"crook" poems
Mark A. Williams
SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018
___________________________________________________________
Wow Mark,
Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later!
Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker.
All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota.
(RIP Jimi Carlsen)
Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons!
Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories.
I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend.
I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together.
Jeff Gaines
July 28, 2018
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
Went to my magwinya lady today,
she's contained at the canteens on north campus,
As she rose up her left eye was bluish ****** grey,
A lump in my throat formed not as big as the one on her face,
my eyes secreted their salty solution,
my mind quickly processed confusion,
"M-m-m-m-may i-i-i p-p-lease have five magwinyas"
She smirked at my muttered utterance as she began to fill the thin transparent plastic with the oily flour-filled *****
I reluctantly asked "What happened to your eye?"
She responded in Xhosa reasonably assuming my common cocoa coating meant our tongues matched until I told her otherwise.
Eventually she simply said, "Fight".
I said, "you got in to a fight?"
She said "Mmm".
I went over to my banana lady and said the magwinya lady has a black eye and she casually claimed, "Her boyfriend beat her yesterday."
Confirming what my teary eyes and lumpy throat knew to be true when I saw my sweet magwinya lady with a swollen eye ****** grey and blue.
Frustrated at the nothing I could do.
Powerlessly pirched on a brown bench as the black sparrows chirped pleading for a piece of my last magwinya,
Should I tell her to escape?
Is that even my place?
How many black eyes are blotched on this bruised land i, a fearful foreigner, trace?
I'll bury my brain in my book,
somewhat cowardly crook,
I'll see what i saw but take no second look,
like a camel's head in the sand,
I'll timidly tell myself these things are just too hard to understand.
Nov 3, 2021
Nov 3, 2021 at 6:43 AM UTC
I don't care who said crying was overrated, who gave you the ******* right to control the tear ducts of another human .
A human shows emotion through tears , laughter , smiles. The human face has 24 different emotions yet the water stains on her cheeks was never stated as one .
The stains of mascara running down her cheeks , dripping on to neck , her nose sniffling up the excess embarrassment .
I told her to stop trying to be brave , she had to embrace each feeling as it came , I saw her chest heave up and down in a rapid movement so fast I couldn't keep count.
Her mouth was open , no sound came out , she looked like a fish out of water and person screaming but no sound .
Her hands started to shake her body soon followed next I held her close put her head in between the crook of my face and neck .
I felt the water dripping down my neck to my top I never said a word , never told her to stop.
Even though I just changed my sheets that day I never told her to man up because crying is a source of speech when words are not enough .
She had so much emotion and all she could do was mutter incoherent words ,I think it was " I'm sorry" .
Sorry for what I will never know , she never once asked me to let go and I never did .
For once in her life I gave her an embrace even though she refused because if she didn't feel my comfort I'm not sure what she would do .
I did it because when I need that embrace they all refused to give it , they told me to " **** it up" " be ******* brave" , I soon found comfort in smashing my fist against my bathroom mirror and throwing my mothers jewellery box outside in the rain .
I stopped and I jumped in the mud that had formed and that was when I promised myself , if another person needs my embrace no matter who it was , I sure as ******* hell will give it because crying alone is just no good.
It's no good that others can't see your pain , I encourage you to throw a fit and call names , call them all ******* ***** tell them how worthless they are that when you needed comfort he would rather go sit in the car .
I want you to scream , yell and shout with the tears streaming down your face , show them what expressing yourself is all about.
Darling don't ever hold your tears in , wearing mascara or not ,just always keep a tissue tucked in your sleeve, and wipe your eyes till they are raw with the courage that they need.
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
I bet I could stretch
Like you've never seen before
With the crook of my finger
And a wink, let the games begin
You want to struggle
My little **** toy?
Ah ah ah, let's tie these hands
Behind your back
Don't get any ideas
Pet
Obey me, lie on your belly
Crush your head into the pillow
Cringe and squirm, please
Let me just, strap this on
Not listening, hm?
