"duffle" poems
Reunited
Walking down a path, where no man should ever go,
its dark, cold, damp and I'm moving very slow.
Feeling the walls that are covered in slime,
too many things happening at the same time.
So much hidden deep down in my soul,
not sure if I can escape this black hole.
Things I've done can never be told,
Sometimes life gets put on hold.
If only these things, I could mention,
it would relieve so much tension.
So many things, I just can't say,
if I did I'd be put so far away.
I've reached the point of no return,
next one who gets in my way, I'm gonna burn.
Getting more angry by the minute,
bought some guns in case I have to shoot.
This giant duffle bag is getting quite heavy,
I wish I still had my 57 Chevy.
Back then life was great,
Wife, kids, house, fence with a gate.
Then one stormy night, a car went off the road,
since that night my brain started to overload.
Fell into a deep depression,
lost my job, thanks to the recession.
Lost my house, lost my car,
all my dreams are now to far.
Walked into the place, I used to work,
hated my boss, he was such a ****
Grabbed my guns and started to shoot,
all the blood was staring to pollute.
Shot as many as I possibly could,
don't know why, just thought I should.
Losing everything drove me insane,
I'm not making excuses for my brain.
Not long after there were hundreds of police,
there was no offering of a sign of peace.
They barged in and I resisted arrest,
I was shot several times in the chest.
I wanted to die, but always in style,
all I could see was my families smile.
Now we're back all reunited,
I have never been more delighted.
No one I shot that day ended up dying,
just some blood and a lot of crying.
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 12:14 PM UTC
I could have gone to the cemetery,
or back to my high school lab,
find him lecturing from a podium,
bony finger raised,
demagogue of the dead.
I could break him down piece by piece,
cram him in a duffle,
a femur jutting the zipper.
Ignore the groan-
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Instead I found myself
in the carnival lot,
The dog was long dead,
the sign kept guard.
Rusty rides slouched like tumbleweeds.
Cotton candy in memory-
blue tack crunching my teeth.
Lewd.
Skeletons fixed on poles,
spiked up through pelvis and spine.
Use ****
Grip shoulders. twist. lift.
When one slid free,
he collapsed into my arms
all bone-light, lovely,
mine at last.
I just brought him home.
Sat at the kitchen table.
Named him Curly.
Zoom howled: WAG’s gone weird!
What’s his name? What’s his name?
His name is Curly,
I said, but I knew
his name was You.
We drink wine by the pool.
He never sips.
Sometimes I pour a second glass for the glint.
Sometimes he tells me Danny Elfman
wants to play his ribs like a xylophone.
Sometimes he sighs,
he hates Oingo Boingo.
I laugh. Obliging.
So do I.
When the wind kicks up
he smells of sugar and rust.
Sometimes he rattles the glassware.
Sometimes he won’t sit still.
Skeletons are
by nature
never satisfied.
Sep 25, 2025
Sep 25, 2025 at 12:11 PM UTC
The sky is painted a pale orange and blue
I'm just out there thinking of you
No way, no how to ever break through
But with a paddle in hand you know that's untrue
A wannigan, a duffle, a heavy deluth
An impenetrable vessel, a wood canvas canoe
Unexplored nature, a spirit renewed
All with friends, an unstoppable crew
No need to run, no need to prove
Rise with the sun, incredible views
There's always a portage, skeg on the boots
But who can stop walking our unfenced zoo
We do what we do, there to feel, be, and move
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:59 PM UTC
I was in love
with Denise,
(She sat behind me in the third grade and
moved away in the first few weeks of the fourth),
but it was Tasha,
(who sat next to me and was the
best friend of Denise),
that I would fantasize about.
I would wait in some bush
for her to pass by and then
leap out
wearing a black ski mask and
armed with a rag drenched in chloroform.
The part of the fantasy that would
constantly change was
the way I would drag her back to my trailer.
Sometimes
I would have a Tasha-size duffle bag and
other times
I just dragged her by her feet
or grabbed her by her arm pits.
I often thought it would be smart
to bring my little red wagon.
except that I didn’t have one
In my fantasy it was always late morning
because that’s when my mom wasn’t home.
Once I had Tasha naked in my room
I would tie her hands with a rope secured
to the ceiling
I would pinch and poke and rub Tasha’s body
everywhere.
And stare
She would be blindfolded but
I would leave my ski-mask on
just to be safe,
in case Tasha’s blindfold fell off,
you know?
it’s hard to find chloroform when you’re
only eight.
