Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
You was like,
need your help...
I was: Yes,


Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.


Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.


EAT MY BISCUITS!
u V p
***(K)

Those my biscuits,
Ban-dana Jean...
my comely soap.


(k) NIGHTED

Help you Odo-Ban
and ***** jeans
my only soap.

You want to be an "activist?"  Go live on the streets..Ben Franklin lived on the streets, Karl Marx did also, Davy Crockett, come play with nothing.
Mak Jul 2014
the anger swells inside of me like a balloon, ready to burst. Band of Horses blares in the background, and tears begin to fill my eyes, threatening to drop if I don't pull myself together.
stop it.
stop trying to break in
stop trying to make me let you in
i won't
won't won't won't
i won't let. you. in.
stop
i hate you
i hate how my heart beats faster when
i'm by your side
i hate how you make me more of myself
i hate hate ha te hate you i hate you
but more than that
i adore you
Mak Jul 2014
cameras flash
                                                           ­                                       lights blare
mother smiles
heart aches
                            stomach rumbles
                                                         ­   agent is pleased
skinny skinny skinny
                                                          ­                                          must be skinny
                                                         must be pretty
                                                          ­                                      must be perfect
must be good enough
                                                       not enough
                                                      neve­r enough
                                                     **** **** ****
why do people
                                                          ­                                           even like me
                                                     **** model
                                                     **** girl
                                                        hate­ me
        cutting carving creating
                                                        ­                                              scars
             ­                                            drink drank drunk
drip drip
                                                       hoping I'll
                                                            ­                                              just
bleed
        ­                      out.
GreenTrees Dec 2014
A poem written while drunk and in under 3 minutes....


True Love will leave you broken

True Love will leave you broken

Unitl all the words remain unspoken



True Love will leave you broken

True Love will leave you broken

Until your hearts wide open


True Love will leave you broken

True Love will leave you broken

Will leave you standing at the door


True Love will leave you broken

True Love will leave you broken

Until it leaves you begging  for more



True Love will leave you broken

True Love will leave you broken


Until you can't take any more...

© Karl V.
True love  the pain that I adore...
Ken Pepiton Oct 2018
Drunk, we staggered home.

Aware of having been
some
other where
a while

That woman, she could answer

any question rebbi axt,
Ohhhhmyyy

she laugh and say, Dude, I got the Intent-net,
in my hand

That's more than a list of numbers, this
accounting idle words going on, on going, as fast as

lightning, at the scale, of, say

cat-ions ifiying an-ions
at random,
seen systematical, from a distance
zoom out
at the scale, of, say
Great Deep Field.

Center you, I'm no matter.

synchro
now

zoom out
Use that steam program
Universe Sandbox,
you gotta see that to imagine this, right,

and next is what you keep saying is unbelievable,
but its not.

Good things come to them
to whom
good makes more sense.

Earth from the moon POV

Confusion flux, spurtual,  caused by the solar flare of all solar flares,
one side

Whooshing the Ice left from Patton's flood
into steam, the stuff, not the app,

which swooshhhesssssssssss smack
into the freezing repurcussions
from the daark side…

The Noah event, that was bad,
This one, the last one, this just previous one,

was spiritual. Magnitudes incomparable
(save in parable and example, exemplar gratis,
says the bodiless being, with a roll of  my wrist and a bow)

At that very time on the side away from the flare,
the daark side of the planet, this one…

a Donald Patton nitrogen snow ball
that nearly breached Roche's limit,

too not nearly enough,
dis -integration
The atmosphere freezes
to the quark level, snap,

the cold
explosive
forward momentum
booms a nitrogen bubble now
minusminusminus
solid nitrogen
melting

any heat locked in flare fired steam,
what was once the water
that washed away the gods and locked their cities
of ivory under the ice

on the sunny side,
where now, then,

a solar flare like legends build empires upon
has passed, fires rage

there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Only miners survived, gold digger mostly,
few alchemists who knew the mystery in mercury,
Lost was all knowing but to a very few,
who truth be told had been the owner's
well kept servants, ministers of this and that
they perished with all the fires touched

we diggers, we only marvel

How bits of time, exact as ours, can be seen happening
all in bubble of Mercury. Cooked out red rock like these.

"Blood o' the gods of old, swat I'astold."

Messages from the gods, grandma, said, "Mercury calls for gold, gold listens, when fire's hottern fire can be,
unless
the breath of men blow on the coals", we all said that last part and blew out the light. G'night


but a story told a wee bit here a qubit there
here a little, there a little
line upon line,
precept upon precept,

'cept no body knows what I know about cept,

capere, a story starts, a provisioning tale. Wait.

it means grip. like a tool. rock breaks nut.

Paper covers rock, but scissors are so far in the future
that now, my time, my mind wanders after whys

this authoritative telling of the story, in it,
none know the terminal tale.

As in times past, there were survivors who lived to tell

and old stories never die. Old story tellers do,

Tho' here's a clue.
Meek's not bad,
stupid, for no reason, is.

Living long for the sake of a song heard once,
in dream luring me on, promising right now, I'll

know what it's like to see, oh

POV I made this clear some time ago,
time is less predictable than any imagined, before 2018
when, you know…

Even those tales old drunk Hesiod sold
in the Hittite tavern at Delphi,

Chronos thought wrong in those,
he ruled but for the merest gleam o'

Time, then a bubble gen erated by the thought of
opposition to transition,
nothing to something,
pushing /pushing back
stretch/snap/spark
that takes power, pulsing power, throbbing power

push/stretch
glow/snap
you know, imagine, glowing - cheat, think 2018 CG
glow/snap
Planc time,
each time the bubble pushes back
a ripple
imagine a clock, later, if you believe then, you must.

Now, see the bubble of all men have imagined,
since the time when such a bubble was only evil,
continually.

It went viral.
Noah we know for sure, almost, survived, ? Cushites kept records. In Africa.
Akkad kept record, too.
Some Hopi survived somehow and they have a tale.

They say they know the story is ten thousand years old,
I've been to a crossroads
on their journey,
stories
tell of it, still, today.

Holy means marked for good reason.
Marked with clues, not riddles, maps

Sacred means secret means hidden away for use,
not common, every day, quotidian use, right use.

Time, the opposing force, is precious to us all.
In time, we do all we can and die,

in ever, we expand, in no time at all. I imagine.

You fill it. Now, Your expandable mind's time,

time pushes from the outside,
wisdom pushes from the inside,

And so it goes, life goes on and music grows on ya,

Amusing how they do that, teeny muses dancing
shiva on the tip of my tongue,

singings songs in tongues I've never known
if they
are words on tongues
or sounds on tongues,

notes,

Baysian Binary Cross Validation
still ends with some people thinkin'
"it is finished" left them with a ton o'weight,
that's wrong, insist resistance.

Some, heavy duty, leaders of lambs, they claim
power in their mouths, spoken from fixed hearts,

but fixed upon, is truly the song,
said, words are only
little bits of whole sym ulacrum of re-ify-ing

where broken things re-pair, and life goes on…

"fixed, my heart is fixed",
no, your heart is machine of the most magnificent design, perfected,
a time at a time.
Flexing, pacing time itself, faster slower,

try some time
alone
be still, pond still

I know the story broke,
I could not hold it.

In the night, bitter cold
Frozen fragile...

There are pieces scattered every

where, everywhere
there is time, there is at least, a point

a story may stand upon and ask an angel
to dance.
Dance, give it some flare, what do we care?

Nobody's watching, but that fly.
This is read, by me at http://anchor.fm/ken-pepiton
Life is good at my house, thankyou. A reader is needed more than words can tell. My posts are a book now, few stand solidly on their own. Thank you if you spend your time perusing them please tell me where I muddy the flow, or break the story.
Hannah W Oct 2014
I can feel you losing interest in me,
and pretty soon you'll be gone
and I’ll be alone again
forced to dwell on all the sweet things
you don’t remember telling me
when you were drunk

-h.w.
Natalie Mar 2018
give me a kiss
like it could be your
last one.
“hold on”
you say,
as you quickly down your
cold one.
make love to me
under the light
of the stars,
not
under the light
of the bars.
look in your eyes
with a caring gaze,
all i get back
is a drunken haze.
Anna Blake Oct 2017
i left your wine glass
on my bedside table

for seven days
it settled in the very place
that your hands had aimlessly
chosen

staining a ring around a mostly empty bodice.

mostly empty?
barely full?

you see, for me,
the wine glass was
my way of having you
stay as long as I wanted.

I saw your delicate
fingerprints stamped upon
the stem and body

just as they were on mine, under a tin roof
amidst a blanket of summer rain.

                                 ......

i washed the glass tonight

as you boarded the plane to the rest of your life.

i wonder if you'll think of me as you sip on your complimentary glass.

rouge ou blanc, mon amour?
rouge comme mon amour?
ou blanc comme mon remise?

-Anna Blake
...my heart beating hard,
My mind going crazy. . .

That outfit, those heels,
My mind going crazy. . .

How do I contain this?

How do I stop it?

...my heart beating hard,
My mind going crazy. . .

That outfit, those heels,
My mind going crazy. . .

How do I work?

How can I think...

Without you in my life?
...my heart beating hard,
My mind going crazy. . .

Crazy For You

crazy over you
That outfit, those heels,
My mind going crazy. . .
crazy over
-* you. *-
Terri Jul 2018
4 am,drunk
thinking about you
feeling these feelings for you

crying, wiping the tears off
don't know if you should know,
the love i have for you

                                                       dazed & confused
                                                       what should i do?
                                                       do i have to do this?
                                                       what will i do without you?
                                                      
                                                       lying down & almost sober
                                                       called you, the love i have
                                                       gave'em to you
                                                       but i wasn't enough

drunk in the morning
nothing on my mind
but your body,
you being with somebody
but not with me

out of all the girls,
they were my "more alcohols to come"
but you, you, you're different
you're my "more poems to come"
and that's me being drunk in the morning.
Poetria Jul 2015
Her eyes so bright;
Do you ever wonder where the sun goes at night?

The rain, dancing on the pavement
in no specific arrangement.

Luminous flames eat away at sharp skewers,
Her eyes silver-grey, clashing with the tables of steel.

Barbecue roasting, impaled through the middle
The pain paled in comparison to watching you smile.

A toast to me, myself and I, a glass of sweet solitude.
I watch tall wine glasses clang drunkenly together, alone.

A pin drops in the distance; no silence to accompany it.
Unnoticed it goes, by the arrogant lords and goddesses.

Pick a flower, compliment her hair; devil may care.
She's walking away, I tell her 'Ma'am, have a nice day'

Left alone to stumble back home,
sipping champagne royally; Mockery.

Spilling champagne and it swirls down the drain
I tilt my head back, laughing carelessly all the way.
A Jul 2015
After two years, two months,
and twenty-two shots,

you finally told me
you loved me.

a.g
I didn't really count the shots; it was probably more. This was something you wouldn't have done sober.
I cannot see the end in front of me?

How...

WHAT THE **** IS GOING ON!?

Something about two buckets of soil...

GO NOW!
GO NOW!

Go ...now,

How does the Seer work?

Do You
See?

AMC

Vikings

I

see

Why are my skinned eyes?

...crows, crows, crows, crows

Messages
ˏˋDalPalˊˎ May 2015
It wasn't my first time drinking
But it was the first time the earth moved beneath my feet
The first time my head spun like a top and the ground made it harder To keep straight
Kings cup and mike's harder lemonade helped me achieve this Unwanted goal
Along with the memory of you

My feet slamming with every step and I try to think of you
I don't know why I do this to myself
Other than wanting to feel sorry for my being on a daily basis

But for the first time when your memory hit my head
It's like my mind put up a brick wall
Not letting you climb over it
No matter how hard you tried to jump over
No matter how hard I tried to pull you up
The wall got higher
And higher
Until I couldn't see you

And that's when I fell back
Through the fluffy clouds in my head
Into the bliss of my brain
And started thinking about those chicken nuggets in the freezer
As I mix some of that mango moscato with cheap illuminium cans

The sun's lining hits the grass

I lay on the couch
Remember how I couldn't even try to remember the pain
And liking it

It makes me start to wonder
If this unwanted goal is my savior from you
Or the devil for me
I'm just letting everyone know that this was like the third time I had ever drank and I don't plan on making this a thing ever. I've seen how alcohol has affected family members and I'd rather not put myself through that.
that mango moscato was like candy though.
Purcy Flaherty Oct 2018
I was treated like the VIP,
A cat and a big fish,
A hook and a big Six,
whilst visiting Little bo-peeps
rotisserie of *****,
she was no shrinking violet,
Wearing open silk
working 9 to 5am.

Hot funk never satisfies,
but she had the way with all
to feign, delight; even interest,
before negotiating the price,
She was classy,
kind of slick,
she tickled my ears
for nothing more than kindness,
a small token in exchange for a smile.

She poped on a tune,
as she took off her dress.
The petting started
Two hands tugging with the zipper of my jeans.
A woman's touch... Ha HA,
the sultry kiss of *****,
tight and tasty;
***** like a ripe tomato,
Sugar fried and drunk,
She opened her legs.

Her hair smelled like shampoo,
She was on her belly,
knees tucked up
as I took in the fruit,
deep holes filled **** and shabby fingers,
hollow spit and angry poison,
head spinning with the groove,
loud and high,
The bed squeaked
and a single bulb dangles
like a loose tooth,

Both crooning love songs,
Sick and spent,
I got dressed to leave,
I said with a poke,
I couldn't get laid,
Not even in a ***** house.
And i'm back in the cold again,
only dirtier!
Another old poem
The inspiration from William and Don G
MindlessSelf Jan 24
My dad wasn't like your typical  dad you'd see on television

The one's who always had smiles on their faces  and loved their family

My dad was a man who would come home from work with a beer in his hand

At times maybe more than one depending on how drunk he would  be

  If my dad didn't have a beer he would  go insane  to the point of punching someone in their  face

That's how much he loved drinking beer to the point there was nothing left

Unfortunately he passed out on the ground that night with nothing but a beer in his hand.
janelflorendx Mar 2017
bury me with the shameful ashes of our past
drown me with your passionate kisses and whisper me that we'll last

take the one last innocent glance
before i drink the liquory glass

i'm on ceasefire
so ready to conspire
hold me tighter and
share me your drunkful desires
Next page