I have other things
Leather, that will leave marks
On your tender, innocent flesh
Let my fingers coil
Make it harder to breathe
Force you down
By a pull of your hair
I'm going to be an animal
And you will be the prey
I will feast on you
I will nibble you
Bite you into submission
Pinch and squeeze
Smack and tease
Say please
I will go on
Long after you thought
To say no, until
All you want is
More, more, more
I will chew through you
I will dominate you
I dare you to struggle
My little **** toy
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 6:37 PM UTC
They slither around cob webs
and hide in the crook of my elbow
attached to me
like a child clinging to his mother on the first day of Pre-K
hideous and scowling
but then beautiful and glowing
either way I keep it pressed to my chest
i breathe in the putrid smell
but I am now used to the scent
it purrs and snuggles closer
and I don't pull away
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 8:58 PM UTC
Her lips constant at the utterance
Of sweet and serene words filled
With adoration, praising him,
He who made endless hearts
do cartwheels and somersaults
Of multiple, millions nigh and far
their hearts loving
As long as he’s living
Nonetheless, changing courses
Of history was what she excelled
One glance, one encounter turned
Her lips managing
to do none but stutter
To his shielded heart
no one managed to flutter
His deer like eyes observing
With admiration, eyes sparkling
every look, crook, nook
Of her smile that shook
The worlds and heavens
Devout in his heart and mind
His earth's plates shifting
His massive planets orbiting
He witnessed it all in one being
The gravity of the universe on her
Shoulders heavy from responsibility
The heavens challenging her capability
Her hardships conveyed as she blinked
their dilated orbs communicating
language barriers unstoppable
To what her eyes held
He understood his needs
To care, to cherish, to love,
Feeling his heart pumping blood
Faster, quicker than light
Travelling the dark domains
Undiscovered, just like her soul
That he felt the need to explore
As his heart finally fluttered
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 2:46 AM UTC
can you see Pride’s face?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?
boastful & frivolous.
Pride’s intentions are not of good will.
Pride just destroyed a home.
Pride just stabbed a friend in the back.
Pride ended a life-long friendship.
Pride just ended a simple argument.
he is a disease. humans are afraid of him.
can you see the pride in pride’s face? can you see the bad he creates?
can you see all the lives he took?
Pride is a crook. he breaks into the windows of your spirit and steals all the gold. that gold is your happiness.
Pride is a weapon. anything in his way is destroyed. Pride doesn’t have emotions. Pride can make you insane.
but Pride has an enemy. Pride has a cure. Humility.
Humility is Pride’s balance.
Humility can heal wounds. he is spirited & can bring people together. Humility is a weapon, a weapon of peace.
he is a conqueror. Humility is Pride’s balance.
can you see Humility’s face?
can you feel Humility’s embrace?
when are we starting to be humble?
when are gon’ respect each other?
can you see the pride in Pride’s face?
Pride cares about no one but himself. Humility cares for everyone & himself.
Teddy Bear Tribe.
Oct 29, 2013
Oct 29, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
the magnolia was a bit of a *******
(as far as trees can be ********
and like very many other things—
like japanese candy from the Fugi Mart in Greenwich
(across from the McDonald’s and next to
the music shop where I got my viola)
and like pokemon cards and nintendo gaming systems
and like Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” on a pink CD in a Hello Kitty radio
—that ******* of a magnolia was a distinctive taste
of the years I spent growing up in my house at the end of Wyndover Lane.
the ******* thing was almost perpetually in bloom.
it barged into both spring and autumn
(it didn’t give a **** about timing)
those pink and white spongy petals padding the ground
and at first you think it’s ******* beautiful
sitting in the crook of the trunk where it split into
two large
separate branches
tilting your chin back to catch a glimpse of blue between fat blossoms
then the petals start rotting
water-retentive little *******
and you can’t sweep ‘em away because they stick to the patio
brown clumps slipping under rubber soles
my dad lets loose a string of curses
and the magnolia shakes with laughter
I tried pressing the petals in a notebook once
while I was in that naturalist phase it seems all little girls go through
when you make fairy houses out of bark in the backyard
and put flowers between the pages of books because it feels
oh-so-much-more significant
than picking a pretty thing and showing it to mom
but the magnolia seeped through my spiral ring
and when I opened it up a month later they were dry tan papery things
not at all velveteen and rosy
and there were garish pink bloodstains all through the ten pages
on either side
magnolias don’t preserve well
except, honestly they do don’t they
then of course there’s that childhood tragedy that everyone has
when your dog got hit by some soccer mom’s suburban
or your teddy bear was lost in an airport
or maybe you just liked to cry because some things
were just really worth the tears at the time
but when I came home and found out they cut down my ******* ******* of a magnolia
I bawled
there wasn’t
even
a
stump.
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 4:48 PM UTC
We were the mystery
We were the shaking of heads
We were the whispers in the bathroom at 11 am
We were the smoke in the hallways
We were the leaves catching on air currents
like "I don't care how or why but I'm going somewhere"
We were balled up bills in the crook of
someone's sweaty Xanax palm
We were the lamps at night burning
We were the lasers on the ceiling
We were the lines of chemicals waiting on the counter
We were nothing good
nothing but mud and regrets on our feet
The teachers shook their heads
wondered to themselves how we ever got to sleep
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
your skin on mine;
we lie here
with fingers interlaced
and our eyes locked
then with legs intertwined
and my head cocked
in the crook of your neck
here is where i feel safest;
my skin on yours
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
I sometimes take words that were first used by others
(I'm About to admit I'm a bit of a crook)
Re-hash and re-use them, and make my own covers-
Stealing little known lines from an eloquent book.