Anyway,
she would squirm and writhe and
wiggle
but soon she would change a little
and she would start to moan
she would gasp
and eventually
she would beg for more.
And then more Chloroform
I would drag her back
so that when she woke up
she would maybe think it was
just some fantasy SHE had.
But Denise,
when I dreamed of her
we just rode bikes and stuff.
I was in love with her.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:27 PM UTC
Steam escapes the surface
Of infant mince pies.
Spiralling upwards, it dances
Into the winter haze
Where headlights, opaquely visible,
Shine beams stopped short in the fog.
The mist flurries atop the frozen pond,
Over brittle leaves, half caught.
The deer nuzzles in frosty thickets,
Searching the winter veil
For stray nut.
Mittened song sheets conduct
a huddle of duffle coats
and frosted boots, rooted in the snow.
Sweet carols leave notes hanging
in tranquil harmony.
‘neath the tap my hands endure
The bitter cold of winter’s water;
But happily I return to my window,
And cast a gaze once more on winter Britain.
The fire leaves a smoky essence,
A homely smell.
December come.
Sep 13, 2013
Sep 13, 2013 at 2:20 PM UTC
Courtney’s old subaru stuttered and stalled as she sat at the red light. The large blue duffle bag sat ominously on the leather seat beside her. She couldn’t look at it.
God, Luci. Why did you get yourself into trouble? Courtney’s mind was racing. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. She ****** her head to look at the bag. It was bulging.
The bag was stained and dusty, ripped along the seams in some places. Courtney’s phone rang loudly. She jumped, and held onto the steering wheel with one hand and answered.
“Hello?”She was silent as the voice on the other end talked quickly. “No, I’m not there yet... yes, I’ve got it.. No, I haven’t touched it... Yes, sir. She’s very sorry... I know, sir. Yes I’’ll tell her.” She hung up. Her face was ghost white, her palms and forehead sweaty.
Many voices argued in her head. I shouldn’t be doing this for her. She broke the law. But Luci’s your sister! That doesn’t matter. She caused the whole family a lot of pain and money. And now I’M breaking the law. What the hell?!
She looked back over at the duffle bag. It sat staring at her accusingly. She turned away. Her car was getting awfully hot, so she rolled down the windows, letting air flow through. Checking her watch, she hiccuped with surprise. Her foot slammed down on the gas, her head pressed against her seat from the quick acceleration. Her car’s enging groaned with the speed, but she couldn’t slow down.
********* Luci. I really hate you right now.*
Suddenly, she saw flashing lights and heard a sharp wailing sound behind her. A police car pulled right up behind her, speeding along, signaling for her to pull over to the shoulder of the road. Courtney’s eyes were wide with fright, and her palms were sweating profusely, leaving stains on her steering wheel. Oh god oh god oh god oh god...Ohhhh my goddddd.
Courtney slammed on her breaks, pulling over. A man in uniform knocked on her window, and she rolled it down slowly. There was a loud noise from the passenger seat and Coutney’s world slowed as she saw the duffle bag fall to the floor of the car, the zipper breaking and the contents spilling onto the carpeted floor.
The policeman’s face was horrorstruck.
“Ma’am...” He stuttered. “I’m going to have to ask you to...step out of the car and put..put your hands on your head.”
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
My poetry's really meant as decoration
For the days of life that we get rationed;
My lines for scrapbooks, wrapped around vases;
Words embroidered utilitarian places.
My words antimacassars for things nearby;
Some dangling sentences passing by,
Upon the latest quilt or jewelry box;
Or purse, or duffle, or coffee mug.
Please use my poems as flourishes and frills,
To substitute for things sans time to feel;
Shabby chic poetry, for every need:
Then there's always something to read.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 3:06 PM UTC
She took the train for the first time
To go spend a few weeks with her daddy
In the summer before she started second grade.
Her suitcase had pink light up wheels on it
And was full of her best summer dresses and pictures
She drew with his name scrawled on the back.
She cried at the station because she didn't want to go,
And slept the whole way there.
She took the train again, in high school
Accompanied by a group of friends
Going to the city for the weekend to see a baseball game.
She didn't bring any luggage,
But came back with arms full of plastic shopping bags.
She cried because her mother didn't understand
That 16 is too old for a curfew,
And smoked cigarettes the whole way there.
She took the train, once more,
Her freshman year of college.
