"decimal" poems
Just a dew drop, let alone the sea,
and a handful of earth, not the Planet Ge.
Not a shade of blue, save the rose for bee
Purely a clear drop didn’t spill in the core,
because the whole sphere feels the pinch.
Singing chorus rains down, bouncing back
to earth the only open-through planet.
No black hole is as deep as the sun jumps,
dives in the dew on every flower they wet.
Every bird in the trees sings and tweets,
yet one is stone quiet, shouldn’t even hiss.
Shh! shh, the sleeping beauty is sleeping!
Cut above the rest, the unique earth
brimming with the infinite finishing line
by design pans out to the transcended pi.
Pure spring, the waterfront by the Moon,
untouched, unspoiled is her swimming pool.
How she goes by, wetting her ****** toe
Only to bubble high up the transcended circle
If only the sun could rise high in that pole,
for the rest of species could sneak a peek.
She’s there with the capstone of the pyramid!
Shots beyond the fixed circle, netting the eyeballs.
The stars, the Moon on the move for pure freedom.
The thrilled earth did come out, smelling of roses
Off the golden cut pi-decimal-abyss digital spring.
With a handful of earth and a drop of water dew
This is a pure mirroring thanks to the original, you!
At the end of the string apt you lovely took her by hand
and she took it in emptying her heart and soul.
Earth is now too thin on stock, she is no more
Just a shadow, a 360-degree hollow flute!
Oh light at the end of the tunnel shine and show
Play in like in the Night of Ascension once more!
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
Your flame glows
And flame throws
Insane vibes
Than makes my viens flow
My body over heats
To temperatures Celsius unknown
our bodies taking measures
Heighten pleasures
Too bad to be a miracle
Too good to be forgotten
Memories clone
Yet, it's heaven sent
by principle
Our bodies quake with sensations
Unbelievable
Reaching heights without ******
unachievable
Take loving making to the next decimal
Feeding our appetites until we are plenty full
And our eruptions stop exploding
And we lay there motionlessly stile
Calm as a lonely
lake as satisfied as ice is chill
Cooling each other down
like the wind does the sun
Looking at each other like our work
here is done
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 11:40 PM UTC
Working parts and mechanisms,
charts and graphs and mannerisms,
a table, pencil, square and mitre...
eraser marks, sweat drops, -go lighter!
A thought or two and ponderance...
Decimal here and decimal there,
-micron adjustment now we're square...
Up all night until daylight dawn
and finally I've fixed the Krong!
A thought or two and ponderance...
To the factory arrive before eight
and finished, furnished, a model late...
A handheld one and something larger,
humanity saved by my charger!
A thought or two and ponderance...
10 years long after planet saved,
They'll be parades and accolades...
Statues, tributes, my name in text-books,
but no one, never, a second look!
Never to worry on life again...
..I did it,
I reset the world; begin.
And did it all with Earth's mighty spin.
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Every blue patch on the sky keeps an eye,
cherishing clouds dancing, hovering over.
The songs of deep blue ride the heady air,
only to be stunned, all of a sudden,
at the first sight—
sung down on a perfectly placed mural.
The Queen of Sheba tiptoes this way;
King Solomon leans to the ground,
only to find seas of silent blooms
musing, dipping in sun-kissed dews—
on gently tilted roses that will not fall,
not from this picture-perfect, navel-high!
Velvety, the rose rises from the ground;
the forever-green Earth hangs low,
in the dew on the rose that will not fall.
Blossoming, eyeing an acute high,
evermore hopeful to scale upward,
toward the faraway, awaiting heaven's pool.
There, the spotlight does not move—
neither north nor south, nor up nor down—
until Queen Fathima, the Queen of Heaven,
steps on the "as above, so below" slope.
There, the newly resurrected Earth will be primed,
its minted atoms vibrating beyond bounds,
rising, for the first time, atop the navel-high.
Perfectly wrapped, the atom's circle finally turns on—
the stepping stone that holds no pi-decimal hole.
Pure Scientia hangs on the door of Paradise,
awaiting the numerically perfect Queen Fathima to step.