I've stolen from Shakespeare, yanked words off of Yeats,
And pilfered from Plato and Brown;
I've probably swiped stuff off all of the greats,
And many of zero renown.
There's more to be heard in the wise words of Wilde
Or took from a Tennyson line
Or the thinking out loud of an inquisitive child,
Than could spill forth from this pen of mine.
So if I've stolen from you, and perchance have offended,
(Yes- I'm about to steal Shakespeare again)
Just think but this, and all is mended;
Nothing original came from my pen.
Which means that, eventually, all that I've ever done
Will be lost in the shadows of time,
Skipped over, or lost, and simply outdone
By your works original shine.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:05 AM UTC
Hear the LION'S ROAR
As the many indignant souls
Find themselves restored
In his majestic presence
As he rattles the very fabric
Of this world as many
Broken men become renewed
Their fractured parts
Collect in the melting ***
Of the Lions stare
So let us all dare
To live life like a Lion
Lounging in the sun
Owning and surveying
His beautiful life
Storing great forces
Reservoirs of strength
To pounce and punch
Soft pads of silent stealth
Gather for all his wealth
His appetite strong
He honors every parts of self
But there is no where
To hide in the cats eye stare
As my many fumbling phoney selves
Dissolve in his melting glare
As I am shamed by a look
As I approach life like a crook
My procrastinating belly exposed
In my lack luster display
As I breath a contempt
For my precious life
Standing strong in stature
And rich in golden shine
Radiating with a presence
Of Absolute rule
The air washed with
A bristly respect
A natural pride
Beams with a beauty
Freed from all that is false
His being effortlessly
Embraces the fields
Of his own nature
As I am silenced by
The strangle hold of this
Bitter dysfunctional world
Tightened by a
Multitude of silent gestures
I sit to listen
To the LION'S ROAR
I feel my throat burst
My gagged tongue freed
My choked throat
Beams like the sun
As I softly delve
In to the LION'S ROAR
An open infinity
Cuts my many collars
Releasing my self expression
As a thousand trap doors
Open in me
Learning from the loving LION
Our self expression freed
And our appetite renewed
We live a new adventure
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 5:13 PM UTC
A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.
A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.
Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
6.7k
Pervert
I'm a womanizer and a pervert,
love to mingle, love to flirt.
Like Fonzi, all chicks flock,
they like the size of my clock.
Ever since I was born,
loved naked women and ****
Nothing like playing with my favorite toy,
with the newest edition of *******
Sorry I have a ***** little mind,
all men do, women don't be blind.
Lots of women have tried to convert me,
but a fun loving pervert, I will always be.
Been with a **** been with a *****
only difference is, the **** wants more.
Been with singers, actresses and models,
done it underwater, with a snorkel and goggles.
Been with a doctor, lawyer and a crook,
each time, I somehow got took.
I'm a pervert it a good way,
just some innocent ****** foreplay.
If you ever see me, I'm not threat,
they haven't invented x-ray glasses yet.
I now have a woman I really love,
all other women, I got rid of,
Gave my black book to a kid named Bieber,
now he's in jail and feeling very eager.
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
I long to fly
Into the sky
But broken wings
Disable me.
I long to play
But here I stay
Wheelchair bound
Still on the ground.
Look in my eyes,
These grey blue skies,
You’re soon to see
Past broken wings.
My body’s bound
But my soul roams round
The sky of my mind
Where you will find
Imagination abounds
My soul roams round
No chains for me
For here I’m free.
So, though I’m o'erlooked
And my wings are all crook’d,
There’s more to me,
I’ve a soul with wings
Sep 30, 2017
Sep 30, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
Capitalism swings securely
from the crook of her arm
while Slavery gently
coils itself
around her
beautifully damaged waist...
Racism coats the
soles of her
brand new shoes
and leaves print print print
on the harsh
unforgiving
unemployed pavement.
The world cried, died
as she dyed her hair
to Honey Suckle Blonde.
It hangs: drab, limp,
strangled by the Ignorance
sitting firmly
on top of that
pretty little head.
Jagged, matted wrists
rattle around inside
imported bangles
(or manacles)
of Oppression and
Depression and
Suppression
They're in fashion.
