"downed" poems
Tool of desperate confrontation
Object of pride for a grateful nation
In Baton Rouge on the mighty river
Kidd rests proudly
376' length overall, Fletcher Class destroyer
Like every ship, of oil she does smell
When I boarded her, she had something to tell
I was with a scoutmaster, my son and the boys
Concerned with their fun, and the making of noise
But late in the night, as quiet set in
Kidd started whispering, to my within
She spoke of the men who gave up their lives
Their children, their girls, the tears of their wives
Thirty-eight men, in fiery fuel
Hell's agony touched, a death so cruel
Fifty-five more, burned badly that day
Defending our country, our homage we pay
Visiting sailors will stand at attention
… and for a young Kamikaze, scarcely a mention
The big war was over, Kidd passed her test
Now to San Diego, for a permanent rest
But as men will prescribe, it didn’t last long
Kidd went back into action, near Korea’s Kaesong
When in Baton Rouge, you can visit the Kidd
If you’re bold, listen carefully, just as I did
You'll get half of the story, the rest we don't know
The men who have fallen, to Kidd's mighty blow
Let's set a new tone and have us some fun
The Kidd's crew were pirates but they didn't run ***
Those flat-tops were fancy, their flyers elite
In the galley was ice-cream, their reward and their treat
When a pilot was downed, Kidd quickly steamed
Then radioed the skipper, "your man for ice-cream"
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 5:46 PM UTC
If yelling at her in an argument doesn't make your throat burn like you just downed 6 shots,
you don't love her.
If her eyes can't make you stop in your tracks and think about what you're about to say next,
you're not in love with her.
If her laugh doesn't make you tense up your knuckles thinking about never hearing it again,
you're not in love with her.
If her voice can't calm you're worst anxiety attacks and makes you want to listen to anything she has to say,
you're not in love with her.
If her smile doesn't make you're chest quake and your lungs shrink but feel refreshed all in one motion,
you're not in love with her.
If her taking off her clothes is when you pay the most attention to her, you're not in love with her.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:50 AM UTC
Sweet Butterfly, with wings now dry 'tis time to break away
and light upon the leaves of dawn while weeping willows sway,
not reminisce 'bout chrysalis discarded yesterday,
but treasure life, with colors rife in nature's cabaret.
Sweet Butterfly, you sometimes sigh "terrene so strange and new”,
but take a chance, with winged expanse of fairy-like bijou,
to taste delight in random flight, to drift beyond the blue
and then collect her naked nectar, sipped in morning dew.
Sweet Butterfly, you question why the breeze is seldom soft
when swirling you, your wings askew, while floating free aloft.
Some seem to find their peace of mind believing gods have coughed,
but others, downed, have often found more freedom when they've scoffed.
Sweet Butterfly, you needn't cry, the fields are full of clover,
and meadowlands bare braided strands that winds in waves flow over -
but if you fear that, more than here, another mead is mauver,
just flutter by, beneath the sky, unfettered flitting rover.
Sweet Butterfly, farewell, goodbye, you've left this world behind.
I oft gaze back along the track of flowers that you've mined
recalling days of light sashays and movements unconfined
that complement the firmament where beauty lies enshrined.
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
There's nothing quite like
having your memory erased
the best thing that'll ever happen
the best thing you'll ever taste
are the drugs sliding down
your throat to splash
in the stomach acid
pumping chemicals through your veins
The synapses in my brain
are full of dopamine
and my serotonin levels
are off the charts
On the outside I stand tall
like a steel soldier
but on the inside I'm crumpled up
with a paper heart
How do I tell my mom
I'm on, walk in while
she makes her art, day before her birthday
What words would I even spit
how could I say I just downed
a bottle of codine, she'd disown me
So I stumble up stairs to my
old bed, pictures of my graduation
burn my head, but it's imagination
the room swirls but I'm station...ary
Started off with a bet, kids dared me
When your fifteen you don't
see the bad side, the glazed eyes
rolled back drifting, all you feel
is the lifting and the bass
pumping, through your chest blasting
off real life stress, you can't tell you're a mess
Rolling, feeling like the best
But now I can't sleep unless I'm on
and then I don't dream.