God willing, she will work in beauty:
the most sought-after, perfect works of art—
the lost masterpiece, not in translation,
but hidden within the pi-decimal abyss of Earth's depth.
Lo, the gleaning Sleeping Beauty peeps,
trailing the role model Queen.
Fathima—the first woman to enter Paradise—
walks the walk: perfect, straight, numerically precise.
As if she always knew, back from the Earth,
of the murals ahead, hanging on Paradise’s wall,
mathematically exact!
Mirrors of imagination, new wonders on Heaven’s way,
etched in the murals at the golden section, navel-high.
She zooms past the ever-spinning atom’s perfect span,
cemented at the entrance of Paradise.
Yet leaves no footprint—
for she never did, even on the sublunary Earth.
A new wonder blooms in the classic old eyes:
oh, Pi, still irrational, still pondering,
at the measured, eternal navel-high!
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 5:02 PM UTC
He misses me still, but that's old news.
He's missed me for so long now - he can do it in his sleep.
He does it while he eats alone at his desk,
while he runs for a train,
while the rain is coming down in sheets.
While a girl takes off her dress and he reaches for her,
his hands hesitate a decimal. He turns off the light,
and misses me.
It grows inside his chest, like a bonsai tree -
something natural but stunted.
Snipped and pruned carefully, but not allowed
to grow outside it's box. Not allowed to put down roots.
He hauled it off, across the sea.
Across China and the Middle East, he misses me.
Half a world apart, in Amsterdam I walk
with my eyes to the ground, all brown and grey.
Thinking of the planes and trains that bore him
away.
This has become second nature for me.
It's midnight in Tokyo, he sits at his desk
in the light from the street
thinking of trees, canals, red bricks, me
and when we sleep, he and I both,
it's with ghosts in the sheets.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:16 AM UTC
I want to be a materialist as much as I could.
I want to kiss the sun and marry the moon!
I want to invite all the stars, sending them a tweet,
and I’d like them all to join me on Facebook!
I want to carry the Himalayas on my shoulder,
and I’d like to swim across the Atlantic water!
I want to wax lyrical over the waves
and would like to fly with the clouds.
I want to be in the green
and would like to spread across the spring.
I want to paint on the sky
keeping my head held high.
I want to wear the perfect fit ring,
as perfect as the pi-perfect circle,
with no endless nano-decimal hole,
just fine-tuned to my finger hole!
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 8:26 PM UTC
let’s split the seconds in two
break apart the bark of dead trees
and sail away like summer
like echoes
echoes
we’re back here again, no winebottles to hold us
the waves break on our skin
whispering about echoes of
the wind drops like grenade pins
paid for by palestinians
profits into our superpowers pocket
we’re echoes of endless
take one of those moments in a second
crush it up and breathe it in
just how rolled up notes showed you
hold this moment longer than you’re meant to
steal time from the gods
cos i want to look into your eyes one last time til tomorrow
i am a series of echoes of endless meaningless patterns
like pythagoras put a purpose on me
like a madman i’ll scream to anything that’ll hear me
the whole room sways to the beat of your breathes
the knowledge you cradle like life inside will never leave
it’ll warm you in moments of distress
you’ll feed it in moments of perfectness
sometimes the symbols aren’t right,
but you blurred the borders between me and love
letters and poems
dreams and stories
our thought patterns in sync like mushroom trips
i love you.
-
words
are infinite
like
the journey to here
the random chemical concotions
or just
preselected stories.
and pi to seven decimal places sounded with syllables sparks superstitious symbols
electrical impulses brief bits of data
it’s all down to disbelief in coincidence.
believing in confidence
patterns need a purpose
lose yourself in them
easier to avoid the pain that your brain knows to be true
that you’re part to blame
for the begging bin bags
the bombs and the poverty
the lifestyle of monotony
so i’ll keep saying it til i work out how to say it properly...
0.000001/=0
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 12:12 PM UTC
I see you over the tops of uneven books.
I see your golden brown hair,
as wild as the tall tundra grasses.
I see you drop the musty book,
onto the pale grey carpet.
And you are unaware, of my peering eyes,
sneaking glaces from under my Algebra book.
And that the numbers are carved in my mind,
as if ingrained onto the bark of a dying evergreen.
PS700-PS3499 you are searching for great American poets,
as your hands glide over the worn leather covers.
Leaves of Grass, Sorrows Built a Bridge, Works of Poe.
As you glance at the Dewey Decimal Numbers,
Numbers flourish in my mind.
The probability that you would like me,
Numbers are more cohesive than the words,
that I have written to you in the margins.
In the distance I see you surrounded by your books,
deeply focused-serene,
I too am a poet,
I am a poet of logic.
Fixating on the truth showed by facts.
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 4:07 PM UTC
There lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--It is true--
Because she is biblical;
Rarer than a precious jewel.
She is virtuous
She is loyal
She is courteous...
She is royal.
She shines brilliantly, like a star cluster trapped inside a room.
She glistens like jubilant sun rays dancing atop the ocean.
The wind of her voice sets inspiration in motion,
Like a sonic boom.
She is powerful.
She is virtuous,
Who is worthy? Just
Wonder & coil
In a corner & toil
As you ponder this.
And honor this
Acknowledgment,
Because she is royal.
Don't dare compare her to the likes of
Nefertiti or Isis.
They are not so estimable,
You couldn't buy her even with a million zeros before the decimal,
Because...
She is priceless.
So the King adorned her,
Because the King adores her.
She is beautiful, so they say,
But such a meager word could not suffice,
Because her true charm emanates like waves
In the ardent expression of her practice of life.
And from her mind and her soul.
Her precious heart--more precious than gold--
Looks like a kaleidoscope of rare gems,
Darting dazzling colors; the spectrum in whole.
Diamonds die in comparison,
Hand her a diadem...
She is special
She is jovial
She is gentle
She is royal.
She is not haughty,
Nor does she flaunt like worldly wenches do.
She tells girls who've been told they're peasants they can be a princess too.
She is not naughty,
Nor does she taunt like wanton vixens do...
Because she is godly.
Yes, indeed there lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--But it is true--
She is virtuous,
She is royal...
She is you.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
When you’ve asked yourself, “what the hell am I doing with my life?”
Five times before you’ve even had your morning coffee
Which isn’t enough, so you grab a second coffee
Because you stayed up until sunrise writing a lab report on the psychological effects of coffee
They call that an education.
When you stare at screens and sheets of paper
Until Shakespeare’s sonnets and Sir John A. Macdonald
Are scratched into the blackboard on the inside of your brain
Only to have the slate wiped clean
The second your Scantron card spells “success” in Braille,
They call that an education.
When you’re swimming in, shall we call it, the Academian Sea
And tentacles reach out and start to pull you under one by one
And the lifeguards on the shore simply tell you to swim harder,
They call that an education.
I remember walking onto campus feeling so inspired
Ready to be re-wired
Until they said my arts degree would never get me hired
Now the time keeps passing by and I always feel so tired
And for what reason?
I’ve read countless books on history and Hamlet and how to speak Italian yet it seems as though the most I’ve learned is all the different ways I can doubt myself
I am creative, I am well-read, I am kind, I am caring, but I am a history major
And in a place where 3.0s and 4.0s and future capital value is practically etched into our skin for the world to read like a bad tattoo
Apparently that means I’m not going anywhere.
There are so many days when I want my tattoo removed
So people will stop staring at the decimal points and prerequisites that distract from the rest of me and look me in the eyes for a change and see in my smile that this is who I really am
But instead I’ll probably stay up late again
Learn names and dates again
Forget them after the test again
Because when you stare at that sheet of paper if you’re dedicated (or crazy) enough to make it that far
And you cover up your tattoo with your graduation gown only for them to draw your degree wherever enough skin shows to prove to the world that they’ve churned out another one
They call that an education.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
i'm not looking for pinpointed lights
in the sky or my veins like
emission spectra of petals you leave
around my aorta
with daisy chain bracelets
whilst holding my heart like a
baby hedgehog or a shard
of glass left from broke-into car
windows our getaway driver, misery,
scattered across the pavement of your
gaze i met for five exact seconds
i remember, clean as new linen,
the geometry of your living room
seventy-six centimetres from your
glasses or the symmetry of the
bridge of your nose or the sound
of your soft exhalation.
to three decimal places i
was in love with you, then.
the rain need not spell it out in
morse for me to know that. the
sun need not rise to devour sleep;
through the ten factorial seconds of
each six-week fraction of my
life,
i dream of you.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 12:23 AM UTC
"The number Pi is a mathematical constant, the ratio of a circles circumference to its diameter is commonly approximated as 3.145159. Being an irrational number, pi cannot be expressed exactly as a common fraction. Consequently, it's decimal representation (22/7) never ends and never settles into a permanent repeating pattern", He told the girl sitting next to her.
"You like math I see", she chuckled.
"No, not exactly", he sighs
"I'm trying to tell you something, what I feel for you cannot be expressed properly, it's like pi, what I feel is deep and never ends, it doesn't settle to a repeating pattern because each day it changes and becomes something stronger", He looks straight into her eyes.
"Since Ancient civilisation, mathematicians have been trying to find the ending of pi but they only ended at about a thousand numbers. Then in the 21st century Computer scientist decided to give it a try, but they ended at 13.3 trillion before they exhausted their computers", The boy took a deep breath and started to play with his fingers
"Chances are a lot of people will try to figure out how I feel about you, myself included but no matter how hard I try it'll always go deep, it's infinite because I am irrevocably In Love with you"
Jul 2, 2015
Jul 2, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye
Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.
No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss
So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer ! Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
If only it was
like a hair of you,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!
Like the all round one
perfect sway
nets the ultimate decimal of pi!
Jun 25, 2022
Jun 25, 2022 at 7:35 PM UTC
If only it were
like a strand of your hair,
like a glimpse of you
in your mirror!
Just like a one perfect sway
into the all-encompassing curve
of the ever-smooth, perfect circle
captures the ultimate decimal of pi!
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 5:24 PM UTC
Rive! Split apart,
up and down
circle both ways.
Let the pearl be
down the sea
and the star
up on the high
find the sky.
Not a perfect circle
yet to scoop the last
decimal of Pi
it's fine.
Let a loophole be
only for an eye!
Jun 21, 2022
Jun 21, 2022 at 4:56 PM UTC
I was on the way to pick her up,
was just about to cross a slippery slope
on the front yard of my in-laws’ home.
Forget how long it took me to cross,
Huh, I had to solve a riddle.
A Moon pops up halfway through,
right in my way, it just won’t move.
I said I don’t need any horoscope,
already married, I am not a groom!
She goes, I too don’t fancy fussing about.
The riddle I got is only an easy-peasy one.
Just tell me your W duo—Where and When
did you take your first breath?
I laugh, isn't it the mum who can tell best,
who saw it first when I was born
but I can't go back and ask her,
she won’t show up
unless I return home, picking her up.
I said to the moon, o dear,
never did I say you got a scar,
that a spot on your face is cute, fair,
is only a cool shadow of one’s
deep-rooted fine lock of hair!
I then ran to the expert scientist.
He said it’s all vibrating but knows not
where the heck, if ever the spin might stop.
Again I ran to knock on the Sufi’s door.
He seemed to know why I went there,
And said in a deep voice, “as far as I know,
you don’t have a sister-in-law!”
Again the moon asks, in a heavy tone
“Tell me the truth,” before it's too long,
I said you’re in my way,
“I am not asking for an acre of moon.
Spare me a digit gap if you could.”
Unlike how the lands on earth, she tells,
keep changing the hands,
owning the ultimate plot is still one’s dream.
But no space is left unmeasured in space.
You miss by a hairbreadth, no matter how tiny,
and you might as well miss it by the eternity.
So zero space can I spare says the moon
This is it, the dead end, no more room to move.
Still, even a closed circle can’t be close,
the smallest atom is not the smallest to be closed.
The constant spin inside it constantly finds
ever more space to move on, because the root
pi is cracked open, spills out a new decimal,
though none can pinpoint, in this finest loophole
the sky can sway and earth finds a mouth to jingle!
Aug 28, 2018
Aug 28, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
Tell me how,
One person can divide into
Three perfectly psychotic sentiments
While still appearing to be whole
Tell me how
Multiplying your kindness only
Creates a rift between myself and patience
And ends with nights of contemplation followed by tumultuous
Back-and-forths with imaginary numbers
For I am no mathematician
I cannot find a solution to every concrete problem
I do not bother with equations or substitutes
I only skim the symbol, rewrite questions and leave the answers hanging in the air
Tell me why,
Subtracting victims from my life
Only added a murderous sentiment
To every repeating decimal that couldn’t find its’ place
Tell me why,
The quadratic formula is emblazoned in my memory
But everyone keeps throwing opposites at me
So forgetting whether to add or to subtract becomes hazy
And the square root gets suspended until next class, so the
Four drops off the plane, two goes insane, and
Letters lose their fictitious meanings
For I am no mathematician
Archimedes is finding the constant of my triangular coffin
While Newton is rolling in his gravity
Carl Gauss is busy laughing his *** off with fundamentals in his eyes and
Descartes keeps whispering incoherent Latin, migraines sprinting towards me
As if in a race
So don’t ask me
Whether or not you should divide by zero
Or whether it requires sine, cosine, or a tangent
My logic will not tell you anything you want to hear
I am through trying to piece together this imaginary puzzle
And I’ve had enough of playing this never-ending game
Because I’ve been through two continents, and 4 different states
And I still don’t know the meaning of my name.
For I am no mathematician
The only pie charts I am fond of,
have to do with sugar and preheating an oven to 450 degrees
And with every cubic centimeter
I start thinking of cubes of cheddar cheese
For I am no mathematician
I can’t graph a simple line
I don’t understand the dimensions of the polygon shown above
And I’m tired of wasting precious time
Oct 2, 2015
Oct 2, 2015 at 6:15 PM UTC
I confessed my adoration declaring my undying affection along with my true intentions
You declined most gracefully (clear and concise)
Narrating you do not share the same sentiments, (it was a forgone conclusion)
Letting me down eventually yet elevating my spirits every time you smile;
If you reciprocated even a decimal point of devotion or a fraction of affinity I hold for you
Metaphorically speaking it would acquire the vast space that now occupy all the stars in the known cosmos
For my affection towards you ran across time through galaxies extending throughout the infinite interstellar, finally resonating to the heavens unsettling angels and almighty god
In space time is redundant; direction hold no relevance and gravity is absent
Similar to the romantic intentions you have for me – literally none existent
You will always occupy that pedestal you once accused me I have erroneously placed you on
I will always hold the candle for you, step off a bridge if you asked me to
I would rather deserve medals and not have them; than to have medals and not deserve them
Very much like you – case and point
Maybe you are like the sunset I only have the privilege of admiring its magnificence from a far
But never to retain it for myself I have to let go once the dusk disappear giving way to the stars
But I like to still envision; let my imagination run rampant; then contemplate in accordance to the “Many Worlds Theory” that somewhere in the unknown multiverse, vibrating in a different frequency, we co-exist ecstatically ; now living & sharing an apartment in New York city; enjoying Chinese takeaway drinking cheap wine while listening to all your favourite songs from the nineties. (Specially the Goo Goo Dolls, The Verve and Matchbox Twenty)
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
Frail demeanor of library index cards
packed with Dewey’s decimals
stared upon so many times
some of you stigmatized with graffiti
“Read This” and “Don’t Read This”
as if the vandal knows
I wish to ****** each one of you
good precise direction you give
care in punctilious hand print
of maimed athenaeum tenders
all with long stretched noses
bridging reading spectacles
eyeing out naughty gigglers
stigmatized themselves by
rolled up quaffs
with pushed in pencils
or retractable ballpoint pens
writing implements held so delicately
while you were ascribed
O index cards of my shielded youth
how you protected me, informed me