Her eyes are drowning
in Jealousy Mascara (new)
and I Hate You shadows (old)
and, together,
her weeping heart
and painted nails
claw at Fame and Fortune
but the new shoes
and gorgeous boyfriend
just aren't tall enough.
She limps
past shattered windows
in which she glimpses a girl,
or rather, a young lady
who is very much a
prisoner of today and not
A Leader Of Tomorrow
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
We're cuddled up together
Your paw clings to my arm
Nails ejecting cling to my arm
"Stay with me, please"
She seems to beg
Eyes of gold look into my blue eyes
And I hurriedly let her have her way
Purring beside me
Keeping my arm warm
Leaning her head into
The warmth in the crook of my arm
She smiles her feline grin
And I gently kiss her furry head
You are like a little candle
Producing happiness and light
So curl up beside me
While I type my poetry
That I dedicate for you
Now and then stopping
Between typing words
To stroke your silky
Furry body, sweet Lady Jane
~Marian~
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 7:06 PM UTC
There's a prophet on the railway
He's coming with a book
Written by a woman
And blessed by a crook
The station's been preparing
For his arrival, coming soon
He doesn't know a single person
In the town under the moon
His robes are made of velvet
And his chains out of gold
His eyes look about a hundred
Yet he's only twenty-two years old
His hands are un-calloused
With pages stapled to his chest
In his mind he believes
That he alone knows best
His name came from Berkley
But he hails from the south
His mother gave him nothing
So he found his own way out
In the dead of the night by his candlelight
He heard a voice calling him
It told to me ride north
And let the people rejoice him
On their Sunday feast he sets down his feet
In a town of simple heads
He gets on a podium
And he lifts them from their beds
He promises them redemption
He promises them the end
And with just a touch of his hand
He promises they'll be heaven sent
It's been six long years
And his statue's turning green
Just like his money
Which lights his swisher sweets
He knows his just a man
Made of flesh and rotten skin
He knows this and yet
He's the one who wins
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
so i sit here
with a hole in my foot
with a hole in my head
with a hole in this book
with the hole in her eyes
when she gave me that look
with the hole in my face
when i saw what he took
the hole in my heart
i still don't know the crook
paper is just too easy to tear
and you think i'm easy
when you see i've been shook
i think i need a hook
now there's a hole in my stomach
and it's feeling tight and queezy as she ties
me up in knots of my poor esophagus
her knuckles white from squeezing
i breathing like a snake trying to shed
the desert sun is hot so
please lift this mask up off my head
i try to offer a white flag
but she kills me instead
cause she doesn't like the things
that she can't understand
and so she holds her fists like
they have holes in them
holds me like there are holes in me
cavities of ample opportunity
for punishment and further tearing, no tears,
none of this teething willful jeer
i'll split and rewire, i don't need old fears
i am only tired at best
the pieces did not defy gravity
they fell right out of my ****** chest
but landing is a skill you see
tear me apart for free and be my guest
ripping down the wallpaper
wrestling with the messes of stresses
no one will unremember
looking for the emotions
you desperately want to render
but while i'm still soft
i'm no longer tender
so remember when you enter that
no matter what the temper of the sender
or persuasion of the vendor
i will not surrender
to all these social mind benders
there is a hole in my flag
my blood is an involuntary badge
no more flags, white stains
too easily
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 2:07 AM UTC
Perfect clothes;
Perfect hair;
Perfect make up;
Perfect perfume in the air.
Perfect grades;
Perfect outlook;
Perfect act;
Perfect,not even a little crook*.
I wonder how perfect people think;
Do they see their own perfection?
Do they strive for it?
Do they know their direction?
I will never know;
For I'm far from perfect;
I'm far from normal;
But I'm worth it.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
Remember the times you caught me crying?
used to make up excuses when you won't stop prying.
I had no courage to tell you;
how many times I've doubted you.
Cause you meant more to me;
than any of my insecurities.
I was miserable, wasn't I?
used to vent out my feelings, didn't lie.
I loved him beyond limits, you knew;
the girls were fully aware too.
Maybe our bond wasn't strong,
or else I could've forgiven you.
Maybe the world didn't know,
how much I really tried to.
You had your reasons,
he was sad and depressed,
and you chose to go address;
leaving me in distress.
You called me your best friend,
then why did you hide it?
I was right there, a meter away from your bed.
You called me your best friend,
then how could you **** him?
in the same places, you knew I loved him.
You called me your best friend,
then how could you not know?
how deep a scar, your actions will carve.
Our bond was like a holy thread,
anything it could sustain,
cutting it once and tying a knot,
won't make it pure again.
Sister or sinister,
I am not sure anymore.
Friend or fiend,
perhaps you were both.
I wish I could lend a hand,
but it's harder for me to stand.
Roots that run so deep;
I had to fall to my knees.
You have many best friends,
so what if you lose one friend?
You made a choice and walked that path,
no good will come from seeking the past.
Look ahead, with no regret;
for I consider you, my kindest crook.
Jun 13, 2022
Jun 13, 2022 at 11:31 AM UTC
When the streets are made for nothing but thinking
It's the weight of the water that's caused our sinking
It's a loss of feeling that's made me lighter
It's everything around
That makes me neutrally bound
The only writers block is the writer
It's the kind of thing that makes a man with a pencil and paper a fighter
Like the paper's jumping up at you like a, like a alligator
But it's hard to chalk down all the mistakes, cause when you're trying so hard you're just being fake
You just gotta learn to let it, let it all flow
Show your all and let em all know
Just how you're feeling that blow, even if it means one or two bad lines, that's how you feel though
Cause life ain't a poetry book
It's all the points in between the pages that we missed
It's all the things that make us factories of emotions,
A crook with feelings creeping through the motions
Turning pages, trying to **** it all up like the books eroding
Don't you talk to me about feeling
Naw you ain't know what you be dealing, everyone's got there own **** you can't tell me mines to be concealing
See, I'm a material void of expressionism
Cause I told everyone what I feel, not for the sake of impressionism
They chose to see inside and learn a lesson without all the criticism
Everything I've learned is turning me into a crustaceans fossil
Hard to the shell but brittle to the touch, and I preach my **** like a god **** apostle
You make me feel from the inside and I'll be your crutch, but you're gonna need more than a god **** rock hammer to open me up
My words I mend to make up for what I conceal
But as I sit here thinking about how I feel
It's gonna take more than this to make me heal
Now let me dilute as I talk to the god inside my head and make a deal, something to end the pain and suffering I have concealed at the expense of everything real
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
The first night I stayed under the stars at your house,
I tossed and turned until finally I woke you with
Soft kisses over your bare shoulders and on your chest
Just above your heart.
After stirring out of your slumber, your lips brushed mine
And the crook of your arm fit perfectly around
My body as you held me close.
One of us just barely awake, the other wide.
Learning to sleep with someone new takes time;
Discovering the way their chest rises and falls
Like the tide comes up to kiss the sand
Before receding back and pushing forward again.
Listening to their deep breaths as they lay
Almost lifeless on their back,
Matching their breaths to heartbeats beneath your cheek.
The way they stir in the sleep and reposition
Themselves so their arm holds you safe and secure
Even when they’re dreaming.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
‘it’s possible to love her
even after all of this’
pills
needles into arms
spoons with burnt bottoms
passed out on the floor
drooling
skinny
starving
convulsing
i knew when you
lied about being over it
you were still skinny
i saw the needle marks
in the crook of your elbow
i saw the spoons
in the back of the drawer
i knew when you
made me go home so soon
your dealer was also your affair
your husband, your ex lover
your ex life, the opposite of living
you’re dying
you are dying and it is your fault
and i have run out of empathy
yes it is a disease
yes it starts as a choice
yes
you were depressed
but you still
you.
you said.
“who cares i want to die anyway
who cares i’ll ruin my body
my brain my
relationships
my life”
the hope has left your eyes
what’s it like to look up to a destroyer
what’s it like to love a broken woman
what’s it like to watch the progression
the regression
the walking backwards
one step forward but if you say
“just one more time”
it’s 5 steps back
10 steps back
20
30
the cut is deeper
the scars are darker
and you are gone.
what’s it like
to admire an addict
to be denied what you had
to be ignored
questions go unheard
“where have you been?
is everything okay?
i miss you.”
you see the inevitable
you hope it turns out different
you hope she is the one in a million
to miss a ruiner
to cry over the loss
to realize that
you distanced yourself for this exact reason
it is sickening
and you ask
“what if”
but “what if”
isn’t
“what is”
so you vow to never go down that path
so you pray you will break the cycle
so you progress
one step at a time.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 9:07 PM UTC
Butte Magic of Ignorance
Butte Magic
Is the same as no-Butte
All one light
Old Rough Roads
One High Iron
Mainway
Denver is the same
'The guy I was with his uncle was
the govornor of Wyoming'
'Course he paid me back'
Ten Days
Two Weeks
Stock and Joint
'Was an old crook anyway'
The same voice on the same ship
The Supreme Vehicle
S.S. Excalibur
Maynard
Mainline
Mountain
Merudvhaga
Mersion of Missy
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