It's time to start taking steps
instead of X, I'll do reps at the gym
I'm done giving in, I done living in
fog, done being gone.
Yesterday me and Tony were on the go
driving slow, on the hunt for blow
picked up, lined up, he handed me the dollar bill
rolled up and I could feel my brain
screaming, yes, my veins aching, yes,
my hands reaching for the dollar but then...
I said no.
Nov 7, 2012
Nov 7, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
VIOLENCE,
Nothing is as beautiful and as disgusting
To see MEN and WOMEN strike and grapple on UFC is wonderful
leaving everything they have out there with respect
only their technique and skill to speak for them
in the name of martial arts
To see "men" and "women" scrap and stomp on worldstar is sickening
leaving no downed alone,no honor nor respect
only their cowardice and anger speak for them
in the name of Violence.
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Nothings how it looks in fact, maybe the opposite
People say I'm energetic
When I'm fighting for consciousness
Downed NyQuil to solve my imperfections
Took Benadryl to sleep
Drugs make chatter over the back and forth banter of boredom
And action
A trip to the hospital
Affects the people to care for a minute
Hallucinogens fade, but this music it stays
No 3G left **** it lets sing
Words slurred
eyes red
I don't give a **** spread love
Acceptance
And tears of joy
The ones that run over the face of a baby boy
Mama's proud
Baby you're so smart!
You're gonna be so successful!
Yeah I remember those days
Now its nicotine sticks on my lips and E's for my mom to brag about
They think I'm lost
Am I?
Testing to be done
Society approved pills to pop
And a letter from my aunt
Words spread like dye in water
I've dropped
Down from the heaven of the early years
Lucifer can maneuver his way around the city unnoticed
A spy who tells lies to himself and greets the people as equal
Human again
I'd like to be
All I want to do is live!
But a life's money, family, and a plan
Floaters get flushed
Couch potatoes get crushed
Lazy *****
Ha
They just get fat
Like these joints everybody wants to roll
**** is for beginners but what happens to the pros?
No trophy for the taking
No stack of gold
Just a massive headache
And dependence
Diet coke doesn't count
My sis puts her heart on her sleeve
Me
I don't even think I have one
No wait it's up my ***
**** me good **** me long
That only love is what turns me on
If not
Keep out
Of my head
Or
Switch, light
Too god **** bright to illuminate
these white walls I'm hired to paint
24hrs, 365 days a year, until the day it’s complete
Avoidance
Births time from time
Cuts wrists to elbow
Show how mellow
I can be
Let me cope
Every days a new day
Born today die tomorrow
Next day
Wake up
Look in the mirror and decide
what you'd like to see
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 4:22 AM UTC
The Day...
...huff, huff, ...huff
breathe
Not one but many,
downed
twenty-two a numbered set
Push!
break, reset, align...
frost, huff,
Great God of Light reveals our Glory!
breathing...breathing
Field of pain, torn, exhausted,
sweat, rain, mist, colder
as grass-stained; the warrior's drobe.
Situate,
whistle! -stop!
Realign,
Randint, paired, matched to offset...
feign, move
'Eleven-by-Eleven,' storied beget
tension
Forty-Five!
Eighteen!
Okemah!
Rush...
*In the fields herds collide,
as Chaos, Eros, Geron, Adonai,
War portends a losing side?
The cheering throngs cast coronae...*
*Eleven steers to sacrifice,
go they do to God.
The ritual structure to suffice,
Violent nature absorbed by sod.*
BULL *
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 7:54 PM UTC
Oct. 25
Everything is different and I don't want to explain things.
Nov. 1
I crave the glittering, garish city lights, the loud raw music, the feeling of being completely and dangerously free.
Nov. 16
My heart hurts.
Nov. 17
I want to love you. I want to love you so much that I can't stop writing beautiful lyrical poems about the stars and my heart beat and your skin and I just want you to love me too.
Nov. 18
I think that if he knew me, really knew me, at all times of the day and night, he wouldn't love me.
Nov. 20
It's really funny how people can change.
Nov. 24
This is not paradise; this is hell.
Nov. 24 (later)
I'm materialistic and shallow, but frankly I don't give a ****
Dec. 14
My heart is literally pounding so hard I can feel it moving up and down in my chest. I'm blushing.
Dec. 20
And the butterflies live on, perpetually fluttering around in little circles in the pit of my stomach.
Dec. 21
He says I'm like a daisy.
Jan. 1
I downed a bottle of sparkles and sang like a drunk man would and he told me he loved me.
Jan. 25
He's so sweet and I think I love him.
Feb. 8
Long, content sigh.
Feb. 14
I'm going to blurt it out all at once because I'm feeling giggly so he stopped at the side of the road and kissed me and I feel like I'm floating.
Feb. 22
I feel trapped.
Feb. 28
He's always on my mind. Always.
March 13
I broke up with him. I'm not upset, and I'm worried about that. I don't feel anything at all. Are feelings supposed to just walk away and disappear like that?
March 29
His voice is irritating. I'm not a damsel in distress.
April 2
I think young love is only a glittering, fleeting illusion. I'm not sad about it.
Dec 31, 2014
Dec 31, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
There's this special seed inside of us
That glitters, shines, and grows
Planted by an equally special person
One that everybody knows.
The one that woke up early this morning
And downed their coffee for the day
While you dig out your favorite shirt
And they keep their nerves at bay.
The person that decorates for new children
Hangs up posters and note cards
Tacks up the yearly alphabet trim
And clears the weeds from the school yard.
Stands and greets equally nervous kids
Hands them name tags and a book
And hopes that their anxiety melts away
To be excited like they should.
The history and math books open
Pages are assigned
They're there to help you through it
To make problems easier to find.
To journey across another dimension
Of equations and butterflies alike
That prepares you for ACTs ahead
And tests that you'll probably dislike.
Well, that's all fine and dandy
All these books and passing grades
But what's more important is the seed inside
That's planted in your brain.
The seed that fuels your drive to learn
Creates a light to help you grow
Makes you crave another book
Acquire everything there is to know.
And I know a certain farmer
That specializes in these seeds
Who wants to make you reach the top
So you'll realize everything you can be.
These farmers go by 'teachers'
The most amazing you can find
Because of them, I try to be my best
So I thank my teachers for their time.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 7:24 PM UTC
for Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about rasing potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief --
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny *******
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
6.2k
Cola and Crown
Cola and Crown
Burns coming up
But, smooth going down
Cola and Crown
Cola and Crown
Burns coming up
But, smooth gong down
Sitting at the tavern
Needed courage
Drank four shots
Downed them in six seconds
Now, I didn't feel so hot
Stumbled to the dance floor
Room was spinning
So was I
Four shots in just six seconds
Felt like I was gonna die
Waitress pushed on by me
Saw that I had paid my dues
Four shots in just six seconds
I threw up on her new shoes
Cola and Crown
Cola and Crown
Burns coming up
But, smooth going down
Cola and Crown
Cola and Crown
Burns coming up
But, smooth gong down
She screamed and i just wobbled
Then she socked me with her tray
She gave me four shots in six seconds
Now, on the floor I lay
From now on when I'm drinking
I'm drinking beer, no matter what
I've got two black eyes to show me
Four in six ain't that hot
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
With her cowpoke
She went riding out with him
One dark and windy day.
The desert had forsaken their love and left their hearts astray.
As sharp as a cactus' spine, her lips did pine for days.
They sat around their victim's pyres tasting burnt bone, curdled blood.
She saw the mess of her cowpoke, blonde and brown beauties layed in the mud.
She asked why must these girls die
If their looks were truly good
He mumbled that his heart had been broken by the stormy flood.
So they swept across Arizona with it's bright windy haze
And withdrew their revolvers with eyes that met in gaze
They downed a couple of beers in the dusky saloon
Until right in front of them was the old rusty moon
Tonight she will riding out in the ****** lands
Where with her man she'll be soaking her rigid hands
In wine that oozes from the corpses in the sands
And in the sheets ridin' she'll take command.
Jul 27, 2017
Jul 27, 2017 at 9:40 AM UTC
Lay rest your flashing glaze of wishes
Down received for a moment
Breathy bow lifts to hold
and waver across few measures
Sienna and topaz
Sienna and topaz
Singe and simmer
Shine and glimmer against
All the thoughts born and dead
What makes you eager to rise
If it is not sensing gone away stories
or nursing the aches that lunge through anywhere else but here
While you replay and delay all creation
the blossoming goes unseen
She, the maiden is reigning
Une palais à remplir
Une palais à remplir
where she is her own queen
Her oceans made of no time channel open mouths
flooding its spill
She waded into The archer
Downed in his own vessel he mistook himself the pilot of
He, marooned in the surrender of damp and fertile places
where in Death he is still recovering
Soldiering and sullen
Soldiering and sullen
He is choking, and can not stop to see or savor the blossoms rising from his own till
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 9:03 PM UTC
I downed this big *** bottle of wine
in a small hope to get you off my mind
but your ******* smile man
that **** has me on cloud nine
all. the. time.
your world is scary I'll admit
not sure if you're friends or family
would accept the idea of me
or let me in
just crash into me
in a boy's dream
in a reality
I'm bare ***** here you know,
I'm crazy for you
you put a glow into my eyes
and the happiness that lacks at home
something I thought I had
something I thought I'd know
Makes me cry tears of joy and sadness all the same
I don't want to hurt anyone
but I can't help what I've gained
So what do I do with it all?
What do I do with you?
Jun 28, 2014
Jun 28, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC
Open up a Can of Cream Soda
Look at the delightful sight
Of Fizzy Bubbles popping in the air
You can't resist them with all your might
Take a sip or two of Cream Soda
Take a second or two as you feel
Fizzy Bubbles running down your throat
The perfect way to end off a meal
Then you realize something shocking
As soon as you have downed your last sip
The Fizzy Bubbles have disappeared so quickly!
Since you were thirsty from the potato chips!
Wait! Don't open another bottle!
Listen to what I'm about to say!
Fizzy Bubbles might be fun and yummy!
But you've had quite enough bubbles today!
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 7:08 PM UTC
Sitting round the barbecue
there's Paddy, Jeff and me
Mary is on Paddy's right
as happy as can be
Kath is sitting next to Jon
while Chrissy chats with Fay
Paddy passes round the brew
on an orange, plastic tray
Someone grabs a guitar
and begins a happy song
No one knows the melody
but still we sing along
Over comes old Lucifer
his hooves are keeping time
Three hot dogs on his pitch fork
(and one of them is mine)
"I hate to break this up" he says
"the boss is on his way
And if we don't pass muster
then there will be Hell to pay
So put away that beer my friends
and hide that barbecue
Now everyone look miserable
and maybe we'll get through".
A golden light came shining in
as Jesus crossed the room
Paddy swung a pick ax
and I swept with a broom
And Lucifer he cursed at us
and cracked an evil whip
And then a half gone Fosters
went and fell from Paddy's hip.
You could have heard a pin
drop as that bottle hit the floor
Lucifer just shook his head
he knew what was in store
But Jesus Christ he grabbed
that brew and gave a wicked smile
"For an ice cold pint of Fosters
I would walk a country mile"
So the joint again was rockin’
And Jesus lead the way
He said “if it were up to me
I think that I would stay”
Then he downed another bottle
And he said ‘oh by the way,
My dad would not be cool with
this so hold your tongues, ok?"
We never let the secret slip
and all is right and well
And if you’d like to join
us at this barbecue in Hell
Then we have a simple rule
you see, that everyone abides
You can come and go eternally
but religion stays outside.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 2:56 AM UTC
I became Holmes, past knowing true:
In every sense, I'd seek for you.
Now, taking the cobbles consciously,
Sick, mad, of the essence of this construct,
Dismantling the ancien régime to see
That I am all your stains in concert -
I am made up of every last touch -
Originality's a lie, save in
The combination that you see - as such
It is unique, but I still cave in
At the dawn that nothing is my own,
And much like as if you were a coffee
I'd downed: I could not, for my life, disown
The five million senses cutting me
For the time, for every conscious cup
I'd take and take again: Why should I dull
And cut myself this way, a life made-up
Of such a tannin-full ideal?
My way as a writer is to fall
In love, in my eyes, in yours, in raptures,
In despair, in tough crowds, on God, to call
On my muse and survive the ruptures
Of worlds and heavens, both real and made,
And feel the rain upon my face, but Lord,
How often do I feel, and feel the raid,
Engaged by scent, blush, needle, salt, word?
All too much makes nothing, and I can't flee
To seek another cup: I must seek me.
Mar 28, 2023
Mar 28, 2023 at 12:58 PM UTC
As the sound of the fireworks
Signaled celebration for the rest
As the night sky lit up with lights
It was the beginning of a test
Fireworks echoed the end
It was similar to the sound
Of breaking and collapsing
Of everything crashing down
The more the twists and turns
The more worth and excitement
The more the trials challenges
The more resistance to torment
As fireworks exploded in the sky
As fire rained downed onto earth
As the end echoed from the flames
A beacon of hope was given birth
A beacon enveloped in flames
Which tried to exterminate
An embodiment of strength
Which can never depreciate
Wrapped in burning flames
Which tried so ever
To turn it to nothing
But it didn't surrender
A Phoenix born from the ashes
A beacon that would not surrender
A Phoenix that lit up in darkness
A Phoenix that only gets stronger
A Phoenix that's brighter
Than anything ever seen
Born from fire that burned it
And stronger than what it's been
When there is nothing more but ash
And when it seems hopeless
Be your own Phoenix
And illuminate in darkness
So that everyone in doubt
And all of the hindrances
Will be in awe and no longer deny
Your immeasurable unwavering resilience
A Phoenix that wouldn't allow
The same flame, to burn it down
A Phoenix that turns fire
Into its glorious gown
A Phoenix that turns the end
Into a magnificent enviable crown
A Phoenix, even in a sea of fire
Wouldn't dare burn or drown
From the fire and ashes, it has risen
Unwavering strength and unyielding flame
Spreading its wings to soar once again
I am still me but no longer the same
Jun 29, 2016
Jun 29, 2016 at 7:34 AM UTC
Sunday night is a dull hum
constantly buzzing in my ear
Sunday night is a broken clock
hands stuck at five to five
Sunday night is experiencing technical difficulties
bars of black, white, and other colors
Sunday is so high it can't get off the couch
was that somebody knocking at the door?
Sunday night is so drunk
it fell asleep in the closet
only to wake up thinking
this doesn't look like my bed
Sunday night is trying out for varsity
only to make the practice squad
Sunday night is a suburban strip mall
at five AM on a Monday
I took my Sunday nights
and poured them in a glass
downed it in one gulp
and projectile vomited
all over my Monday through Saturdays
I took my Sunday nights
and put them on a page for you
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 4:16 PM UTC
We started out with Armistead
from the shelter of the trees.
A jackrabbit raced past to the rear,
no dumb bunny was he
The heat rose up to meet us
As we started up the rise-
The prospect of the copse of trees
Before us was the prize.
The flower of Virginia here
displayed upon Parade
We must have looked magnificent
Just before the cannonade
They piled on Double Cannister
and tore holes in our line
We staggered from the weight of shot
that fearful hissing whine..
Then enfilading fire came
From the Yanks behind stone walls
Just then post fences six feet high
briefly caused our charge to stall
Brave **** Gannett was unhorsed
Upon this very spot
Kemper, wounded mortally,
Was retrieved from shell and shot
We made it past the final fence
And up the grassy knoll
Defiant in the cannons mouth
"Turn those guns!" I'm told.
But at that very Moment
General Armistead was downed
The attack lost its momentum
Our wave crested on high ground..
The blue bellies yelled Fredericksburg
As the Crimson tide retraced
Half in Anger, Half in relief
that the challenge had been faced.
The hill before the copse of trees
Pocked with our dead and dying
While the remnants of Picketts men
Towards Longstreets line were filing
Matthew Brady took my photograph
before I was led away
My face a study in defiance
A true man of the gray.
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 8:56 PM UTC
met a man once
and he took me to a steakhouse
the type where tuxedo men come back
with a twee bite-sized piece of meat on a plate
he ordered my steak for me
and though it glistened
the slab barely satisfied
the crack in my teeth
i was starving
and he kept talking about
business deals
and networking
to the type of cars that make him hard
which one of these thousand ******* forks
is best to stab?
making friends
with a bunch of pruned men
chatting business
he introduced me
she speaks Spanish
how exotic
raw and juicy
STEAK
sure does go well with potatoes
i started ordering loads of wine
when they all agreed that it was time
to make America great again
i downed even more down my throat
‘till I was seeing spuds in Versace
drinks for everyone!
we ordered like five bottles
so drunk
that I started mooing
but if this gasbag ever hopes to get laid
he’ll need to go to the slaughterhouse for that
meanwhile, let the bartender do the milking
Mar 8, 2017
Mar 8, 2017 at 3:31 PM UTC
The start of the day look so bright, who would have belived it would end in a fight.
The clatter off glasses and the shout of "Who's Round?! All drinks were picked up and swiftly downed.
Moving on to the next watering hole, get there quick to watch the match winning goal.
The lads want more dancing, ***** Stippers but not before we stop of for Chicken Dippers
Intoxication is power or so we belived but a fight with what we thought were ninjas brought us down to our knees.
We picked up our injured and clean up our wounds, then move on to the next place so we could re-group.
Our ego's in tatters our wallets all spent, I think its time we bring this epic night to an end
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 10:03 AM UTC
I fell asleep
To the smell of antiseptic,
Sterilizer, biogesic,
And the cold touch of metal
Rods that only seem
To grow colder
With the touch of hospital
Left in the student's
Ward - a whistle
Permeates the silence
Of seniors
Painlessly sleeping away
Hours upon
Hours until graduation -
A coming of age -
An escapism from past papers
And teachers who have
Themselves given up
On them.
And the lights you
See are as bright
And as empty as those blinking
Feebly
In that of the school doctor's
Office, one not really
Blinking more of
Washed, and supported
Wobbling by daylight
Seeping in through peeling blinds,
Unable to see too much -
The headaches and stomachaches
Have rendered him numb
To the feeling.
And lunch comes
And out blows the whistle to
Signify the end
Of playtime for
The young ones, start
Of playtime for
The older ones,
Whistle blowing muffled
By the septic tank glass
Doors of this sacred outhouse,
Wards muffling the cries of children
As they flee the quadrangle,
Once mad, twice elated,
Still innocent, untired,
Not needing to fake sick
And rest their heads softly
Upon thin soft beds with
Towels wrapped haphazardly
Behind their backs,
Nostalgia, it was
Laughter, I swear it was louder
When we used to run,
When our eyes lit up like
The sun petering in through
The doctor's orifices,
When our bruises and bumps
Smelled like betadine,
Not sleep
And cups of sterile water downed
To mask the scent of
Fake cough syrup,
And cuts gotten from fiddled syringes,
Bruised ankles
Bent over undersized beds,
And not running over
Uneven pavement,
Ankles brushing tablecloth,
Schoolbag,
Basketball and frisbee,
And the screaming.
Oh, how I miss
The screaming.
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 9:55 AM UTC
I'm too tired,
To sleep,
Devoid of energy,
Yet energised,
Fraught with worries,
Downed by despair,
I am too tired,
To sleep.
Feb 29, 2016
Feb 29, 2016 at 6:26 AM UTC
I took the first sip of white wine in
trepidation for the aftermath of drunk
people in movies is not very pleasant.
I downed it all, faster than an intruder
who wiretaps an important building
somewhere in America. I had vowed to
not drown in the poison I had just consumed.
But what happened later proved me wrong.
I swam in clouds and I floated in shallow
waters for the slurs that lay on my tongue
were not something I would utter in a
sober state. I cavorted. I danced. I showed
skin. I was the frog that clandestinely dances
in the rain and hides away before the ground
is dry again. I swirled like a whirlpool. My cheeks
were red and I emitted happiness. I made silly
jokes about a plant named Wisteria and lay
in bed, twirling away in my drunken madness.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC