, not pretend
real's so hard to find
these days
they talk about love like it's
broken--painful--deadly--
always wonderfully beautiful
(like the beautiful snake whose
poison's killing you)
that's not
love
because it's falling asleep with warm breath on the back of your neck and your bed a little too small
because it's laughing so hard that you almost snort macaroni and cheese out your nose
because it's doing laundry and pausing just to notice how your clothes smell like her
because it's waiting alone, imagining how big you'll smile when she comes back - it's always bigger than you think.
because it's knowing that the pain's not part of love, it's part of being human
they don't know
nearly as much as they
think--
they do
i love--
baseball in the park when it's not too hot
(I play shortstop)
chocolate ice cream cones in the hot sun
(dripping down my hand)
flying kites in autumn winds
(the falling leaves make the difference)
sledding through the snow
(and crashing into snowbanks)
i love--
coca-cola
(in the glass bottles)
root beer
(with vanilla ice cream)
7-up
(it's better than sprite)
mountain dew
(caffeine!)
i love--
you
(and the soapy smell after you shower)
you
(making me laugh more)
you
(how much you care about people)
you
(and you let me, too)
that's my proof they
don't know
(what
they're talking about
that is)
so--
i think poetry
is overrated
Jan 25, 2010
Jan 25, 2010 at 10:08 PM UTC
fat kid, oh fat jkid, oh where are you fat kid
i am really fat kid, full of muscles ya see
i love cream buns, ****** oath i am a big big big big man
what do ya think about that, puny little cool kid
i love my beautiful spring rolls as well as a coca cola to wash it down with
that is mighty fine, oh yeah
and the kids went up to me, and said fat kid fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid
i said, i am not a kid, for i am an adult, who lives life like it’s one big adventure after the next
as i said, i am known as the fat kid, the really big fat kid
i love spring rolls, cream buns, and a coca cola
and i love lamingtons, as well, and i love meat pies and sausage rolls
which makes me a real australian ***** ****
and a custard **** i can lick the fat right off that
and the voice came from out of the blue
fat kid fat kid, you are a fat kid, and another voice says
your not an adult, adults are cool, and i said, i am cool on the computer, ****
and then i said, i am so an adult, a creative adult, a good fooler\
i try to be a cool kid, to gain protection, but reality i am a cool adult
and i don’t appreciate being treated like a fat kid
i am a cool adult who loves to PARTY
an adult PARTY dude so to speak
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 10:06 PM UTC
I can smell the flowers
On this nice spring day
I used to smell smokes and food
But now I can smell the flowers
It is great to be losing weight
You know, I lost 7 kg since the last time, I am losing weight
All the time
It makes it easier for me to
Smell the nice flowers
I love that smell better than the smell of drowning ***** or Coca Cola, no I still feel like partying but I can smell the flowers better now
Each flower I smell mate
Drifts me away from my
Mental illness voices
And as I do my exercises outside I can feel the touch of nature
Because I can smell the flowers easier it is a lovely smell indeed
I love flowers they are very nice
And beautiful and I am starting to feel fresher and smell fresh things
There is nothing more to life
Than beautiful flowers
Taking over your sense of smell
I know I will do my exercise good
Especially if I keep the lovely
Sensation of smelling flowers
In this lovely month of spring
Better than pizza or nachos or others
Yeah smelling the flowers is the best yet
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 1:37 AM UTC
The youth
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
Youth is Coca-Cola,
Marlboro, whiskey and energy,
The eternal monologue of life,
ID number, property tax and Netflix.
Youth is John Lennon,
Che, Fidel and Hendrix,
Contemporary history,
ancient and medieval history.
Youth is pants ripped jeans,
Popsicle, lollipop, painted face,
Chicle, coffee and french fries,
Point G, miniskirt and condoms.
Youth is the Dalai Lama,
Techno, rave and rasta,
Drugs, drops and guitar,
Punk, samba and hopefully that-fall.
Youth is the opposite of the opposite,
It's a Friday at midnight,
Mustard, ketchup and mayonnaise,
X-salad, ham and cheese sandwich and X-men.
Youth is D-Day,
Vietnam, Hiroshima and Nagasaki,
Testosterone, Woodstock and Waterloo,
Afghanistan, TPM and MTV.
