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Autisma Feb 4
Drowned out by divas
It was comfort that left us unprepared for this
This being the circuital embibement of chores and books
A choice to unentangle the moth from the web
Leaves one with typical but still misunderstood disturbances
Dad is a peadophile
We had ***
And now they're naming me a newt
A wet creature, suited especially to specific environments
A sham executed from the musical tenemants is one thing
But a crammed into trailer park is just a shame.
what makes a butterfly float, when everyone else is drowning?
The eyeish eckelecktic rom capacity can be blown away
And the attitudes of specs can thwart their own terrain
But if a pen draws blood, there's not room left for anything
So tell me the joke, esplanade yourself beyond my reach
Coke yourself up, give a scream, patent this work as your own, cherish the tub thumping
Be a cherub though rather than an angel, excrete malignantly and door slam the foreign light.
But someone must decide if the light is foreign.
Open to interpretation
Rod E Kok Jun 2014
somedays it’s nice
just to sit
relax
unwind

free one’s mind
of thoughts which
drag us down.

feet propped up
on an ottoman
eyes closed
music playing

idyllic

rye ‘n’ coke
and a bag of chips

guilty pleasures
lend a helping hand
to bring us
up

a temporary utopia
is what I need
crave
desire

in the absence
of sadness
sorrow
disappointment
I find
peace.
They pull the strings behind the scenes, they think themselves queens and kings controlling everything.
And we're the poor pawns that fawn on and on and on, day to day, from dusk til dawn.
We need to stop the cycle. No, we HAVE to stop this cycle. Get off the bike, though, we might not like to, Because we're prisoners and though we're lacking actual shackles, our rights are *** backwards, and the rulers are money-hungry psychos.
We the people pay the price,
The price for living paid in pain and constant suffering,
Nothing's really what it Seems,
And no one Sees because We numb ourselves through drugs and Vicodins,
Pill-poppers, downers, uppers,
Blunt-puffers, paint huffers,
Wrist cutters, coke snuffers,
Methamphetamine intravenously-injecting stupid *******.
Drug smugglers, crack stuffers,
Mother struggles, baby suffers,
Speed lovers, glass crushers,
We numb it all so no one bothers.
but sitting comfy at the summit,
Watching the planet plummet,
Are the ones pulling the strings behind the show.
The ones without a soul.
The ones behind it all, yet few of us do know.
It's time we all wake up, stop confirming to the rules, it's time we cut these strings and put the people in control.
My third spoken word piece
its a blue Monday
after Super Sunday
Americas 45th funday
yesterdays spectacle

the dip is done
the broken bones
of buffalo wings
fill giant glad bags

the ridged ripples
of broken Doritos
scattered on the floor
wait for a vacuums hum

dead soldiers rattle
a melodious cascade
the aroma of flat Bud
plunge into recycle bins

ribbed Trojans
dripping bagged ****
rim plastic trash cans
confirm an ****'s frenzy

the game forgotten
commercial reveries remain
seared into the briney mush
of compliant olfactories

collective hallucinations
successfully branded
a new and improved
global consciousness

Madmen Shamans
ebulliently channel
transactional zeitgeists
from the ripped boxes of
Best Buy plasma screens

Monday morning
water cool scuttlebutt
the planet is buzzing about...

Google's cool slap
of IPod clad automatons
the vanquishers of IBM's evil empire
Apple's brave new world is next
("meet the new boss,
same as the old boss?")

we all dug
rolling with Eminem
through the glitzy
streets of Motown

How cool is 8 Mile?
The hoods lookin good
angelic chorus lifts spirits
Swing Low Sweet Chrysler

The artistic types
faun over
the graphic beauty
illustrious aestheticism

moving story line
the epic journey
of the worlds
greatest brand

heroic product marketing pros
rival Jason and the Argonauts
sojourning trans-formative odysseys
of clever packaging and fat tail shelf life

holding precious real estate
of living imaginations
infecting hearts and minds
of future generations

realizing
everything
ends better
with coke

The State Farm Pre-Game
Jimmy Johnson's new coiff
jawed away with his old boss
rattlesnake booted Jerry Jones

A poignant embrace captured in
living color on grand jumbo trons
lording over a cavernous palace
a new stadium for Homeboys

Jimmy J asks Jerry J
"Why you overpaid
for The Boys New
Crib?"

"A billion 4,
a palace for the masses".
Jerry breaks some news
with an impish wink.
"No expense is spared
for the peeps."

"I always make out,
get a good return. I
make a profit. Ain't
America great."

This year Super Bowl
went Hollywood
and installed
a long red carpet.

Mike Strahan, collared
Harrison Ford.
Bagging his greatest sack
on a dazzling red rug.

"How many Super Bowls
is this for you?"
Strahan whistles
through his gaped teeth.

The aging Indiana Jones
came to promote his new flick,
"Cowboys and Aliens"
(I'm told an early Cannes
favorite. And it should be. Spoiler alert,
the movie is a moving story of an American tragedy.
Romo blows another one
throwing an interception in overtime.
The Aliens return it 95 yards for a touchdown.
Boy's lose again. America's Team vanquished by bubble headed Martians.
All of Texas weeps.)

Indy
coolly quips an answer
whipping with sarcasm,
"after today, one."
yuck yuck
lol

Strahan continues
to stalk Ford like a
scrambling quarterback,
"where will you be sitting?"

Ford shrugs
"dunno,
somewhere
up-there,
I guess",
he points to
the lofty
luxury boxes.
Royalty sits
next to God
in Jerry Jones
house of the
people.

Ford dons a green scarf.
He's down with the Pack.
Another sunshine *****
in the seat.

Michael Douglas and Zeta Jones
arrive in time to hear
Keith Urban sing
"Who Wouldn't Want to be Me?"

"He's alive
He's free
Who wouldn't
want to be me?"

Indeed who?

The parade
of heroes
continue.

The walking,talking
little S Corp, LLC's
dance their way
into the stadium
on resplendent
cushions of red.

Terrific brands
all earnestly
questing to
urgently
deliver
messages
to promote
themselves
and plug
shameful
products.

A Black Eye Peas
teaser
blinks onto
my giant
flat screen.

Will I Am
a black man
in a blacker mask
marches down the street
zapping people
with a ray gun.
(fascist culture is so cool, a
little light on liberation,
but **** does he look bad as all get out
in that leather rumble don't **** with me
outfit)

Jamie Foxx on the royal carpet leaks
that he yodeled three tunes
at a pregame party for Jerry's Kids;
T Boone and the Big W among them.

Quick cut
to Jamie's
new movie
Rio.
(I wonder if its
about Mexicano's
crossing the river?)

Wealth
Power
the perfect
image of ourselves
take a pill

I am Limitless
a new movie?
I've seen this one before.
I think I'm watching it now.

Just Go With It
Adam *******,
Jennifer Aniston
Americas sweetheart
teamed with Americas
kosher jokester.

He looks hot
in his droopy
pretend
don't give a ****
orange sweatshirt
and acid washed jeans.

Jennifer's ****, legs
what can you say
about America's sweetheart?
I think Brad Pitt
made a big mistake.

Bill O
is next.
Posturing,
arm wrestles
with the Prez,
shadow boxes
with the Big O.

"Muslim Brotherhoods
Rendition
Mubarack goes off the reservation
knows where the bodies are buried"
***!
***!

(Do we really need a dose of Fox Fear?
Is there no escape from the pernicious harangue?
Don't they know its Super Bowl Sunday?)

Bill O's drive by continues,
"Obamacare,
why do Americans hate you?"
Great journalism by this Fox ****.

Bill O is
haughty,
arrogant,
disrespectful
a despicable bully
and a self serving blow hard.