Guided me on treasure hunts
where my imaginings still take me
away, in isles of knowledge
information coded in numbers and letters
Yours is the power
Apr 28, 2016
Apr 28, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
One of the ways you lied was quite hard to describe
A riddle of ridicule laced with flaring shoe laces
***** nudist desires smelt of pure hash bury mayo
Feeling as if the end of the dawn would just be the beginning
To pleasure the thought of you was something I once liked to do
Now no longer
For the song bird can only sing for so long
Before their feathers molt to hear a call to move on
Move on blonde lady long legs
We are always meeting and moving on
Towards a sky which crashes silently
Quenching the thirst of many
So on a black rimmed earth a universe folds and folds and folds
Where men travel far not knowing where they go
Explore the neck of your lover to see that she has another
Each bell in the row rings as if it were the first time
Crack yourself up to hear the laughter that you hide away in your room
At first you may be surprised but the twang will not die unless
You
Will it
Night whistles through me
For I am not here
I am soon to be gone
But not to no grave
Each note guides itself upon a road that man must draw to understand
They take pride in cracking magic that laughs at our attempts
And our
Experiments
The word seemed to mean something once
People used to mean something also
Nowadays
All I see
Are comma break decimals
And funeral homes
Jun 5, 2011
Jun 5, 2011 at 11:53 PM UTC
I felt so alone
No one seemed to care
I went for a walk
And thought about calories
That was odd for me
Then You came
And pushed my food away
You told me you'd make me perfect
Your name was Ana
You put me through hell
Made me question everyone
And every little freaking thing
I started to obsess
Over the number on the scale
I stopped eating food
And started eating numbers
I had to punish myself
When I went even a decimal
Of a calorie
Over my limit
That's what you trained me to do
You sentenced me to the gym
Made me lie to my family
And even my friends
Put me in a hospital
But still I loved you
And honestly, I still do
I won't stop counting calories
I had at most, 1194 today
while only burning 1500
evil little calories
I might drop an ounce
But I'll keep working
Because I have you
My dear friend Ana
The only one who cares
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Somehow when she says "I love you" I picture her there,
Lying with the cosmos,
Pure bliss,
That same smile on her liqour lips
When she sings I get lost in a haze,
I feel the vibrations,
Hear her laughter in the sound waves,
I think if things are no different
Things would be no different.
Liquid love,
In one form or another,
Im pretty sure at this point shes a professional,
Shes got it down to a science precise down to the decimal,
Spite without a bite cant **** a toothless animal.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
My mind wandered as he walked in,
Wandered into the undetermined future of this thing they called "us"
Was it a lifetime of undeniable affection for one another?
Or was it a longing that would only lead to years of jealousy and rage?
Either way it goes it would definitely lead to an unrelenting passion,
Unrelenting huh?
A never ceasing, always wanting, continuously pursuing, passion for one another.
Sound like a lot of trouble to me.
Maybe I should sit back and reevaluate my wanderings,
What if this attraction is only felt by me?
Then will I want all of this?
Am I okay watching from the sidelines as my other half of "us" creates "us" after "us"
What I want to say is NO!!! And run away
What I will probably do is sit and watch,
Watch as the other half of my "us" turns into a quarter than an eighth and then a sixteenth and so on and so forth until the number behind the decimal is too long to count.
And even then I'll be sitting here waiting for him to return
Cause even in my singleness I am loyal.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:32 PM UTC
And the show is never over!
I don't even remember purchasing the tickets.
Welcome to a runny nose, and welcome to a style of up and down.
Because that's all up and down are; styles for the miles of crowded planet.
Drink your tired music like a bowl of wonton soup
Chunks will surprise you.
Swipe your debit, credit, hallmark card to purchase them
All of them.
Every inch of their REM.
I woke up to the winter concealed in valleys
Filled with fortune and ethernet cables.
What's your wifi password?
"Thanks, love."
Alright, thanks, love.
What a beautiful way to say "careful."
Carefree.
Curvature of some invisible decimal point.
I love you.
Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 2:02 AM UTC