Youth is a pressure cooker,
Isis, Syria, sukiyaki,
Anonymous, Al Qaeda, rice and beans,
Genesis, Revelation and mint candy.
Youth is weird,
Somewhat interesting.
An adult pop rock mix
With child soda pop.
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 7:25 AM UTC
She was my reason to life,
I was sinking in her every moment,
She was kind of a knife,
That can hurt you in any moment,
Her brown eyes and dark hair,
I fell in love but even didn't notice,
I was waiting for her under stair,
Just to her grandma didn't notice,
We were kissing at her sofa,
And I felt her soft hips and gentle lips,
With the taste of cherry coca,
And all I wanted is holding her tight,
Laying on her chest,
Hugging her waist,
And she was the best,
But I wasted her, I wasted.
Jun 29, 2021
Jun 29, 2021 at 7:25 AM UTC
You choked on chariots raw. Red egg yolk suppers, churned of the milk oceans this morning you kept.
The lintel of stone turned toward dusk. Some great dynasty of submissive spirits catering your morning
Out on a cart of muse, forms of heaven cannot even hear you. You are a soporific knot in the tale of your Old womanhood. In this infinite Tuesday morning your small black eyes, like an oil tanker toppling over The intense azure sea- shipwrecked, and lost.
Departing from your childhood you slurp Coca-Cola from a silver straw. From the corner store and inside Winter yawns. There is no face, only strikingly beautiful black hair. The body under you is at home in all
My hand's fingers have to fill. All the clothes that you could carry for the two-way adventure. There are
Never enough bubbles between your lips and the glass bottle you have. Only the score of the whistleblower. And the poor symphony you had prayed for into the dial-tone phone, the deep Wilderness, that stiff forever-ago budding from your coffee cup. Neurogenesis lifted from your Fingerprints and emblazoned into this lump of human ingenuity. The hopeless octave that cut us all short.
Every short story that was left untold. There are the brief deaths recoiling in your spiritual architecture. The ****** of morphia has bourn me awake. Inside you are often unscathed, vanishing as some of Tonight's parts assemble you, on you blue is a beautiful color. The sweet retreat that gave you life or the bountiful deaths that counted you too cutely by your side. You are the sun in my black coat. Here is my sea, your sea, you'll see.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:34 AM UTC
Mickey Mouse
When Mickey Mouse comes home hungover
He throws up ice cold Coca-Cola
He lives in a spherical house in the sky
Which he enters and exits with telescopic stilts
Which grow or shrink with every step
He is a good vertical neighbor
I live just to the right of him down below
He always stops to say hello
Or to make me laugh with a joke or pose
(One time he even stole my nose)
Sometimes I get so mad at Mickey
That I take it out on my kid
And then spent, I wonder what Mickey did?
Aug 10, 2012
Aug 10, 2012 at 3:31 AM UTC
Coke holiday commercials got me drinkin',
New Years day, expect to pass a kidney stone.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
coca cola is nice as it goes to my belly
and made my tongue feel like a bowl full of jelly
you see athena says coke is a medicine
which removes the stress out of my body
you see as i was walking down the streets
trying to do what the doctors tell me, it’s making me dwell
saying i believe coke can cure you
and i also believe it can make you happy
because in this life you will die one day
you see dying is like entering another party be happy as you drink coca cola
medicine of the gods
you see i want my stress to completely disappear
cause, dudes i try to be a low stressed person
you see i will never get the job i want
because the employer wants me to be perfect
you see, dudes, i believe in being happy
and not feeling sad
so please leave me alone ya dead old hag
if you want a great medicine, try coca cola
for coca cola is the best medicine, dudes
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 7:12 AM UTC
you see i am very very hungry, so much in fact
i burp very weirdly, yeah i feel so weird
i burp loud and i burp soft when i have a nice cream bun or a nice beef nachos
and i feel like a nice packet of chocolate biscuits
ya know to have with my coca cola
i was watching ellen degenerous and i felt like eating the pie that went in the contestants face
yeah i feel like a bag of popcorn as well as choctop at the movies
because my mouth is burping very weirdly
i don’t want to have this burping feeling
i feel like a strawberry milk and i am fighting myself saying, no, i don’t need it
the strawberry milk says yes, i do, but i don’t want a strawberry milk, it’ll just make me fat
i wanna lose weight but the burping is making me want food, i want a nice chocolate bar
and i want a bag of marshmallows, i want to have more energy
so i can be a cool person, that i am,
i know the burping really is bugging me
and i do want it to stop, STOP, making me feel this way, i want to an artist and a writer and not an eater
please leave me alone strawberry milk and leave me alone chocolate biscuits, i don’t want to eat you