(My bladder is busting.
Its a great time to take a ****.)

We escape to
the freshness
of Owen Wilson's
smiling face,
playing two hand touch.

His bent nose
shining
he trots about
Jerry's field
carefree as a child.
(Is this a pitch, pass and punt
contest for A Listers?)

Other stars
join the light fun;
goose cheerleaders
give the cabana boys
hand-jobs
and themselves
a well earned blow-job.

Its an **** of photo ops
product placement
a sizzling collection
of dancing brands
prancing on the gridiron
of the New Cowboy field.

Ashton Kutcher
peeks over the shoulder
of a tweeting W.
I'm impressed
W knew
how to use
his thumbs.

Mrs. W's
permanent smile
was clearly visible
from the stadiums
cheapest seats.

Condie sat
way to the right
quietly stewing
lamenting
lost opportunities
of a gig as NFL
Commissioner.

On the stadiums floor
the frenetic dancing
of the
bumping
brands
fast
approaches
ecstatic elation.

Hollywood's version of
Whirling Dervishes; is
immediately stilled
as the solemn portion
of the program
commences.

The Declaration of Independence
is read by a bright galaxy of stars
accompanying armed service personnel
and other diligent American's.

"We hold these truths
to be self evident"

"United colonies
levee war,
dissolve bounds,
our day of allegiance
lives, fortunes and sacred honor
freedom is common sense,
free, equal, united"

CEO's
imprisoned
in Jerry's
luxury boxes
overcome
with
emotion
pound fists
on the glass
smearing
cocktail sauce
on the windows
of the suites.

Illegal
Chicano's
bravely
step forward
with rolls
of Bravo
and Windex
to wipe
it clean.

The focal point
of festivities
seismically
shifts like a
tectonic plate
almost as large
as Jerry's Stadium.

The stampede
of cheers
thunder like
canon shots,
the patriotic
ramparts of
militant
free market
capitalism
supplants the
shallow frivolity
of consumer slavery.

We are
compelled
to kneel
to celebrate a
Eucharist of
nationalism.

My partner explodes,
"Can't watch a football game
and view it for what it is,
a ******* football game."

The Fox
broadcasters
dedicate
this segment
of the show
to our military.

I squirm in my seat.
Sorry,
but the declaration is about
free people in free societies
not militarism.

Next up
dis old cowboy
Sam Elliot.
He knows
how to speak
the language
of real football fans.
Finally, a man of the people.

Sam introduced the cities.
He starts with Pittsburgh.

"Built on steel
a place where
terrible is good
these are the
enduring qualities
of this great American City."

The Steelers
make a timely entrance
onto the floor of the stadium,
as millionaires erupt
shaking their terrible towels.

Sam's
fuax
folkism
for
Fox Sports
continued.

"Green Bay is Title Town
the people never quit.
Crafty veterans are winners
exhorting all to greatness"

Images
of Lombardi's
toothy grin
fills my 72 inch screen.
A visitation by
America's Saint,
the sanctifier
of all competition
anoints the proceeding,
the quest to claim
the trophy named
for the games
very own
Archangel
of the
Gridiron.

The extended gig of
Lombardi's ghost
has haunted America
for over half a century;
has reportedly been seen
stalking the stage
on Broadway.

The anointed
Packers sprint
onto the field and
millionaire cheese heads
taking big bites out of life
erupt in cheers.

My hi def wide screen
made by Sharp reports
Battle of Los Angeles
opens 3/11/11.
The Chicago Code
premiers on Fox
sometime in March.

Walter Payton
Man of The Year Award
is presented
to an NFL Player
watching the game
with the troops
in Iraq.

The millionaires
don't cheer,
but the Fox announcers
are verklempt
overcome with patriotism.

Michelle Lee,
star
of Fox'***** show
Glee,
poses in front of a
sanitized choir
in blue uniforms to sing
America the Beautiful.

The beautiful song
is but an opening act
for the musical centerpiece
Star Spangled Banner.

The cameras cut
to a smiling W.
He can't get into Switzerland
but ******, he won't be turned out
of JJ's OK Corral.

Christina Aguilera
takes center stage.
She mounts
the silver football
crowning the
Holy Logo of the NFL
to sing the hallowed
Star Spangled Banner.

She fumbles her lines!
She forgot the rockets red glare!
The Steelers are crying.
The Packers are angry.
Ice melts from the stadiums roof.
The foundations of Jerry Jones
new stadium shakes.

A fly over of 4 fighters in formation
appears to be unaffected by the flub.
The planes do not crash.
They stay in formation.

The pilots spare Christina
a strafing and drone strike.
The republic remains
secure for now.

An unfamiliar announcer
addresses TV land.
He offers an apology to the fans
who cannot be seated.

The fire marshals
have revoked
Jerry's seating plan.
Greed got the better
of this man of the people.
Cowboy Stadium
is overbooked!

What is happening?
Is this America?
An ATT commercial
arrives just in time.

ATT has a new plan for America.
They encourage us to live social
with the new ATT AG.
Free market solutions
always work best.

Michael Douglas
reads another
patriotic exhortation.

"United we,
see the journey
of Acme Packers
as our journey."

"We see the resolve
of US Steel
as our resolve.
Big dreams
believe the best
journeys are
celebrated together."
(I'm down with that.
Whats good for Jerry Jones
is still good for me.
Right On! Check this stadium.
Power to the people!
It may not apply to the people who
will not be seated but tough nuggies.
This is America ******. Everybody
can't be seated at the table.
Even if they paid for their seat.
This ain't Red China.)

Neon Dion and other inductees
into the Football Hall of Fame
tosses the coin.
Steelers' call tails.
Heads it is.

At half time
The Black Eyed Peas
descend from
an upper Valhalla.

Still attired in
black fascist threads
The Righteous Peas
start wailing as
white metallic minions
dressed as
Imperial Storm Troopers
gallop to surround
their idols.

Precise formations
goose steppin bops
choreographic steps
the visceral *****
perfect counter-point
to swabbles of wiggling Peas.

Slash,
Guns and Roses
guitar hero
gunslinger
strode on stage
winging
this gal of mine
in choreographed
unison with
the leggy
Fergie.

Pumping it louder
the spectacle incites
the dancing
Imperial minions
quick steppin
and fetchin it
as Usher descends
in white unison
to leap and dance
over nasty
black peas.

The Gods
are descending
upon us.
Their words
have become
flesh.

The BEP's bleat
"kids are dying
wheres the love?"
Art does mirror life.

The neon hearts
of cheap
glow sticks
light up
the time
of our lives.

We are
cubed box heads
happily dancing along
the 50 yard line
answering China's
resounding drum
of frantic proletarians
bashing away
neocolonial disgrace
during the opening
ceremony of the worlds
greatest Olympian
display of
the pounding will
of an emerging nation
arriving on the world stage
with urgent insistence.

In America
we party on
every night
swiping
revoked
credit cards
for express lane
exits at the
local Walmart.

We are proud
highly personal
bar codes!

We refuse to be
marked down and flung
into discount bins at a
Tupelo Dollar Store.

Our light of life
flashes across screens
directing the trading pits
at the Chicago Board of Trade.

Each Super Bowl Sunday
souper bowl beggars
collect canned soup
for hungry Americans
at the local Shop and Drop

begging for larmen
boxes of Kraft
freeze dried noodles
and cans of Progresso
the feast of kings

A triumph
of the
Will I Am
BOOM BOOM
Says
Will I Am

I finish my bag of
Cool Ranch Doritos
and lick my partners
fingers clean.

Music Selection
Steve Miller,
Livin in the USA


2/7/11
Oakland
jbm
(WIP)
mads Aug 2012
She sits in her little ball
of self diagnosed depression,
self inflicted sadness
and weeps dry tears
she sobs hoping someone
will stop
hoping prince charming will pick her up
even though she knows
he does not exist.

I feel sorry for this girl,
she has no one
as I watch her life through glass walls,
(glass walls that I can't break down)
she has become my favourite channel.
each season is almost the same as the last;
like a horrible soap opera
except this is real.
people see her,
pause for a moment,
weigh up the pros and cons
then continue on
like she was never there.

Very suddenly her life
becomes dark
and she's controlling the storm clouds
the roll and crash and boom
the spinning of a
self destructive tornado.
it rains blood on the world
shedding the now only present colour.
its all become black and white.
Its all become black and white
and she's dissolving in the smoke.
with a broken smile on her face,
she floats away on *** and coke.
Title ideas?

please excuse this ratty, messy poem. Writers block is creeping back onto my shoulders.
Connor Apr 2016
Let's see..
well,

..there's the writer who never gave a **** about anybody but himself

..and the writer who had a fetish for pouring melted candlewax onto her own toes, while being watched by her cat

..and the writer who owned a chimpanzee named Tom, one afternoon when the writer wasn't home, Tom frenzied around the house chasing down a moth, this caused obvious concern to the neighbors, who heard the commotion last for an hour or maybe more, ah well..

..and the writer who began experimenting with a dream machine, but stopped upon feeling his brain's physical presence within his own skull, weighty, and terrifyingly colorful!

..and the writer who did the same thing, except kept going and found herself bored with it after a while anyways

..and the writer who broke down out front of a Walgreens in reaction to a phone call detailing a nearby tragedy involving two cars + a logging truck (and a tad of ******* but shhhhh) grief was part of that performance, but also in knowing he may have been directly responsible for the crash (coke was given by him, to the driver)

..and the writer who experienced the best ****** of his life without even a single poke of physical contact to his ****!

..and the writer who became addicted to biting her knuckles, to the point she needed to see someone about it

..and the writer who filed for divorce after finding out that his lover had caught numerous ****** infections/diseases (and only having been told by their cousin, too! probably from two recent trips to South America unbeknownst to their partner)

..and the writer who had a hobby of taking photographs of lampshades of varying textures, ages, sizes, and which emitted sometimes very exotic colors from the bulb inside.

..and the writer who never left his city, due to a paralyzing fear of travel

..and the writer who fell in love with another writer who was in love with someone else (as is usually the case)

..and the writer who passed away yesterday
..and the writer who will pass away tomorrow

..and the writer who admired the work of Charles Bukowski and tried too hard to be like Charles Bukowski, at the peril of those around him

..and the writer who's family hasn't messaged her in a few months now, and continues to wonder why

..and the writer who's favorite song was "I'm So Happy (Tra La La)" by Lewis Lymon & The Teen Chords, though in reality she was never happy (let alone SO happy) and often played the song as a front to convince herself that everything would be just fine
"JUST AS HAPPY AS CAN BE"

..and the writer who never knew they were a writer and never wrote anything in their life but **** it if they did!

..and the writer who's favorite month was July, favorite day Saturday, and time of day at around 2pm

..and the writer who's last words were never written down or heard by anyone outside their secluded office to which he screamed "HELP!!!" and then died from heart attack

..and the writer who actually lived only three blocks away and was good friends with the guy, and found his door unlocked and the smell came first

..and the writer who found it funny to imagine getting involved in certain scenarios inappropriately contrasted with specific songs, settings, or themes. An example: funerals where everyone shows up in clown costumes, sunbathing in the Arctic, being invited to a nice dinner and the restaurant is playing loud shoegaze music, closely befriending the person you hate the most in the world just to see if you can, and bringing a large cage of parrots to see a movie with you

..and the writer who really DID some of those things mentioned above (I won't say which)

..and the writer who wrote about all these other writers (me)

..and the writer who may be reading about all these other writers (you)
LDuler Mar 2013
Sugar and spice
And everything nice
A delicate blush, a secret crush
Rings, white wings and other fine things
Ribbons and laces, tender embraces
Elegant grace and a sweet pretty face
Cheeks of pink, colorful drinks
Holding hands and fluttering fans
Smiles sweet, small and petite
Soft, luscious hair and a whispered prayer
Ballroom dancing, timid glancing

Liqueur and ****
Jealousy, greed
In dark rooms, kneeling and wasted
Under the sheets, squealing, getting tasted
Smeared lipstick, hair mussed, no longer slick
Bleary red lips, curvy hips
Tattoos and lingerie see-through
Heavy petting, getting drunk and forgetting
Ripped tights, endless nights
Coke and hazy smoke
Expensive drugs and sweaty hugs
Twisted lies, glazed eyes,
Strong musky perfumes, dark rooms
Sketchy guys, spread thighs
Broken trust, humid lust
Mindless fornication, empty stimulation,
With bated respiration, nothing but degradation
*****-cherry shots and hazy thoughts
Dancing, grinding, lights all blinding
Backstabbing, hands jabbing
Dark magic, endings tragic
Secrets revealed, wounds opened or healed
Girls by Geneviève Pardoe Macchiarella is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Jack Sneers Jan 2013
Enter my Mind
Mind your step
Breath in Deep
For what you
See here
Hear here
May make you weep
May make you weak
May make you Wiry,
Wild and Fearful
May make you feel
Alive and Cheerful.
I have fallen more times over
Tried to kick a habit
One that would make most sober
Tried to break the chains that have long held me down
Tried in vain
But it's in my vein's to act the clown
I try to act proud
Keep ma head down
But the world catches up
And when I finally pick myself up
I'm thrown back down.
So who's listening now!
Who's speaking out loud
of foul rumors spread
half of them true
oh please yes lord
I'm trying to pull through.
But I miss my baby blue
I miss my baby who
Could pick me up whenever I was down
Now I'm on the wrong side of the equator
We say we see each other later
But I know it ain't so.
So I'll keep marching on
Boldly, Bouldering  singing my song.
Until I get knocked down and i'm finally gone
I'll just keep getting right back up again
still marching on
to the beat of my own song
I'm a saintly sinner
A loser
A winner
I've been deeply thinking
Of all those times I've been drinking
Of all the **** ups and jokes
I don't wanna choke
On a bag of coke
I wanna stand strong and keep marching on
Leave the behind those habits that have done me wrong





Will Shake up any preconceptions you may have
Overwhelmed Jul 2010
I tried to a make-up
something for a
poem

a love I never had,
a moment I never
experience, a time
that never existed

over and over
I try to do it
but I know it’s
all deceit

why can’t I say it?
my head is squarely
on head but my hands
seem to belong to any
other person

I have been challenged

write one line

and there,
I did it

but we both know that’s not enough

the sun is begging me
the grass is begging me
the bugs, and the fan,
and my diet coke next to
me is begging me too

write!
they say

pah,
that’s easy for you to say

but then I look down into their eyes
and then back down at my screen

I am still writing
but for the time
I refuse to accept my
work
Alex S Jan 2017
I was always told that
Angels fell to earth right out of the sky.
But I’ve just seen some plough through the street
In a soft-top GTI.
They wear no halos or feathered wings
Just low cut tops weighed down with bling.
They reach for offerings from higher powers
Whilst blurting out a verse so sour

From the radio distortions
Where the treble and bass don’t mix.
They fester in daddy’s fortunes
Refuelling on Marlborough kicks.
No reasons to care or give a ****.
No schedule. No curfew. No back up plans.
Because the coke’s *****, the merlot’s cheap
They dance until they dare to sleep.

They own the roads and highway code -
They drive however they like.
Be it a classic Sunday saunter
Or ripping up bends at ninety-five.
No care for  what’s wrong or morally right -
Not the subtle difference between concrete and ice.
Their fate is held by a suspect man
With a shrouded face and a scythe in hand.

His mercy waveringly alters
At the flick of a delicate switch.
He knocks it upwards violently
With the most convulsing of kicks.
No red alert! No alarm bells ring.
No saviour. No hero. No Prince Charming
From Clapham to Clacton to save their souls -
They’re at home watching rich boys banging in goals.

The lightest clouds from brighter skies
Can’t cushion them from their fall
The sight of a hematic sunset
Is the last thing they shall recall.
No blessing, swan songs or final words,
No final pleas to be willingly heard.
It’s up to Daddy if they get to relish
His delicacies – or the unspeakably hellish.
Katlego Tladi Oct 2014
Reality hanging by a thread.
Coke cans and cannons by my bed.
Show girls shooting up to the head.
Solace for the strong, seizures for the dead.

Pac in the boombox
If the packs don't boom I hope the boom pops.
If the boom don't pop she got a new pops.
Red lips serving blows up on the new blocks.

Humble pie in my abode in a bid to abide.
But the coke on the stove says the law is a lie.
Caught slipping, no snitching so my name shall survive.
Out in 10, when I return
Throw some paper to the sky, let the wind and caution colide.

I'll need a long island on the rocks.
Escape the piles we turn to rocks.
We held their lives within our glocks.
The doors were locked so we turned to the knocks.

Boys in the hood with the little coke babies.
Girls in the hood holding little hope babies.
Daddy never came but we live in hope baby.
All I had were bricks, had to build a home baby.
When Sophistication and Ignorance meet. Sparks fly.

I wrote this purely on impulse. I just woke up and started typing. Then I stopped, Listened to Kendrick's Section80, watched Al Pachino's Scarface and got back to it.

If you don't understand it you shouldn't. The echelons play a vital part in life, know yours.
Bless!
Mia Eugenia May 2013
I get it now
Why they call it a crush
Because my heart is crumbled
Like the Coke can in your hand
You didn't mean to
You didn't know I gave it to you
You clenched a fist without thinking
I don't blame you
I know you've felt this way
And caused this pain before
I can feel my stomach
In ways I never thought I would
It's beating like a heart
Maybe because
My heart never beats
Only pounds
And only when I see you
I love when you hug me
But hate when you let go
Because when you hold me
You carry me above the world
But when you let go
I fall
Mariah Nov 2014
Straight down to Florida, and the palm trees
look as dead to me as the skin on the palm
of my hand.
In the still of the night,
at a gas station, smoking.
Never did we care about things
going up in flames,
down the drain.
Ask me anything, anything you want
Slapping mosquitoes, yellow sun
taste of lukewarm Coke in the backseat
I asked for a road that ran straight
into the ocean.
We tried to swim all the way
to Mexico.
I wanted to become a million grains of sand.
I hope you find me in your picnic lunch.
I hope you can't wash me off your feet.
But we see the oil on the shore,
we hear the deaths announced on the radio,
dolphin's cry,
garbage around a turtle's neck.
I hope I am one beautiful thing in this world
that they can't destroy.
This is about all the times I spent in Florida when I was younger, and the roadtrips down there.
WHAT A COOL YOUNG DUDE INVENTION


HAVING BEER COME FROM THE UNDERGROUND, OH YEAH, HOW RAD

HAVING BEER COME FROM THE UNDERGROUND

TO HAVE THE WORLD TEASE MY DEAR OLD DAD

AS HE IS TRYING TO RELAX, BUT THIS IDEA IS COOL

YA SEE IN BELGUIM THE STREETS ARE SO, BAD

RUNNING THE BEER UNDERGROUND, YEAH THAT SOUNDS RAD

YA SEE I COULD CAUSE KIDDIES PRACTICING TO DIG

A HOLE IN THE GROUND, AND GET AT IT A BIT

BUT WHY WORRY ABOUT THAT, IT ISN’T AS SILLY AS IT SOUNDS

AUSTRALIA LOVES BEER, WHY NOT DO IT FOR US

IT COSTS MONEY, I AM NO DUMMY

IT IS A COOL YOUNG DUDES INVENRTON, MAN

PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY ON DUDES

I THINK PERSONALLY, IT WILL BE COOL

BREAK NO RULES, YEAH BEER TRAVELLING UNDERGROUND

WILL WORK HERE, JUST TRY IT OH ****** DEAR

YEAH THIS IS A COOL THING, LIKE AMERICAN IDOLS ADAM LAMBERT JOINING QUEEN

HERE THE BEER TRAVELS UNDERGROUND, UNDERGROUND UNDERGROUND

YEAH THE BEER TRAVELS UNDERGROUND, TO AVOID THE RICKEDY OLD STREETS OF BELGUIM, DUDE

IT’S THE KIND OF THING YA WANT IN AUSTRALIA, MAN AUSTRALIA, MAN AUSTRALIA, MAN

IT’S DEFINATELY THE THING IN AUSTRALIA MAN

YEAH IT’S A YOUNG DUDE INVENTION, AND IT MUST ****** WORK, DEAR

I DO ART, THAT’S MY YOUNG DUDE, YEAH, AND I AM PARTYING WITH COKE, OH YEAH

I USED TO BE THE TYPE TO DRINK A BEER, I GAVE UP WASN’T WORKING

BUT DON’T ****** WELL COPY ME, CAUSE I AM A LOST CAUSE TO THE CONSERVOS

MY YOUNG DUDE IS, PUTTING METHANE BACK TO EARTH, TO HEAL OUR HEALTH REFORM HEALTH REFORM HEALTH REFORM

MY YOUNG DUDE WANTS TO USE METHANE TO HEAL MY HEALTH REFORM

WHILE MY DAD IS SAYING, HE HAS NO YOUNG DUDE, AND FORCING YOUNG DUDES TO SAY

YOOUT NOT A COOL KID, DON’T MUCK WITH ME, BUDDY

I SAY, HOW ABOUT THE UNDERGROUND BEER, MATEY, HOW ABOUT THE UNDERGROUND BEER, SIR

BELGUIM, IS GOING TO BE RADICAL, DUDE

THE BEER WILL TRAVEL THROUGH THE UNDERGROUND OF BELGUIM UNDERGROUND OF BELGUIM

UNDERGROUND OF BELGUIM

THE BEER WILL TRAVEL THROUGH THE UNDERGROUND OF BELGUIM

WE SHOULD DO THAT IN AUSTRALIA, MATE

QUEEN HAVE A NEW SINGER, ADAM LAMBERT, AND BELGUIM HAS BEER ON THE UNDERGROUND

THE COOL YOUNG DUDES LIKE ME IN THE 1980S, ARE RETURNING, BUDDY OLE BOY OLE PAL

PARTY PARTY PARTY PARTY
Hi dudes

I am on the murrays bus heading for Batemans bay and there is only 1 hour
And a half left and I am looking forward to being close to the ocean
You see it's going to be great eating fish
And chips at the boathouse
You see I am having memories of when I went here with my mate Daniel and this
Is my first trip since I stopped ringing him up and I am staying in Mariners on the waterfront and I hope the room is ready when I get there
I have to rehearse my play lines as well
I woke up at 5 am in the morning at my mother's house and I remember walking with Daniel and the bus dropped water on us because it was raining But today iss lovely sunny day and now we have arrived at Braidwood to pick up a box and we are off again
We are entering the windey roads
Of the Clyde mountain and as I look
Out there are roadworks and lovely black cows, cows are beautiful creatures and yes we will be passing
Poo bears corner and dudes there is
Blue sky for miles, and I hope my room
Had fox footy so I can watch the parade I have just arrived in Batemans bay
And I arrived too early for the room at Mariners, so I left my baggage there and
Headed for the take away for an egg and bacon roll with BBQ sauce and hopefully people will be out of the room
When I return to the hotel And the egg and bacon roll was very tasty and after I left chixandstix I headed toward k mart
To buy a coke and wait for the time to tick away so I could enter my room
There are millions of Kids running around and I saw one guy running on
The road, yeah this is going to be a great grand final weekend on the south coast and I hope I get into the room
By 12 so I can see if they have the fox footy channel for the parade
But they didn't But it is a wonderful room with a nice view of the Clyde river
And I wish there was a fox footy but oh well we can't have everything but it is a beautiful view though
The next minute I walked down to the Batemans bay soldiers club and paid them $10 to become a member and I am
Going to
Watch the parade in air conditioned comfort I know I leave monday  but I find it is worth it
I am watching hawthorn and west coast go down the streets either he sun shining nicely in this great spring day and I am sinking coke by coke enjoying the grand final I have just arrived in Batemans bay
And I arrived too early for the room at Mariners, so I left my baggage there and
Headed for the take away for an egg and bacon roll with BBQ sauce and hopefully people will be out of the room
When I return to the hotel And the egg and bacon roll was very tasty and after I left chixandstix I headed toward k mart
To buy a coke and wait for the time to tick away so I could enter my room
There are millions of Kids running around and I saw one guy running on
The road, yeah this is going to be a great grand final weekend on the south coast and I hope I get into the room
By 12 so I can see if they have the fox footy channel for the parade
But they didn't But it is a wonderful room with a nice view of the Clyde river
And I wish there was a fox footy but oh well we can't have everything but it is a beautiful view though
The next minute I walked down to the Batemans bay soldiers club and paid them $10 to become a member and I am
Going to
Watch the parade in air conditioned comfort I know I leave Monday but I find it is worth it
I am watching hawthorn and west coast go down the streets either he sun shining nicely in this great spring day and I am sinking coke by coke enjoying the grand final And after walking home from the club
after watching the parade, I got $50 out
And went back to the hotel and presto
The TV was in better working order but
I don't have fox footy, so I am glad I went to the club and currently I am just
Relaxing in front of the box doing my art
And I saw the end of the rugby league
Grand final show and I am doing my hAlloween tapestryAnd now I am watching alive and cooking waiting for the 3 o'clock news
Bulletin to start and tonight I am going to have fish and chips as well as buying a few supplies to veg out with tonight
In front of the box, the view of the river
Is radically awesome dude and I am looking forward to my fish and chips
Down the coast
I just had fish and chips at the voatshed and yes mr seagull decided to Payne a visit
And you shoul have Heard the racket when I gave up one or two or three
And the fish was so fresh and for drinks I had pub squash and another seagull jumps up to say hello to Me and I said hell mister seagull and after I finished with my dinner I went to woollies to buy some supplied to satisfy my hunger tonight
And as I was walking home  a man said I was shaky he like a jelly on a plate and I said yeah I am a cool writer and artist
And then I went into my room to watch Becker then the news and I am going to spend a relaxing night on the night before west coast hopefully beat hawthorn and will I get fat tonight
Of course I am not going to eat it all tonight
I will concentrate on my creativityYou see I lying on my bed moving
My hand as I do each stitch watching
Neighbours and everybody loves Raymond and then watched the gardeners on better homes and gardens
And whe I was watching that some really cool party people were laughing and having a good time all I'm readiness
For the afl grand final tomorrow
As the song goes
We are the Eagles the west coast Eagles
We're the team to show you how
We are the better birds than the team of hawthorn we are the mighty west coast team but if hawthorn win tomorrow
I will ****** scream and now there is another talk show
Have you been paying attention
Which is a radically awesome show
But I Have turns it over to superman
On channrlll goI got up at 7 am this morning after having a nightmare of James Pederson
Getting his revenge on me after I teased him a bit and then I got up to go to the toilet and took my medication and went back to bed for 2 more hours and after that I had a shower and then breakfast
And got the room ready for the housekeepers to clean and then went on a walk to beautiful batehaven and as I walked down the road, there was this lovely sesbreeze and it was a beautiful
Hot day and I passed the fish and chip shop and the shell museum and bird land animal park and I saw families swimming in the pool and when I reached batehaven I bought myself a coke and say there watching isthe water and there is this water skier having a wow of a time and there was this man taking his dog down to the water and there are heaps of families taking their kids to the water on this nice hot day  
It is wonderful sitting by the beach and onr man is resting his dog
It is a nice day for the beach
And I am enjoying myself relaxing in the shade of this really hot day at the beach
And soon I must go to get some lunch and watch west coast beat hawthirn
Go the EaglesI entered the soldiers club and went straight to the bistro to have a hamburger with egg and bacon and chips and it was superb and then I went to the TV to watch the pre game show
And Elle Goulding and Bryan Adams
Were the entertainers and mike Brady sang up there Cazaly and even if they weren't there felt like singing up there goes Sydney and I chose the TV with a view of the Clyde river and I am still tipping west coast go the Eagles
The Hawks broke away with a lead at quarter time and half time and west coast are in for a record if they can get back from 57-26 down and the Kangaroos runner won the sprint giving money to youth homelessness
And the beach is a cool backdrop for the mighty MCG and I am still going for the eagkes but it will be hard
Go the eagles for what it's worth
Well we are the happy team at hawthorn
Showing the Eagles which birds the best, we fight them off from start to finish
Go the Hawks for the 2015 premiership
And it is a good reason to party on
Saturday night which is party night
Yes the Hawks are superior in this grand final and I am sitting in the batemans bay soldiers club watching the match and I am waiting for the presentation and if the motel has a band tonight
I am going party through frustrations by watching the band
I will probably get a pizza for dinner on the wharf
But the Hawks were the big birds the kings of the big game
Go the Hawks for victorycan hear you laughing. Go
You see you are laughing oh so hard mc cracking jokes celebrating the Cowboys win it was a wonderful win
I am glad the Broncos lost
You see I like people who party
They are my type of people
You see people laugh at each other
And they say go cowboys go
Then around Christmas time
They dress up as Santa and let out
A loud ** ** **
You see they say it very loud
It is like they lost thrift ** ** **
Where can it go go go
Doing the hanky pdnky with your mates
In the gay bar in downtown Sydney
Then we will celebrate a win
Cowboys Cowboys rah rah rah
Got he mighty Cowboys from now till the end of hhf day
Everyone has stopped laughing
Time for bed
Go the Cowboys
Kristi Udell Jan 2013
his voice echoes continuously through my mind
repeating those same fluid words
like ripples on the surface of an endless pool of water
again and again.
That same photographic memory
of four beautiful seconds
filled with brilliance and easy laughter
is in high definition
playing on an endless loop.
It tears away every outside thought,
accelerating and building in a crescendo
driving out the rest of the world.

his gaze sweeps over me
in its path around the room
and evanescent as it is,
it causes my heart to flutter,
threatening to fly away

I'm left with an image branded on my mind
of eyes the color of antique coke bottles
Those kind eyes
begin to take on a menacing edge
in my memory
piercing deep into me and allowing
intense insecurity and admiration to flood in
as i recall the treasures behind them

Like most artists, he has no clue
that he's an incredible writer
but, as the days pass by in class
we start to let him in on the secret
yet, he still refuses to accept it

his sweet, shy smile
always talks down his brilliance,
clouding his depth
like he almost fears his own words
That expression of near embarrassment
when people enjoy his work,
mixed with the thought that he's so incredible
tears me up
and i strive to measure up
while he simply shrugs it off,
almost unaware of his excellence
like he's staring into a ***** mirror

I find myself thinking about it
in bed at night
when the rest of my anxieties
team up to press me under the day
in a deep, wildly-colored sleep

When the morning finds me
and the sun pulls me back to Earth
I stretch out my arms and
draw in the fresh scent of the new day
but as i fall into my usual routine,
the memories and insecurities and inferiorities
creep up to the surface of my thoughts
and I wonder if I'll ever move past this stage,
listening and admiring from afar

Suddenly an idea strikes me
and i press my pen to my paper
using his medium
to release what I've held in so long
this was submitted for a portfolio in my creative writing class, where i read it aloud. the entire class was required to give feedback and the subject was in the class. i was required to explain the inspiration before reading it, so he knew it was about him. :D
Our orders are to burn the Messiahs body twice.
Just like the corpses crawling from their graves,
that we push back with a shovel, remove the brains
set the pit a-blaze if they try to rise again

Blood and Brains better splattered all over the cement
than slowly removed through your coke holes with a fork
the scent of the earth, is only as bad as its worst rotting *****

***** and Brains better obsessed over all alone in the dark because
her skin flakes off in my arms,  her lips disintegrate with a kiss
her name is Serenity, shes dying , going going dead
still can't get her 7 gallons of blood out of my bed.

