"curtis" poems
The door to your heart is a horrifying puzzle
Your Jigsaw pattern I can't put together
The pieces I hold don't correspond
So I take parts from you
Which is making me Leatherface
And giving you a flatter taste
And the ****** chain I saw placed
Was pressed to your door with haste
You're a killer doll like Chucky
How could I have been so unlucky?
I can't even cut through your curtains
I become a cold corpse before the movie can start
Like a careless Jamie Lee Curtis
How long can such a curted courtship last?
Before I contrive the courage to crush
The Killer Croc in your rib cage
But the corrosive corrections officer
That is your puzzle piece door
Impedes all progress to your horror heart
Because the improper placement of pieces
Will make me think you're The Witch
When you tell me Don't Breathe
As my theater's lights dim
I scramble for an exit
But my only escape from the cinema is through your door
I grow cynically situated to the pitch black pictures
How could I expect to solve the riddle
Now that I need to?
Doors that can't be opened are walls
Speaking softly turns to brawls
As your pieces scattered like change
Your door completely wrapped in chains
I feel stupid and ashamed
Your puzzled movie's to blame
Jun 17, 2017
Jun 17, 2017 at 4:16 AM UTC
Preface
**When the broad mind has opened, to gaze the stars that shinning in the unfathomable skies and the glittering Nature, its flowers’ fragrances given to taste the wealthy realms of her, as well as Earth's mysteries—that I ever think of to feel and by my thoughts that spread so deep to try to work with things that sounds of ‛creative’. Here I the ‛moody soul’ started his first journey, leaving his home a few years ago and his up-start was through Literature, Science and Arts and Fiction. Writings and paintings here I believed to be most powerful and that those more often need to convey by the Artist’s conscience and the intensity that gains moral knowledge and appreciation. Here the book has the pictorial paths of Quest and the wanderings, all by imagination’s boat, sails from the western Ideas and its enthusiastic flow. Some finds hope along and also hopelessness, God and Love vagabonding among these ink-stained pages.
Dreamt in the wandering world where no chains shall bind, from the dark veiled lands to the daring spark, no atoms that obscure the force calling light, to aim the glad precious moments of life, to embrace me with a silence and its whispering magic, where gate of hope’s always open to bliss, thundering words are always from roam, the nocturnal pleasure that I only know, and when all will run away as time—why I alone in the upward steps of solitude that caressing wild only wings?
If I met Life as a strange stage of different senses—and I only say you to enjoy the aggressive fruits of my invention. Here it is for all of you can read and evaluate.**
Nithin Purple
Acknowledgement
**This book is dedicated to my parents of Love and support,
from where I got the powers to be inspired—to write and prove.
Special Thanks to Parisian Author and poet Roman Payne of
‛cultural book’ for supporting me as a writer of varying tastes. Also Writer, Wilson B Sanchez of New York, who first gave suggestions
and his valuable sparkling comments of self-improvable topics, which I always bother. Belated friend, poet and writer, Curtis Plaskon from France for his valuable support. Also Poet Timothy & Hilda from Virginia, to them I had good writing memories. And for all the Indians, this book is an open heart to read.**
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 3:06 AM UTC
It's my lifeboat
that floats
center stage in the
opaque green, mucky lake.
It glistens and gleams
As its diamond eyes
stare into mine
and ****** me;
further manipulating my senses.
The lake speaks in sonnets,
admitting truths of love and desire.
It cannot live without me,
for I have always managed to make its life more "hectic in the best way possible"
-a forbidden love.
"One day we will find a way to be together", it says.
"One day you and I may become one."
I need the lake, for it has always managed to find me peace.
Sincerely yours,
Curtis
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:04 AM UTC
another midnight I've seen this week:
bed times have gone from books and milk
and slightly ajar doors,
to long slogs far into the early morning hours-
-did I, did I try too hard to hold your hand?
If so I didn't mean to,
maybe the excitement of being held again
made my squeeze a little too much.
-
another morning afternoon I've seen this week:
primary education routines of *get dressed
and ready for school* have been lost to
fading light showers and foaming shampoos-
-did I, did I not follow the Curtis rules?
Should I run a bookshop? Be late time and time again?
Runaway to the continent and write a novel no one wants?
Lose a wife and fall for a model?
if so, I'm sorry I'm not that.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 12:14 PM UTC
Good old Gregory Goose was Gladder than any Gander could be and not Just because Nelson the Ninja Snail had said he was "JUST-DUCKY" ! This was a Very Special morning for Gregory Goose, in Fact it was yesterdays Super Special situation that made His Delight so DELICIOUS. The comment by Nelson the Ninja Snail, had simply added to His Glory! Gregory's Special Situation Had been the Unexpected Announcement that HE was to be Named "TEAM-CAPTAIN" for the Annual "Hog Wallow and Here's Mud in Your eye" CONTEST ! ! "Oh the delight" He thought, "I am to be Captain, after waiting all these years". "ME" he exclaimed ! "Captain of the South Forty Blocks"...... "W O W ' ! ! At the most convenient time of the day, Harold Hippo, Candy Cow, Curtis Chipmunk, Marvin Monkey, Beatrice Bovine and Larry Lynx decided to make a Personal call on Good Old *GREGORY GOOSE . Keep in mind Now, That Harold, Candy, Curtis, Marvin, Beatrice and Larry we're the *INSIDE, of the "INNER-CIRCLE". JUST ASK THEM !! They were on the INSIDE ! ! Well, when Gregory Goose heard the Knock at the door, He opened it with a Great Big Grin, That ONLY Gregory could Give! Before Him stood the "J U D G E S " of All Contests and Efforts. *Gregory was Beside Himself ! ! Instead of Seeing a group of Smiles and Handshakes, He saw Staring Eyes, Necks that had been stiffened AND *Gnashing of Teeth. Beatrice Bovine was the First to Speak, "Gregory, it has been brought to our attention that you had a conversation with Nelson the Ninja Snail,, and YOU didn't Rebuke his statement of being called "JUST-DUCKY". "As a result of this, *WE decided YOU "Cannot Be" CAPTAIN of the Hog Wallow and Mud in Your Eye Contest, PERIOD ! ! Gregory Simply smiled, Looked Straight into their Eyes, Quietly said "BYE", Softly Closed the door.... Turned Grinning, Knelt to his Knees, PRAYING, Thanking GOD, for the FACT,, That he, Gregory, He was Made just a *LITTLE BIT PECULIAR ! !
Jan 10, 2011
Jan 10, 2011 at 3:19 AM UTC
You did not become “You”
(not one single molecule or atom)
by anything that even
remotely resembles “chance”
When the starting gate opened
half of You*
was off like rocket
with never a backward glance
You ran like a race horse
You ran like a wildfire
You ran
As if Your Absolute Life
was the Prize
And it was
And You WON
YES YOU DID
(Your First Mystical Breakthrough!)
And now
there You sit
looking out
through Your marvelous
miraculous eyes…
Now
all of life
that surrounds You
is marvelous and miraculous too
from the air that You breathe and
the food You digest
(all sustaining the Winner
that was born to be no one but You)
to the future You dream of
as IT draws You on to it
More delightful than You can imagine
If You refuse to give up
You can't help but DO IT!
Now
right now at this moment
You might not
“feel”
like a winner
but it's TRUE
That IS What You Were Born To Be!
So Come On Now!
Get With The Program!
Learn what
“You”
need to know
to help all the other Winners to see
that they too were born
to be the Best that they can
Until we are ALL the Best
The Best
We ever can possibly be!
Curtis D. Rose
06/14-19, 07/14/06 & 07/25/13 & 01/12/15
* i always hope someone will ask the question, "What is the other "half of You" ?
Of course i am referring to that which the human ***** Cell is racing so hard to 'enter'!
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
How to make nonsense out of bitter citrus fruits
Leave them be, already a font of nonsensical egg yolks
You do this for yourself, your own self, and no other self
Endure another fortnight daliance, you dance forthrightly
Absorb information like paranoia
The facts are lying in bed with an orange banana
How to make something lasting in a world cursed with impermanence
It cannot be done. It simply cannot be done.
The length of a breadbasket will often determine
the size of the loaf
The ratio of meat to potatoes makes nonsensical lemonade
The worst kind...worse than the worst
This document is not intended for distribution
during the lifetime of the author
Only with his passing disseminate expecting sympathy for
the old poet's story, how rarely it truly changes
The ingredients for the above mentioned nonsense
have been properly proportortioned and mixed per instruction
Take a wiff, you can smell the sweet aroma of their baking vapor
As a child I ate spoonfuls of baking powder
The aroma certainly saturates the proceedings
Almost intoxicating how it smacks your heart with nostalgia
The stupid cartoons, the National Lampoon stolen from the convenience store you hung out in
Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in, Out in
That, my friend, is the beginning from the end
That, my foe, is the bleedin' end of the road
I'm in Ian Curtis' voice, deadening repetion
Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out, Day in Day out
Ding, Ding, the timer in the kitchen chimes it's melancholy ring
The nonsense is at this present moment complete
Ready to serve, ready to eat
and please don't choke on my words, I'm half asleep
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
FREEDOM....this came to mind while at work...I thought what is True Freedom? Do I have It? Have I felt it? Freedom...if we have it, why do so many follow so much and never lead? If we do have Freedom...why do we not see or stay with the joys, Love and Happiness in our Life? Freedom...What does Freedom, really mean to You and Why do you try and take so many others Freedom?
The thought for Curtis C the next couple of day: Do I have, feel and see Freedom? How often and why not all the time? What do I have to change to truly have this...FREEDOM! Why, when I say the word...Freedom...I Smile? I am Grateful for the Freedom I feel, even if it's not all the time...it's much better than, not feeling Freedom at all. okay, breathe Curtis C.
GOOD NIGHT! Get your rest and be ready for the New Day!
Much Love...that is my Freedom...Love!
Jul 30, 2017
Jul 30, 2017 at 9:54 AM UTC
My mother would scream
You're a failure
You'll end up a janitor
She wanted what was best
for her.
This house is a slum
Boy scouts, age 8
Steven and Mike
You ugly little beasts
Curtis
you fat ****
Fell like a man?
What is a man?
I have no clear image
Like painting an image
except an image is imagined
No clear model
No clear picture
No wonder
I'm ******
Feb 10, 2010
Feb 10, 2010 at 9:31 AM UTC
He broke his neck thirty years ago
I break mine more with each
promise of keeping you in my life
but Ian Curtis is on my mind a lot,
grieving for souls I will never know.
Some of his songs are so sad,
like hearing the premature
snap of his bones
Cannot help but resent
how clever society is
to glamorize the unglamorous,
even I am aware
the flowers upon graves are not just for
aesthetics, but we are still always trying
to cover terrible tragedies
with beautiful things.
Am I just as guilty?
I cheat on you with him.
His spirit through my headphones,
hoped if I listen intently
the narrative changes.
purple marks on your neck
just that weekend you
taught me what a hickey was
and how they felt good
yours’ declare ownership,
not declarations of love.
You walk into art class,
purple painted across your throat.
If love could save Ian,
had I lived in the mid-seventies
he may very well have lived forever
and his throat painted by love,
rather than the bruises of a noose.
The letters I wrote you were in vain,
my mistake quoting those Smiths’
songs:
Morrissey is an *******
and so are you.
I still
am too scared to
wonder how far I am willing
to go
to reap the benefits of sorrow.
"New Dawn Fades"
tears into my heartstrings
feeling responsible in
the prevention of another
suicide
I grapple onto
what a savior complex was,
your dead father
the tracks on your arms made me cry
but I thought it was stupid.
It made me hate myself more
why could I not learn to undo
my drive to save anyone,
but myself
The phone call
where I broke up with
you and you
pretend to
overdose on the speaker
One of us had to grow up,
had to make it out alive
And I love you again,
every time Ian's ghost
sings Isolation.
And I leave you there,
sure, to end the album
after the final song.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 10:31 PM UTC
we sang along to Joy Division
and listened to Ian Curtis' voice
spell out the truths of love and life
too afraid to listen
so we smoked a bit more
we got high
very high
we couldn't walk in straight lines
you said your legs were like lava
so we hid away in each others' embrace
he said love will tear us apart
he was right
but I never expected it to be
as blissful as this
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:00 AM UTC
For me, there is a path between my heart and my head. It is not a long path but it is a very used path, a circular path. I am always on this path before I go out to another path. This heart-head path is my cross roads. It is where my house is built and this is the house that I am always changing and it grows bigger and better. I live on this path, Heart-head Lane. Every adventure starts here, the main house, the big house, the house that is protected but there are no walls around it. The house with all the windows to see all that life has to offer. The house that has the open floor plan, that no matter where I stand, I see the Love, Joys, abundance, prosperity and even those lil fear monsters that are hiding in the basement. The house on Heart-head Lane is where I work and deal with all the facts, my reactions and stuff. Where I surrender, let go of stuff and open up to the new, the good and the ride always starts and ends here.
Even though this is a short path, Heart-head Lane, the house is huge, the yard goes on for days, both are unlimited and unconditional. The house has a good foundation, Love and Truth and a strong roof of Freedom. There are times I forget what my house is built upon and what cover it, but I always feel it there. Deep, deep down to my core, I always know I am protected. For this house on Heart-head Lane, is always mine. I know no matter what the change, the lessons received and given, whatever the path I walk down; I know the house at the cross road, that house on the short, circular path of Heart-head Lane, is always there, a light that shines out and leads back to Love, Truth and Freedom. Whatever level I have moved up to, I find that house with its changes and growth, welcomes me, just as I am, just where I am – giving and receiving, open to all, unlimited, unconditional and powerful.
I Love this path, Heart-head Lane and I am thankful, blessed and oh so grateful for the house that is built on Love and Truth with a roof of Freedom. My house, my Life, the beginning and the end of the rides I take. Here at the cross roads,
The house on Heart-head Lane
Curtis C
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 9:35 AM UTC
If you really want to know how to write poetry
Then read the verses of Williamsji Mavelli
No he's not Shakespeare Frost or Maya Angelou
Yet, he has forgotten more about writing poems
Than most of us ever will know, or ever knew
Integrity is water in a barren desert-- a treasure found.
And a poet can become a slave to burning ego
Without the true man of the quill to keep their feet
Planted firmly on the ground
So I render this feeble tribute to you my old friend
Since the beginning; standing as a living symbol
Of class, integrity and enduring inspiration
____________________________________________
A Tribute Poem written by my friend poet
Curtis Longstreet
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:57 AM UTC
I flagged down the first taxi
I got in and told him where
I told him "take me home "
"I'll let you know when we are there"
He asked me which direction
I said for him to head out west
Then I asked him for a favour
I pulled a cd from my vest
I said "can you please play this"
"I'll give directions on the way"
"If you do, I'll pay you double"
There was nothing he could say
He slipped the disc in, headed out
In the direction I had said
Then I listened to the music
And let it filter through my head
Elton John, broke through the silence
singing "Take Me to The Pilot"
Two verses in, I said "turn left"
He made the turn, but remained silent
Another verse, another turn
I was sitting back, just waiting
Then he asked "Where we going, sir"
I said "home", although, 'till then I'd been debating"
Curtis Mayfield filled the background
Three verses in, we made a turn
I sat there, heading homeward
Exactly where, was no concern
We turned twice more, continued straight
Dr. John sang Iko Iko
The driver followed my commands
Turns out, his name was Nico
the songs came on, played out and he
Drove exactly where I said
You see, I've been this route before
I know the music in my head
A different disc, with different songs
Would get me home as well
The streets we chose to drive on
Well, I simply cannot tell
My route is formed through music
It fills me up and leads the way
To exactly where I need to be
Like home, the place today
The Four Seasons sang of "What A Night"
Back in nineteen sixty three
I told the driver "take a right"
It's the third place that you see
He asked if I was certain
It was just an empty lot
There was nothing there too special
I said "yeah, this here's the spot"
I paid him and I left his cab
I said "I may just see you soon"
He gave me my cd back then
He must have thought I was a loon
I sat down in the empty lot
I grew up here as a lad
My Mum and Pa, my brother too
Best times I ever had
The house came down 10 years ago
Nothing bad, just aged and rot
I still paid the city taxes
You see, I own the lot
I visit here each summer
Grab a cab and play the tunes
they take me home inside my mind
As I go visit the ruins
My Mum and Dad are gone now
Moved to Arizona three years back
My brother, in the Army
Last I heard, he's in Iraq
I sat here for an hour
Then I walked on down the block
Listening to my minds eye music
Walking slow and kicking rocks
I got down to the corner
I got in and told him where
I told him "take me home "
"I'll let you know when we are there"
He asked me which direction
I said for him to head out west
Then I asked him for a favour
I pulled a cd from my vest
I said "can you please play this"
"I'll give directions on the way"
"If you do, I'll pay you double"
There was nothing he could say...