i feel like a chocolate biscuit, but then i say, i will grow fat, ya know keep the fat on me
i don’t want to be fat, i want to lose weight, so leave me alone ya ****** strawberry milk and coke
i want to feel fit in my mind, so i can write and be creative
please leave me alone, junk food, i don’t want to eat you
but the junk food gets in my mind and makes me smell the nice chocolate
i know coke used to be a medicine, but i don’t wanna drink ya
i like to have a healthy lifestyle, and i want to lose this burping because
it’s the medication making me wanna eat, like donuts and vanilla slices and cream buns
and dewok chinese stir fry’s and chocolate biscuits and chocolate desserts and strawberry milk
and a large bottle of coca cola, as my medicine, I DON’T WANT THAT
i had a garden salad for lunch as well as a few glasses of water
i hate being fat, so that means at 2-30 pm, i will go for another walk, whether i feel like it or not
because i must get rid of all this food from my body, so i don’t get diabetes
so if you feel fat, because you eat too much food, push yourself into walking
and walk a regular pace, so you don’t feel sluggish
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 10:06 PM UTC
You see women, I see commodity
**** its *****
It's like Coca Cola
It''s a commodity and everybody likes it
I'm a **** ***** and you can **** it
Get on your knees!
Do I have cane in my car?
Answer me
Do I have a cane in my car?
Yes
Does it make me a ****
...
It could
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 2:24 PM UTC
you see, i like partying, these celebrities ain't partying, they are popping pills
in the wrong way, you see i have thoughts that athena heals me in my sleep
and sometimes those pills could help, but really dudes paracetaol is good, it's just
that that people want to be so ****** perfect, like, i just woke up from a dream
where an old mate named james taught me all the mistakes i made when i was young
and a bit of mum and dad was thrown into the conversation, when i wasn't paying much attention to what james was actually saying, you see i know i was a crazy mother ******
but that doesn't mean i approve of their partying, but a lot of people don't approve of my partying, but i don't care, athena is helping me, with coke and paracetamol and fluoride
and seroquel and serenace, some people hate partying because they are too old, i just
say, hi, old i am brian and partying is going to community events and dancing by the stage
and i know, that looking and examining this documentary, it shows hos partying can lead
to rotten religion, but i believe in rotten religion i believe if you wanna have *** go ahead and have *** and if you like to party into the night, go ahead, just because you
party doesn't mean you ain't grown up. it just means i like partying and another thing
i am a grown up dude, i loves to party, with coca cola, you see i feel my voices are
trying to make me a fucken moral citizen, what is the hell wrong with partying at community events, my motto is learn about your drug your taking, saying, do you really
want this kinda life that the drug will provide for you and stay with partying with sugar or alcohol and leave illegal drugs alone, paracetamol is a pill you take to release pain
and if you believe it, send spiritual healer athena to you
ATHENA WORKS WONDER, take paracetamoil
let's party at community events
you don't have to look like you party, just say, at least i am out
i don't want to be the kind of old dogie who says no to going out partying
well, i don't think much of nightclubs anymore
Apr 2, 2015
Apr 2, 2015 at 11:38 AM UTC
[Verse]
Tell these ******* I’m queen, tell these ******* I’m gold
If you been where I’ve been, then you’d probably turn cold
I give a **** ‘bout you ******* who got a problem with me
I do **** for myself, nobody got it for me
You got an issue with me, but you ain’t licensed to speak
‘Cause I be feedin’ the streets, your *** is nothin’ to me
I’ve been hot with the lyrics and I’ve been dope with the fashion
I said I want it I need, I done spoke, I take action
And when you talkin’ I’m workin’, I’m gettin’ things I’m deservin’
But at a point I was hurtin’ and gettin’ nothin’ like virgins
I be takin’ my time, I’m only twenty years old
Nobody ****** with Coca, I tell them suckers “go home”
***** I’m hype ‘cause I’m certified, all my ******* qualified
****** with my team, finna get your face modified
What you comin’ for me? I ain’t scared, fam’
I eat them J’s off your feet with my bare hands
Stupid-ass ***** just stop
‘Cause I ain’t finna tolerate this **** you talk
Unless the ***** a boss she gettin’ boxed
They said Coca been on, and ***** you not
I be ‘bout it but I ain’t the type to start ****
Asian ***** never a fool, always some smart ****
Who you playin’? I done learned the game
Nobody teachin’ me **** ‘cause me and you not the same
So get to suckin’ ***** you talk too much
You get a bit of ****** fame, think you popular
You twerkin’ for a name, ****** bought you stuff
I make my own **** money, and I shop enough
They say I lie about the **** I do
Now you flexin’ ‘cause Coca ain’t ****** with you
***** swerve – I make moves, it’s the truth
This the mafia, ***** – who you?
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Observing these old men sitting at the stockyard cafe,
Suspendered bellies hanging above huge buckles
And button-crotched Levi's tucked tight over leather boots,
Legs grown bowed and thin, but carrying them to the sale, still,
To hear the auctioneer, talking fast to work the buying crowd,
And get their fill of cattle, shoved indoors,
Sold beneath the steady cracking whips,
A spectacle to burn its way into my minds's forever eye:
The skidding steers, the rolling eyes, the frantic scramble to find cover,
While buyers gave their quiet signs:
A tilted cap, a winking eye, a thumb or index finger up or at a side,
To purchase cow or bull or horse, in living flesh...
Then out again, through the other door,
And turn our heads to wait for more, and read the scrolling numbers:
How many head, how much per pound, perhaps a buyer's name,
And then the swinging sound of other cattle coming in to start again.
So, here these old boys sit again,
Slurping coffee through their yellowed teeth,
Remembering days of indoor cigarettes and harried waitresses,
The smell of cow manure and jingling spurs,
Though now the smokeless ring seems tame, more civilized,
I see the glory days reflecting in the old men's eyes.....
I was just a boy back in those good old days,
My memory is a little hazed, but I can recall
When smoking was allowed and sawdust covered the filthy floor,
A Coca-Cola cost a dime, and the cattle sale with Dad was the big time;
Quaking as we treaded light on the catwalks above the pens,
Looked for our calves, or cows Dad culled to bring to sale,
Then going down and in to see them sell.
Fondly now, I can recall the restaurant at the ring
Where I hoped for a slice of lemon pie from behind chill-fogged glass,
Saw cowmen wearing spurs and neckerchiefs and chaps...
Dreamed of growing up to be a cowboy.
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 1:32 AM UTC
Crisp white waiters serve you smiles in Haitian time
Going native on Saturday night with Lambi Creole
Ti Coca rhythm band beats the music of tonight
Running fast will be a heart attack in this old town
Red neck cops dine with plain Jane UN girls
Touch in weekend lust and hopeful smiling eyes
Local white eyes shine in contrast colourful love
Slow down chill out and move to the music now
Pétionville to Paris seems a million miles away
A tense post-carnival gloom sets into Cité Soleil
As naked kidnap victim runs free in desperation
Different worlds in this blinkered rain-soaked town
Nov 25, 2012
Nov 25, 2012 at 9:31 AM UTC
you said i was exotic,
and i said ooo
what do you mean?
exotic like a fruit?, like
i don’t know what tropics
you think i came from, was
imported from, but you read
my skin like the label
on a flavour of coca-cola
you had never been
offered before and i
was refreshing, and
different. and you liked
the way my coke-bottle
curves felt beneath your
fingertips, said you’d never
tasted caramel
like me before,
you said i was exotic.
like i was a work
of west african art,
even though my mother’s
from the east, like
i was from a storybook like
1001 african nights, like,
you saw my cover and you were
hooked, never did think to
look beneath the jacket,
just wanted stories like the
ones scheherazade sold,
i was your sheba
and you my solomon.
we rode lions across
the sands, your kiss
was salt on my lips,
i needed to quench
my thirst and you offered
me the brand new flavour
of coca-cola.
you said i was exotic,
like a pretty foreign thing,
some mail-order thing,
special delivery
just for you,
a flavour of coca-cola that you
had never tasted before.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 8:09 AM UTC
Someone lives in a cave
eating his toes,
I know that much.
Someone little lives under a bush
pressing an empty Coca-Cola can against
his starving bloated stomac,
I know that much.
A monkey had his hands cut off
for a medical experiment
and his claws wept.
I know tht much.
I know that it is all
a matter of hands.
Out of the mournful sweetness of touching
comes love
like breakfast.
Out of the many houses come the hands
before the abandonment of the city,
out of hte bars and shops,
a thin file of ants.
I've been abandoned out here
under the dry stars
with no shoes, no belt
and I've called Rescue Inc. -
that old-fashioned hot line -
no voice.
Left to my own lips, touch them,
my own nostrils, shoulders, *******
navel, stomach, mound,kneebone, ankle,
touch them.
It makes me laugh
to see a woman in this condition.
It makes me laugh for America and New York city
when your hands are cut off
and no one answers the phone.
3.3k
It’s the strings of a guitar that remind me of coca butter skin. A warm-hearted harmony transfixes my mind to the california king with ripped bed sheets. If only you hadn’t tickled the left side of my heart, I could’ve hidden my smile. You were unexpected, a scientific anomaly. Blind sided by nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, You’re my Sandra Bullock. You’ve saved me from the darkness of my heart, from all the self-appointed doubts and belief I am everything... But a good man. It’s the white of your eyes that tells me I’m safe, the dimples of your smile let me know, you trust me. In the years before you, I lived like rusted iron, never thought about, never cared for, looking used and broken. I was all of these things, because I wanted to be. I feared of caring, petrified to look into blue eyes, saying, I love you. Weather with luck or broken tan lines, you’ve frozen my fear. Our first memory is beneath bedsheets, hiding from the friends on the other side of love. If curiosity kills the cat, I believe I have 8 lives left. That’ll be long enough to show you that wrinkles above your nose during laughter, is the cutest feature I see. It was a clouded night sky when we first swapped, I love you’s, I still smell the apple pie we shared. I’ll cross my heart, hope to die if I forget our five hour mindless midnight argument, we are young adults with minds of children, only we find ice skating funny. Everything I have is yours, praying that it’ll be enough because when the sky falls down, I’ll want to be standing right next to you. You’ll be the calm before the storm, the rainbow after rain has seized it’s descent toward troubled grounds. When oceans become puddles, I’ll look back for nervous laughter and beautiful eyes, saving me from the darkness of my heart. I know it’s darkness shall never return, the white of your eyes enlightens the charcoal pieces. So when the sun burns out, I’ll never be afraid. I’ll have you shield me beneath bedsheets, hiding from those on the other side of something, not yet known.
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:50 PM UTC
Cold Coca Cola at midnight,
Steaming showers and dripping floors,
Meeting her lips in the morning,
And holding her close like I adore.
Surviving without judgement,
And talking without censors,
Absorbing every moment,
Knowing it may not last forever.
Never is it flawless:
Sometimes mistakes call to fights,
But with patience and understanding,
Broken words can mend by night;
Kissing away the burning tears,
And sacrificing time to stay,
Hugging through the creeping fears,
But knowing tomorrow brings a new day.
And never before
Would I have allowed someone this close,
And I know in my heart,
I never want to let this girl go.
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
My bed is a mass grave
My toilet is a mass grave
My kitchen sink is a mass grave
Stretched out in lines of chrysalis coke, choking the evanescent life that could have been. Straight into the empty Coca Cola can you go. A litany of atrocity in every bed, futon, desks, truck stop bathroom, camera lens, attempting to capture the genocide on film.
Alas, the lens is Covered with white, bioluminescent death.
Choking the unborn in the ****** drain.
Coffee mug refill, for but a single dime,
sweaty palms connected to strained veins on wrists,
connected to thrusting elbows.
Firing wrist rocket, V2, V1, buzz bomb.
Unsuspecting future citizens, blocks of thousands at a time.
Tadpoles, rotting in murky basement suits the world over.
The war is on.
Auschwitz, Dachau, Sachsenhausen.
Arbeit Macht Frei.
Swim for dear life
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:54 PM UTC