Blood and Bruises better thought over with a glass of wine
switch blade fights with rivals, hiding bodies in the sage
they said to dig a hole for every single one, till my dying day
but I hear the messiah is Three, and if i cut him up
how stupid of a human I would be,

ash separates easily
666
Poetry by MAN Feb 2014
Unf give me an hour
I'll give you all my power
***** I'll devour
Lick it in the shower
Tasty and clean
I wanna **** ya like a machine
Feel my ****** pump
As my **** goes thump
Stick it in your mouth
Feel me as I grow
**** it fast...play with my *****..then slurp it slow
In your slit flicking your ****
***** slapping while ya ******* my ****
***** tasty and so yummy
Stick up yo *** lay on your tummy
Feel my friction from behind
Pull your hair...your *****'s mine
Going in so deep
Your wetness starts to seep
Inside you I move it around
Your G spot I start to pound
Against the wall on the ground
I hear you moan luv the sound
Tie you up give you a choke
While your bound you feel my poke
***** nerves wrap around my stroke
Stop and do a line of coke
We are naughty that's no crime
Your ***** always on my mind
Best drug I'll ever find
I wanna ******* all the time
So hop up on my ****
For you it's hard like a rock
Rub it on your **** then drop
In and out so fucken hot
Use me till you ***
Twerk on my **** like a drum
Hold it there....Um...
Luv it when your ***** strums
Look deep into my eyes
Feel your ****** begin to rise
Ecstasy no surprise
We both *** while I'm inside
Hmm What more can I say
My hour has passed away
Just how I want to do you every single day..
2-12-14 M.A.N
Liz Anne Jan 2013
Lag feels more like laaaaaag
When I'm killing time

It's a waste to spend days waiting
To learn a trade or two
That can only maybe help you

Movies and TV shows
My music is always going going going
Until the battery is dead and gone

Diet coke and french toast
Sickeningly sweet
I've yet to take a bite

Wasting time dreaming
My plans are rotting and drifting

Must do what I have to
Have to learn while I can

Striving and driving into whithered suns

Funy how they all demand
This is how it must be done

But after they lose it they'll say
All they want is to have a little
Youth back to do

Everything they say the young
Are still too young to do
Chloe Zafonte Dec 2016
**** is a horrible disgusting crime!

But for Muslims it's fine? Hmm

Shut up you're being racist

But we're not talking about a race.

You're the oppressor that everyone has to  face.

But I'm only one person!

You're a white male!

That's being racist aren't you against that?

Excuse me sir! Did you just shame me for being fat?

This has nothing to do with anything.

You may find me unappealing but get down one one knee and give me a ring.

You just seem to really dislike me though

Did you just address me as a ***?

Where is this coming from?

How dare you violate me? What's next slip drugs in my coke and ***?

I'm starting to believe you've had enough to drink.

Are you saying I'm uneducated and incapable to think?

Well I'll admit I thought it since there are words you can't comprehend.

When will this patriarchy come to an end???
Jimmy Kerr Sep 2014
Babe, there's many kindsa cravings:
the vanilla kind, where young idiots
write about how they miss his
or her touch on their skins.
or the morbid kind, where another
lot lament how they'd rather die
than not see each other.
I'll tell you of this real and adult craving:
babe, I ******* miss my manhood
feeling ron n ***** up your moist hindside.
Babe, its a crack kinda craving,
the sight of which, beneath wet garments
and better yet, when parted
revealin that silly sorry slithery
gateway to the netherheavens,
this is the kinda crack, harder than coke,
that my adult craving craves, this
craving, babe, is for the real.
******* annoying to read endless vanilla notes here on how kidults miss each other's caresses and the like. some pretend, that just by using the f word they are so grown up. But man, you gotta grow up to be grown up, really, and then express what you really want and not beat around the bush...literally!
William Rogers Apr 2016
I gave 75 cents to a homeless man
sitting on the frozen sidewalk
holding a half eaten loaf of rye bread.
It's 13 degrees and the sun's out.
Times Square, December 2, 2005.
A lanky man dressed like Santa walked by,
glared and shook his head at me.
He took a step sideways
and continued on, stumbling down the sidewalk,
stopping to lean against the building
twenty yards away.

He slid down the wall
and sat in an empty doorway,
his red and white costume sloping down on one side,
the elastic beard matted
with sweat stains and fresh egg yolk.
Gaps in the fabric revealed black stubble
with streaks of gray along his cheek bone,
his belt far too big for someone twice his size.
One of the lenses on his fake coke-bottle glasses
was cracked down the middle, but he didn't notice.

How come Santa drinks so much, my little cousin asked,
trying to absorb the idea of habits.
She's smarter than most seven-year-olds.
Some day she'll realize the therapeutic power of bourbon,
whether she wants to or not,
by virtue of a twisted and distorted lineage.

Remembering back to a time when I believed,
I asked myself,
Was he always so intense and disruptive?
Did he always look so disheveled?
Waking up in ****** unfamiliar motels,
fur stuck to his tongue,
feeling cheap and
smelling like reindeer?

Doesn't he have family to go home to?

I distinctly recall Santa getting agitated
at a pawnshop in Jersey,
hocking a six year old Rolex knockoff,
arguing with a deadbeat in an orange latex bandana
about whether it could get him 5 bucks or 50.
Santa is a hobo who should be in rehab
but decides to sit back and take blame,
driven by dollars and cents, not peace and love.
Fictitious friends have more of an impact,
imagining someone out there barks like a dog
when a strange man in card-carrying colors
gets too close to either side of the line
and lodges himself in a chimney
too small for his socks
but too large for his vision.

Think of the profile:
An obese elderly  man, about 6'1",
big bushy white beard
puffy red cheeks
and glazed over eyes. Dresses in red velvet,
has eight deer he runs until they drop,
overwhelmingly fond of children,
known to sneak around
in the darkness late at night,
carrying a sack,
usually around the holidays.
Santa is a transient worker.
But does he have a record?
Was he always a bag man?

Busted for B&E;
at the Christmas Tree Shop in Danbury, 2001,
then fast forward to indecent exposure
inside a moving vehicle
somewhere around 23rd Street
where the sun becomes the moon.

Everyone is old enough to know
not to sleep in soiled piles
reeking of their own fermenting remnants
of a night gone sour.

But he meets Betty Ford for drinks anyway
in a seedy club in Queens,
one night too many,
one night in particular, in 2003,
strung out stiff on single malt,
he grabbed the reins, lost control
and flipped back to front on a car full of elves
at a busy intersection somewhere around LaGuardia.

He showed up in night court
with a ****** who promised him a good time
but gave him more than he bargained for.
He never said he was innocent,
just that he didn't think he could be convicted.

Across the street, he pulls himself up,
throws an empty bottle against the concrete wall
and crosses back over toward us.
The stale stench of cheap red wine
permeates from the center of his beard,
with permanent stains across his chin
and all along the white fabric pleasure
path that connects one head to the other.

Santa glares at us again,
mumbles something in Croatian
and falls face first into a pile of stones
deep down the alley,
two sheets to the wind,
and ten steps closer to Brooklyn.
Haley Warmuth May 2013
mad world

sad world

bad world with a cigareete in your hand

and a gun down your throat, pop off that cap

of that coke, let it slide down your throat

pooling in the pit of your coat

pocket it, lock it up and throw away the anecdote

that moves you from one being to another and

rides your waves into the next lover

loving every moment of your ten second fame

frame it and loathe it

because it grows upward and outward

branching out, limiting the route that you take

and moving you at a high speed rate

speed ball faster than a super nova,

from over the rainbow and down to the pit

with witch you write your wit and your lick

which sit like whips in the hand of someone more fit

for your position, transition forward and for warn those before you

that the cap in your lip and the trick you can’t flip

exist from things we don’t get

like this mad world

this sad world

this undying, full-flying bad world

that we create

from anger

from love

from up above we put our fate

when its down on the ground that preaches hate

and fear

hear the dawn coming fourth

the sun will come up, and the world will spin

until then keep running your pace

save face

lay waste to this earth, blame it on race

then look back and remember

one feather makes one part of a whole wing

and two wings make a bird take flight

a flight that moves mountains, making height their plight

the tallest leaf of the tallest tree

must be the happiest

stretched to the sun, with only clouds as blocks

reach forward and stretch to the ends of this earth

this world

this mad, sad, bad world

pull the trigger, flip the cap

and bloom out of the dust

up to the sun

fill your lungs with the rust of aged earth

and breathe
after years of being told how good my body was
i went through puberty.

after years of being asked how much time i spent at the gym
i grew hips
and disconcerting  looks from grown men who thought my fifteen year old thighs were too thick to be sexualized.

after years of wearing sundresses
and being applauded for being the first girl in my grade to grow *****
my metabolism slowed down
and i was made to feel like a cowbell in the least practical sense of the word.

i was thirteen and hunched over a porcelain toilet bowl when i told my friend i had purged and she called me gross as if it wasn't because of feeling "gross" that i was there to begin with.

and i'd grown used to my good-gened friends with their tiny waists and size 32 jeans telling me they wanted to join a gym in hopes i'd run along and lose some weight.

because when i was 13 and weighed little enough to turn heads i felt empty while looking whole.

and when you're fat you can't have an eating disorder, because illness can be seen so how good of a job my ana was doing depended solely on how faint i felt by midday.

in a world where nobody buys magazines it's easy to pretend we don't care for skinny bodies anymore, but when every smartphone is linked to an instagram page and every newsfeed is filled with "slim thick baddies" you can't help but wonder.

if i were to feel physically full why am i so empty?
i cheated myself.
she probably went and cheated on me because my body wasn't slim-thick enough to eat.

and it's easy to say this doesn't apply to me when you see the pictures on the beach but you don't see me scrolling through pinterest at 2 in the morning looking at "How To Lose 10 kgs in 3 Days" posts.

if i were so lucky i'd be a success story and could probably post before and after pictures of my body but you can not hear the ache in my belly screaming at me that it'd rather just be cut off.

when i was fourteen i could no longer wear shorts in public because grown men with wives would turn and watch my thighs clip-clap together as i walked with my dad.
i was asking for it.
i resented summer and the fact that i'd run out of clean pairs of jeans to sweat in.

but if i dare love myself, what then? do i apologise to the girlfriends of the boys who visit me for coffee? do i drink coke light with my whiskey? do i start writing poetry?
Kath Jun 2015
I am new to this poetry thing.
So, forgive me if I do the wrong thing.

In reality, I am a photographer.
And yes, I am a Instagram-er.

But kidding aside,
Please do stay by my side.
Or else I might cry.

Again, that was just a joke.
So c'mon, join me for coke!
Icarus Fragmenti Aug 2013
My deceiving emotions, are leaving me bleeding,
so when I share them out, they come off sorta misleading.
I'm pleading that you understand, the things I am seeing in mind, in due time, I made you mine, so History was repeating.
I'm seeing this, getting a reading of sweet bliss,
I'm eating your chips, grabbing your hips, and kissing your lips.
I went from dropping the clips used for dropping off crips,
to shopping for gifts I buy.
I broke ties, with those I despise,
The ones who talk ****, snort coke, and tell lies,
Sometimes I wonder why I was friends with those guys,
They meant nothing to me,
Nothing on my life,
Nothing on my conscience, but my sub-conscience is so wise.
I feel like a cat, I got something like 9 lives.
But what is the point when you can't even survive, the one you're living in.
I'm barely living, not giving a ****, but giving one finger of five.
It's hard to hide, you are the light in my eyes, the moon in my sky.
When you're laying next to me, baby there's stars in your eyes.
Hanna Baleine Jul 2014
09/29/13
Define Happiness.
      Here I go: I do not believe I know the definition of Happiness. Not because I’ve never truly experienced it before, but because I think of it as a word with a great amount of meaning, such as the word “love”, but is overused and thrown around by mindless children. A boy once told me that he “loves” me. I explained to him that he is sixteen and does not know what love is and neither do I, so please don’t say that you love me. But because I am sure you will not accept an “I don’t know” as a response, I will try my best to define Happiness.
      My kind of Happiness comes in three different levels. First, the top level, the most superficial one of all, is the in between. I am a strange person and one of my strange qualities is that I am the happiest when I am in need of something. Let me explain: I hate being at home. I want to leave the overbearing side of my mother and my desolate home drenched in memories of my ****** past. In November of last year, I needed to clear my mind and visited my brother in Montreal. However, once I arrived in the pale city, I wanted to fly back home immediately. See the problem? I have since then realized that I am happiest when I am in between two worlds: travelling from a city that I hate but grew up in, to a city that I love but am lost in. Another example: there is a boy that I like; and when he leaves my side, I can’t help imagining the moment when he finally grips my hand firmly again. But once that moment comes, I want it to end. Immediately. I want to be on my own. Once again, I am happiest when I am left alone to imagine a scene of being with someone or something that I so dreadfully need but am disappointed when that opportunity comes.
      Second, the next and more profound level of my Happiness is comfort. Happiness here is all about talking about your secrets with people whom you do not truly know yet but share the same history with. You have just met these people and already you speak to them about the spots on your body where you like to cut the most and the amount of weight you lost in a month and the foods you so shamefully enjoy bingeing on and in what ways you’ve thought about killing yourself and the things you were so close to doing such as taking a hammer to your scale because you were fed up with it always admitting that you’re fat fat fat fat fat!!!! However, on this second level, Happiness is also proclaiming that you want Wendy’s because that is what your body is unfortunately craving, and then finishing a chicken sandwich and small fries and diet coke with no ice while sitting in a car, understanding that you will not be able to burn off the hundreds of calories you have just taken in because you are stuck on a five hour drive to visit your dear sister. On this second level, Happiness is putting ******* between your thighs and feeling them touch, pinching your double chin, and rubbing your bloated belly for four seconds then shrugging off your imperfections and driving to school without even thinking about them anymore.
      Finally, the third and most heartfelt level of my Happiness is associated with security. Happiness here is walking through a graveyard and knowing for a fact that you will die soon too so please don’t think you’re stuck like this forever. On this level, my Happiness is the thought shoved in the back of my mind reminding me that there is a blade hidden in a pretty shoe box in the corner of my closet, always accessible and always prepared to cure the pain I can’t seem to rip out from under my flesh. On this level, my Happiness is looking down at my thighs and caressing the scars that I try so hard to hide yet am so attached to because they keep me safe in times of desperation, reminding me that I bleed and feel pain (thank God). On this level, my Happiness is my mortality.
hi dudes


i wanted to be a hooligan, or was it a young dude who wants to party

you see i would go out at night, and be a real smart, you see my mates

would say, i was like their mob, but i hated my father saying, he hated to

be like my mob, so i called him a great big old fogie ,because that is what

he seemed to be, you see i don’t think dad can understand why his own flesh

and blood could tease him like this, i never really wanted to be an adult to him

no, please don’t make me, you see at present people are saying i am still a young dude

i am still an old fogie, because they wanna get me back, i hated being treated like

a yeah mate yeah kid, ya see, i would prefer to be treated right, you see i know my dad

is saying i am a fool, but my mates liked the way i used to tease my dad, so they joined right in

but i wanted to tell them that i wanted to tease dad all by myself, and when someone called dad

a great big old fogie in the club, i looked at him and said quietly to myself, way to go buddy

you see people are trying to get me to do what i used to do, like if i go into an expensive hotel

they will say, shut up, your still a young dude, buddy, and i said, yeah the young dude that enjoys

5 star hotels, yeah, and dad would try and get rid of my man and take him for a wander, and

some people are taking my cool kid for a bit of a wander, you see, i feel like i am being kidnapped

by the men saying as they tease someone, and then they say i might tease him in a minute

but he is still a hooligan or a friend to the poor, you see i also hear my friends try and be a street kid

so i can get teased by the families, and i don’t want to get teased by the families, and every time i be a

cool young dude, i see my old mates treating me like a shy person, as i am watching the very brave

**** fanning, about to do a press conference, **** he is brave, you see my mates are trying to reach in

to me and play with my itchy skin, you see maybe i was trying to be a street kid back then, so i don’t get teased

and maybe i was trying to be a poor person so i don’t get teased, but i don’t want to go back to the psych ward

you see i wanted to be a hooligan in 1989, and my mate called me dude, and i got voices in my head saying

hang on yeah little cool dude, and my mate said, yeah enjoy yourself man, and i tried to be like his brothers

he went yeah man enjoy yourself, and i ran off, you see i hear voices of people treating me like a little young dude

because when i was young i used to stay up till 11.30 pm on weekends and i used to watch the young ones and

the fast lane, and i watched neighbours and beavis and butted and e street and i remember my mates saying

i think brian doesn’t want to do this, but i want to be a cool kid to the TV, and i would say, you talk to me, i watch the TV

and my mates turning out to be the adults who want to go out and experience life, my version of loving life is watching TV

and teasing my dad, saying he is a great big old fogie and i feel like people are treating me like a roughneck young dude

trying to take my little cool kid to the family credits away, but i don’t want to be a little cool kid to the family, i prefer to be a big young

dude who enjoys calling dad a great big old fogie because dad always said, i don’t know who he is, i said **** malone is going well

dad said, who is **** malone, i said i watched good times last night, and i saw jj and dad said, who is jj, what a ****, i thought

everyone knows about jj, he said, oh dyna—— mite, maybe i was treating dad like me, ya know treating him like a **** of a man

but that was because i thought jj was popular and so was **** malone, i got in a lot of arguments with dad about his ******* comments

ya see now i fall asleep on the couch as i go up to space to try and reform my young dude, because i still want to stay up, i hate going

to bed early, i am not doing what i did in wood berry for anyone, you see i will drink my soft drink and say a bottle of soft drink knocks you out

and i wasn’t a woosey, i was a basketball star, i was a cool kid to the basketball people, yeah i made mistakes i grabbed kids on the mouths

as occasionally i was trying to trap myself, but i was a sports kid, ya know very good at sports, and i want dad to treat me like a man, because

dad can’t protect me from up there, so i want to be treated like a man who enjoys the finer things in life, like eating pizza and drinking coke

and anything that makes me into a real party dude, i don’t want to be a shy person, mind you, i like the idea, of teasing dad from down here

looking at dads next life’s latest pictures on the computer and dad is now in jimmy barnes’s family as betty campbell, but dad is at peace in that family

but he died with everyone thinking he doesn’t want to be cool, and betty campbell is going to be cooler than her last life, baz boy allan

you see i remember when my brother treated me like a little spaz boy, like saying my brain was chopped off and i am totally spastic, yeah like a

little spaz boy, like mum called dad baz boy, my brother called me little spaz boy and i felt very weird because i wanted to be like the TV people

like ***** hogan and ricky stratton or even bart simpson, forcing my brother to be lisa simpson, you see i take my medication to make me feel

better because back then i felt like a koomarri man, and i heard voices of people saying, your still a young dude brian, and i said i am a young dude

ya know, i stay up till late listening to music talking to my brother about his favourite music and favourite TV shows, it was really cool

and when i was young i said i wasn’t a cool kid, i am a big man’s kid or a big young dude who listens to cool poison and twisted sister, **** i love that video

and i got on very well with my family, including the great big old fogie in dad
JJ Hutton Feb 2012
The bank account overdrawn,
the west coast -- naked, easy --
passenger seat and head resting on cold glass,
seeing the pines turn to ash to evergreen to redwoods to sand.

I bit her ear and asked for her name,
in Before George's sanctuary,
blush, blushing -- finger to lips hushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in flaming coal
I saw the clouds behind the night sky,
I saw Jesus teach himself to fly,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and carried
her to the shore, Samantha, she said,
bulging mind,
anorexic action,
I bit her ear and asked her room number,
in the ocean's frontline,
hush, hushing -- backs of hands and blushing,
drinking cognac and speaking in simmering oil
I saw the night behind the clouded sky,
I saw a fly transfigure into Jesus,
and I hallelujah'd and amen'd and frayed
the remnants of grassroot and buttercup,
drunk high tide,
sober dry iced,

The bank account cleared its throat,
"Room 210 and I'd like a ***** and coke."
Sin Aug 2013
sheets bind your legs
you're covered in white.
I watched you in battle,
and you lost the fight.

your skin's now a canvas.
scars. tubes in your arms.
the ache to be free will not
stop those alarms.

so you break from the bed,
trace lines on the wall.
eyes scan the room blankly,
on me, they don't fall.

my arms long to hold you,
I stick by the door.
I don't even flinch when
you fall to the floor.

the nurses are gone now,
but I couldn't yell,
when you slipped from the window
and laughed as you fell.

it wasn't the drugs.
dope, coke, or crack.
all you needed to live
was for me to come back.
eileen mcgreevy Aug 2010
Two people once residied in a flat in London city,
A man who had a drug addiction, things did not seem pretty,
His *****, at eighteen, barely grown who worked the streets at night,
She slept all day while **** guy flushed her veins with coke mixed *****.

Now, girl would wonder what life would be like if she were home,
A georgian three up, two down house, with trees and garden gnomes,
She wondered how she got here, reminiscing on times better,
A stupid fight with mum, some awful words, a goodbye letter.

So many times she tried to get away from her **** guy,
But cravings soon kicked in, so she would pierce her veiny thigh,
She saw the flyers on the walls, she knew her mother missed her,
She pleaded with the ****, through lips all swollen full of blisters.

Two people now reside inside a house so filled with sorrow,
A mother,racked with sadness for her girl who evil borrowed,
A dad who knows his brother fills his neices veins with drugs,
The money that dad makes from her will never make him snug.

A flat lies empty, desolate, void of two more souls,
A child lies dead from overdose,
Her uncle full of needle holes...

— The End —