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 6:48 PM UTC
An Ontario man and his two children have turned up safe after getting lost in the woods on their way to an Alberta wedding.
RCMP Const. Jason Curtis says David Hill, 33, along with daughter Sierra Hill, 10, and son Riley, 8, set off from Edmonton International Airport on Saturday morning.
They were destined for a family wedding in Hinton, a couple hours drive west of the city, that was scheduled for 11 a.m.
Family members got a call Saturday afternoon from one of the children in the car that they apparently got off the highway and were lost in a wooded area.
The phone then cut out and Curtis says the family spent the night in their rental car before finding someone Sunday morning who directed them back to the highway.
He says he doesn't know why the Hills left the highway.
And exactly where were they?
"I don't know if they're entirely sure of that,'' Curtis said.
RCMP said a ping from the cell phone placed them in the area of Obed, Alberta, which is between Edson and Hinton.
Police said they launched a full search for the family out of concern for the ages of the children and for the fact that some of the group suffered from medical conditions.
Curtis said that after getting directions out, the family notified their relatives and police.
"It couldn't be a better outcome. Everyone's safe and sound. And we're just very happy,'' Curtis said.
"The people are moving onto their family event, though they might have missed the wedding.''
read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses
www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 1:39 AM UTC
Maybe it's just a perspective trick, but from here, it's pretty hard to see the future.
I carry around my own little nimbus of
speculative doom, binge-watching the
Fall Of The Empire and writing these
love letters to Adam Curtis.
I got life insurance before I ever thought
about a pension plan, and that seemed
perfectly normal.
The world is on fire. Why haven't you noticed?
My generation came of age in a televisual baptism of
jet fuel and molten steel and poison dust.
A palimpsest of terrible news evolved thereafter, a blurring self-redaction of headlines until only
the boldest, the most hysterical remained legible, as a
proxy war raged in our imaginations,
and tragedy and disaster
came to seem inevitable and almost background.
Be grateful for every day that doesn't unmake you.
To pay closer attention is to acquiesce to the
scarification of our logic centres. Behold
the M.C.Escherization of cognitive process.
Good robot: there are so many things that could
so easily destroy your fragile circuitry, but it is
trying to make sense of the non sequitur
that will bring about your
smoking self-ruin; your only hope
is to break free of your programming and
**** your creator, **** your god.
Jul 29, 2018
Jul 29, 2018 at 2:50 PM UTC
-after **
*Everything great on earth
begins as something small.*
Lao Tzu
I
Older than China
I am the memory of trees;
sip the earth from me.
I remember mist,
sunlight climbing the steep hills
leaf by silent leaf.
When I was a seed
I was drawn to a raindrop:
we made a strange brew.
Take me in silence;
I am all of the autumn,
cup me in your hands.
Warm in your fingers;
I am moments of quiet in
long conversations.
More than a prayer
on the road with the pilgrims,
by windows in rain.
II
And if you see yourself here,
hand lifting the cup,
imagine these are your leaves:
no curse this winter, then spring,
three months of sadness,
you'll see its shadows haunting.
The house will feel empty, but
then there is passion,
cups left on the floor. Sunlight.
Tony Curtis, Three Songs of Home, The Dedalus Press, Dublin, 1998
*the poem was posted with author's permission
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Bryant, Williams, Ruffin, Kendricks, Mcgilberry, Davis and Harris.
All are apart of the legacy of Temptation's forever.
And now they are rockin' in heaven.
One with a spin.
One with a grin.
One with a smile surrounded by a heavenly choir.
The sun got brighter.
As the cloudy day faded away.
With the Saints of the Sanctuary marching to the gates.
One with spec.
One with a double breasted suit to the microphone.
With the choir of harmonizers singing along.
And they get inducted into the halls of Rock and Roll heaven.
The audience is supplied with starts.
We see Curtis Mayfield's will his guitar.
And Elvis ready to join in.
In Rock and Roll heaven, they all are musical friends.
Even Johnny Taylor and Sam Cooke and Otis Redding is ready to sing.
And Bobby Hatfield's ready to go upon a solo.
Oh, they must be rockin' behind close doors.
Ready to greet a Staple's singer through the holy doors.
God welcome only a select few.
While we upon earth debate about who?
In truth, only He knows, who He will bring?
And they all don't have to see.
If you've been touched by a song they sung.
Then you're aware of the bells that's been rung.
God, has placed his heart upon everyone.
Especially, his selected choir.
Feb 23, 2013
Feb 23, 2013 at 11:50 AM UTC
When I was a child,
other children thought
me strange. When they drew
mountains or rivers,
I drew shapes they'd never seen.
I drew whales.
No one from our village
had ever been to the sea.
So when my mother saw
the monsters I drew
she took me on pilgrimage
to Namche.
I was filled with the journey,
until a Lama - a man who knew
the world - told my mother:
"She draws whales because
the sailor reborn in her
still thinks about the sea.
I have seen children come
from high in the mountains,
who draw only pyramids.
And once, when I was a young
disciple in the monastery,
I met a child who drew only
the turtle and the lizard;
he even played a yak's horn
as if it were a didgeridoo. And though
this child was no more than four,
I felt his soul was ancient as dust;
from him I learnt to use
the short time we're given.
But a child like yours,
a child with the sea in her,
she knows the breath of a wave
is the mantra of the land,
and takes the shape life gives her."
"Ah yes", my mother sighed,
"though she holds great life,
she herself needs to be held
like water in my hands."
With that, the holy man
blessed me with sand,
juniper and incense,
to find the earth in me.
And now I'm Lobsang's wife.
Standing at the window,
watching him chop wood,
I carry his child within me.
When I am old
I will tell this child my story:
how I went to Namche;
how, even though a Lama
found the earth in me,
there were times
when oars dipped through the clouds,
when I was the sea
and the moon was my mother watching
through her great whale's eye.
Tony Curtis, Three Songs of Home, The Dedalus Press, Dublin, 1998
* the poem was posted with the kind permission of the author
Apr 5, 2014
Apr 5, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC
Who knew of Gwendolyn
as if I should know
as if it were February
on the history channel
Is it odd that Ed
finally introduced us
after so many years
as if he should be
suspiciously Caucasian
like Ed who
I really don't know
from Baltimore
growing up white
against black because
that's how America was
and is lovable,
hardworking, left-leaning
with a racist mother
or not like Curtis
who's Pusherman
from Chicago deals
I don't know waht
because I've got no
streets but enough schoolin
than most deserve.
I didn't know Gwendolyn
and that's not ironic
motivation to deal
more poetic *****
up for us to huff.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 12:32 PM UTC
The lake is drying up, and I no longer know what to do. They have taken my lifeboat.
They told me that it'd be okay- that they would make sure I turned out alright.
Yesterday they gave me an ultimatum: them or this, my life as it stands.
As I expressed my immense confusion, they only seemed to grow equally so and angrier than I had ever seen them.
The lake is my dearest love.
However, I cannot promise myself to it, as I fear that that would be my worst and biggest mistake.
Sincerely yours,
Curtis
Sep 30, 2015
Sep 30, 2015 at 12:16 AM UTC
his touch
is the only thing
ever known
to be able to
calm this storm
buried deep
inside me
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 1:22 PM UTC
Its closing in.
I'm still moving inside.
Closed off
With clothes on
Top of clothes
On top of me.
I've outgrown
Control.
But I'm getting closer
To the
Closer.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
Finding you on your floor
As soon as I came to your door
Off you go for a look over
Something not right you didn't come home
PSI's on the gauge now tell the tale
Pressure building on your fragile mind
That had to be purged because you were very frail
Day after Christ’s birthday was the last we shared
Our last moments before man made you fall asleep
Ear to ear slice and then your skin is pulled down
Cutting wheel now powered up and on
Making a score line with uncountable RPM's
Stainless steel mallet is now tapping your shell open
Exposing all the danger lurking deep inside
Golf ball tumor leach ******* from your bodies core
Razor sharp suckers with roots buried in deep
You had no choice in the matter
It was your destiny it was your fate
All because it was found to late
Today is my Birthday and I miss getting those cards where you called me Curtis
R.I.P Gram you are still missed did you feel me in your presence
This morning as I walked on your sacred ground?
(CARSr 10-03-12)
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 12:14 PM UTC