She went to visit her best friend at school.
Her duffle bag was full of flimsy bikinis and Sartre.
She didn't cry this time, until on her way back
When she realized that something had been lost somewhere along the way,
And that she was too old now to ever know what it was.
She took the train, again, for the last time.
The summer before her second year of college;
She said she wasn't going anywhere in particular.
She bought a ticket for Sacramento, and left it in the car.
This time, her suitcase was full of heavy rocks,
And made her tilt a little to the left as she dragged it down the ramp.
She began to cry at the station, for the death of someone she used to know.
And, seconds before the train left,
She flung herself onto the rusted tracks,
Leaving behind nothing
Except a couple of ticket stubs and a poem titled "Somewhere".
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 12:04 PM UTC
A tortoise ripe with lime stone wrinkles
Shakes off the final layers of that sediment
Crystal that had calcified itself to the classic side
Of the shelf.
Like a filthy barnacle that clings to the inside
Of my skull
& whispers phrases of Walden to the black one
Of my mind.
He threw that spider silk
& iron twine around a lion's
Spine as a sign of respect:
Then he yanked as a means to dissect
When it was least expected.
I was the envy & death smudged black
The ***** duffle bags under a skeletons
Hollow hole.
I hate you with every fiber.
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 1:13 AM UTC
Sly: The Duffle bag part 1:
His Days Were Not Like Most!
It was a typical summer night, not a single cloud to gloom the gloomy sky. The sidewalks reeked of a smell that most would consider disgusting, the smell of prostitution eclipsed by drug infested buildings highlighted by the scent of ***** made for a fun night out on the town. Sly was the type to take advantage, and he did. His rough external features were perfectly matched his all black outfit and black trench coat. He was a man of few words, few emotions, and few delights. Each step he took that night echoed through the streets so loud the wind it self would stop. His eyes were red, drained, tired, he had been up all night thinking, wondering, but now he was ready for action. The old warehouse downtown had been abandoned for sometime now. Its cold and unfriendly, a place Sly could call a home, an urban retreat of sorts for him and his duffle bag. His red duffle bag, that duffle bag housed an arsenal, an arsenal of weapons so treacherous, it had intent to inflict immeasurable amounts of misery for a common denominator. Sly was Hungry, angry; his scope was set at the top of the old warehouse. Sly had climbed the catwalk with precious percussion. He set the red duffle bag down next to him. Sly sat down on a beam that barley supported his weight. A large window 45 degrees to the right of him, made a great position. He opened his red duffle bag! A ****** riffle laid cold and dormant waiting and wanting the touch of existence. The energy felt by his emotional bond to his riffle was indescribable. He loaded the piece. Each bullet loaded the clip as if tenors were in harmony with the alto. The voices that sang revenge sang with an unholy cry, yet the confidence in his faith would serve him as he uttered the symbol of his determination. Slowly he made love to his weapon, cleaning and feeling it’s every corner. Across the road no more than a mile, stood a house. House where political propaganda represented it’s housing guests. Senators of Satin! See Sly was in a very particular business; a business most don’t even know exist…Sly was in the business of killing Demons!
.
Aug 5, 2010
Aug 5, 2010 at 11:29 AM UTC
I bounce around from town to town
Never really laying roots
My world is in my duffle
With a second pair of boots
I muddle through with what I have
I'm always on the road
With my thoughts, and few possessions
That's me, always on the go
I do not have a fixed address
My thumb, it leads the way
I've woken up in farmers fields
I've slept near bales of hay
My thumb, it is my compass
I don't reside too long
I move around at random
I'm a lyric with no song
I've slept beneath a starlit sky
Woken up in feather beds
I don't know where I'll be each day
Or where I'll lay my head
I've lived down by the train tracks
Woken up as they go by
I've cavorted with a scarecrow
As the birds still filled the sky
I do not have a fixed address
My thumb, it leads the way
I've woken up in farmers fields
I've slept near bales of hay
My thumb, it is my compass
I don't reside too long
I move around at random
I'm a lyric with no song
I do not like to stick around
To linger, that's not me
When I start to getting comfortable
It's time to leave, be free
I have no one that I'm close to
For to leave would cause them pain
The world is there to travel
And, well....now, I'm off again...
Jan 19, 2014
Jan 19, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC
Rucksack – Duffle bag – Backpack
Packed
Note books – Journal books – Poetry books
Book books
Tin cans – Pots and pans
First aid – Survival kit
Complete with fishhooks, fishing line,
Lighter, matches
of the waterproof kind
Even a sewing kit
Equipped
With extra sewing needles,
black thread, safety pins,
Buttons,
Band-aids, gauze,
antiseptics,
Burn cream
Just in case
it's ever needed
Bucket hat Stuffed
down somewhere deep
A handkerchief –
bandana too
Flannels and sweater
For cool weather
Tennis shoes
For when hiking boots
Get too hot
A few days worth of food
Vegetarian – salmon jerky – chocolate protein bars
Sleeping bag rolled tightly
All slung heavily over my shoulder
“One fast move or I’m gone”
Kerouac once said
As he tried to run away from
Crashing waves of stardom
I just want to get away
From crashing city noise
And live life like a
Dharma ***
Nov 1, 2011
Nov 1, 2011 at 7:10 PM UTC
I tried to quickly pass
in order to avoid the wreckage
You were shipwrecked outside a grocery store
washed up, delivered by a sudden squall
You sat atop a ***** crumpled duffle
I met your sullen, soulful eyes
they spoke harsh truths, not denied
I gave you groceries, you reached for my hand,
thinking me your mother, your sister, a friend
Leaving I turned to see your face
my heart dropped anchor,
sunk by such weight
Jul 22, 2012
Jul 22, 2012 at 11:02 AM UTC
Let's not make any bones about it,
For I have no bones to pick.
Ah, and I've got you there,
for I am a sack of meat.
O, to live amongst the squids!
and be so jubilant and jiggly,
why, no pleasure's ever met my eye,
as that leathery wriggling beak.
Am I to blame for my misfortune?
Surely so, but of you I must ask,
what misfortune? Am I to assume
that because I have agency, I must fail?
Nonsense! And how fitting.
American manifest. Living
in a land, for himself, most befitting.
Laugh with me, for we live in Clown World.
This is the power of
the untamed duffle bag.
Vicious! O how vicious, his maw,
his all consuming zipper unzipped.
But my zipper, too, is unzipped.
Such a faux pas passes not
in our society, unforgiving,
unforgivable.
Original sin.
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 10:03 PM UTC
Autumns crisp veneer is never right,
duffle coats and borrowed scarves
cost fashion.
But less self consciousness
and inner glare will
release the light.
And let those leafs serenade
a russet honeycombe
of dark sherry and candlelight
in a whisper.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 3:20 PM UTC
Our duffle bags are filled with stained clothing.
stained memories.
The sun that burnt our pale skin so many times is now setting
with a soft sympathy.
The Ending Begun,
no mistakes existed in the circle game.
liquid flashbacks flew from our eyes and eased from our noses.
Summer had evaporated any grudges we held.
our dragon, Puff, blew magic in our hearts.
in our bags
our duffles weighed more than us and I knew why.
they held everything we had:
early morning hot chocolates
air we flew through
snow ***** that hit our frozen bodies
lips of those we kissed
hands of those we held
hair of those we braided
Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh
the mountains we Climbed
the buckets of tears in the ends
7 Groups of Shoes Thrown.
my jet plane was leaving
I knew what I was leaving behind
and what was now mine.
we weren't going home, not really.
Oct 7, 2011
Oct 7, 2011 at 8:23 PM UTC
My heart is missing, have you seen it?
It’s about 5 ft 8,
A hundred sixty pounds
-Give or take 10-
Last seen in a fitted blue and grey and black
Shirt with fitted blue and grey and black pants,
And a green duffle bag,
Strapped over the back;
Dead weight-
Almost as heavy as
The the ocean.
My heart is missing, have you seen it?
It’s got brown eyes-
The kind of brown eyes that you think of
When you hear that song
“Brown-eyed girl”;
The kind that look good behind
Extra strength lenses,
Magnified enough
So you can almost taste
The milk chocolate inside.
Please,
My heart is missing,
It’s got a mole on the left side
Above the upper lip-
A lip who’s always smoother
Than a freshly waxed thigh-
Those lips
Whose touch is electric
Against mine.
It likes back scratches
And war movies
And fishing even when it rains;
It doesn’t like salad dressing,
Getting unnecessarily *****
The unknown-
Especially the unknown-
Unknowing meaning unfamiliar;
It likes to be prepared.
It has a laugh like honey
The kind you could just drink
And drink,
And pray that the sweet sound never stops.
It’s got a voice like home,
And a smile that shines light
In the darkest of places.
I can’t find my heart-
It could be a thousand leagues under the sea
In a yellow submarine
Minus the yellow part;
Is he thinking of me?
And I wasn’t prepared for departure,
But I guess I could never be
Expected to know how to live with a hole
Where my heart used to be.
If you see my heart,
Tell him how much I love him,
And I guess I’ll just have to learn
to live without
Until he comes home to me.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
**'Just called in passing, to see you'
a walk down memory lane
needed to prove my sanity
wanted to ease the pain.
'Just on my way to the Chemist you see
to hand over my Doctors note
It's quite a long list he prescribed me
look ... it's here in my duffle-coat'.
'Just heard you'd moved back in the area
someone had mentioned to me
you live on the way to the Chemist ...
yes, a nice part of town, I agree'.
'Just so lovely to see you in these parts again
you've been missed by all, I can tell
if only I'd known you were coming back
I'd have helped you move in as well'.
'Just after my Doctors appointment
I call in for my daily coffee
we must do it together at some point
and go out for afternoon tea'.
'Just for old times sake, no strings attached
they've just opened new tearooms you know
we could recall the good times ... well
perhaps some other time you'll go'.
'Goodbye'**
... ... ...
Apr 11, 2011
Apr 11, 2011 at 12:31 AM UTC
We stopped at Madrid base camp
and I put the book
back in my duffle bag
what you reading?
Miriam said
I took the book out
and showed her
The Apostle?
what's it about?
St Paul you know
the guy who found Christ
on the road to Damascus
o him
she said
why are you reading
about him?
wanted to read
what he was like
and did
I said
she shrugged
and said
everyone for their own
salvation I guess
I put the book away
in the bag
we walked
to a base camp cafe
and ordered burgers
and cokes and sat
at a table together
who you sharing
a tent with?
she said
some young
ex army guy
I said
what's he like?
she said
he moans a lot
about the army
and his mother
and his mother's guy
whom he hates
I said
shame you can't
share with me
she said smiling
but I’ve got a tubby girl
with me who eyes
all the guys
but the guys avoid
shame
I said
maybe she's all right
o she's all right
but not my type
she smiled
maybe we should
team her up
with that ex army guy
Miriam said
then we could shack up
and have good
night together
I looked at her
don't think
he'll be interested
he's off dames as well
some girl had
let him down
a few months back
I said
shame
Miriam said
it would have been good
I guess it would
I said
we ate and drank
and went back
to our separate tents
to change
for the camp disco later
I watched her walked
with that swaying ***
and I walked back
reluctantly
over the damp grass.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 4:46 PM UTC
Stabbing
microwave film tops
forks & one minute
standing
impatience
picking at his lips
marbled insipid midnight
on ovals
pleasant, reaching
inside
black duffle coats
right handed rural esteban
a bunch of oddfellows
lifted up
excursion
hugging abdomen
with an almost
cro-magnon embodiment
with no one to talk to
or company to speak of
brilliant matted darting
causing a spillage
loose putrid peppermint
buboes & femurs
have no presence
has no presence
burrowed
momentary malebogia
denizen
99' strange amounts
clean lived war memorials
the monetised crucifix
the earth is alive
shapeshifting, spasmodic
pleasant pleasant sound
loose dripping glue
chestnut hair
cider sipped walls
frosty jacks & contains
foamed **** arrayed myriad
sirens prune
telepath
twelve fragments
Approaching
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 4:55 PM UTC
My thumb, it leads the way
I do not have a fixed address
I've slept near bales of hay
I've woken up in farmers fields
My thumb, it leads the way
My thumb, it is my compass
In time I'll move along
I move around at random
I'm a lyric with no song
I've slept beneath a starlit sky
Never really laying roots
My world is in my duffle
With a second pair of boots
I've lived down by the train tracks
Woken up as they go by
I've woken up beside a scarecrow
As the birds still filled the sky
My thumb, it is my compass
In time I'll move along
I move around at random
I'm a lyric with no song
I've slept beneath a starlit sky
Never really laying roots
My world is in my duffle
With a second pair of boots
I've slept beneath a starlit sky
Never really laying roots
My world is in my duffle
With a second pair of boots
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
My god, red bra, orange pants, and green socks, I’m making love to a traffic light.
Get on with it.
I can’t, where do I start.
What does it matter.
It matters a lot, if I start with your bra, do I stop, or do I drive on knowing three penalty points and an eighty pound fine are coming my way. Do I start with your pants, amber gambling, if I start with your socks, then that’s it, I’m away.
Well. what do you expect me to do.
I expect you to dress appropriately for the occasion, I mean, Gok Wan couldn’t fix you.
Well, if we’re in an insulting mood, I don’t like the tiger pants you wear, especially as tiger’s are nearly extinct.
Oh god, did you really say that, I’m going out with a ***** 0.5 wit.
What does that mean.
It means you’re a half wit.
Well, I was going to get naked, and put my duffle coat on to get you excited, but not now.
Just what every guy wants, a naked girl in a duffle coat.
Some guys would die to see me naked in a duffle coat.
Do you know, you’re right, I've now got this fantasy in my head, put on an orange hat, and wow, pelican crossing.
Get knotted, and I tell you now, that’s the only action you’ll get tonight
Well, in that case I’ll just have to create a fantasy
On he went with it, hallucinating vividly while she stood there, unarmed and furious.
Hell she was already ***** maybe she could save the situation. She looked down at her pants.
You know, you could still drive, if you have already crossed the line.
His eyes opened quickly, as if trying to catch her lying. He considered it...
Lose the bra and the socks
Lose the tiger get up
Both coming halfway, they now stood in the living room, one more naked than the other. Still a little insulted she went on to caress his member.
He, too stubborn to show his pleasure, gazed at the ceiling, feigning boredom.
Furious she slapped him across his face with a high pitched shriek, picked up her things and walked towards the door, getting dressed on the go.
Realizing he had gone too far and that he was now all up and running, he tried to bring her to other ideas...
BAM went the door.
She'll call.
Paul Gaffney & Lily Nurmi.
Jan 31, 2016
Jan 31, 2016 at 5:33 PM UTC
He said nobody likes you
That's why your surrounded by so many people who have seen you at your worst but they love you anyways because nobody likes you
He said your a two faced *****
That's why people respect you because your honest so that's why your two faced
They said your a mistake
That's why you have life because your a mistake
They said your not talented
That's why you have over 1,000 poems written and a duffle bag full of notebooks in your closet because your not talented
She said you were fat
That's why the doctor tells you your a healthy weight because your fat
They said your smile is ugly
That's why your smile shines in all of your pictures because your smile is ugly
They said your a *****
That why you have only slept with 3 people in your 21 years of life because your a *****
They told you to go **** yourself
They can't stand seeing you happy, alive and well. That's why they want you to **** yourself
They said your ugly
That's why you get so many compliments because your ugly
They said your a waste of space
That's why the world is so big because your a waste of space
They said your getting nowhere in life
That's why your in GED classes and have a job because your getting nowhere in life
They say your a freak
Their ****** because you won't do what they say so that's why your a freak
They say no one will ever love you
That's why guys ask you out because no one will love you
They say your Mom hates you
That's why she's always buying you stuff and giving you hugs because she hates you
They talk **** all the time
It's nothing but LIES, LIES AND LIES and the proof is in our faces everyday
If only we spent more time taking in the proof instead of focusing on the lies.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 8:51 PM UTC
this is about love and i hate it. this is ******** and blushing gushing words from my red cheeks maybe i mean both kind but that's between you and me and i love it. This is me saying this ******* awful poem and wanting to drink battery acid at how cliche it is. This is me probably not looking you in the eye in the audience because a. I will laugh and b. anxiety tells me not to just in case i accidentally activate my lazer death eyes and incinerate you and that would **** because I'd like to own a dog with you at some point. This is me, even though i tell you every day, telling you that you annoy the **** out of me and that you pronounce caramel wrong. its caramel not carmle you ******* reprobate. This is me saying yeah **** IT let him see the over emotional gremlin made of paint and trash who lives exclusively off sweet potato, crisps and whiskey. This is me taking off the mask for you, and the balacava, and the large duffle coat and thick gardening gloves and 8 pairs of leggings. this is me thanking you for being so patient as i cry in bed because i left lidl knowing full well the lady charged me wrong and i owe her money and i can never go back there again or show my face in public and also for all the other times i've cried in bed over dumb **** How to train your dragon 2, the many times i've convinced myself im dying of insert terminal illness here, when you said I love you and I said 'what ever'. This is me being less of the pile of garbage i was before i met you. Now my bin bag has some fake jewels on it and its shiny and sparkly.
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC