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Tell me I'm not this. The blue began to flood
inside a room once painted black. Tell me I don't
see this. The orb of morning peering its start right to
my eyelids that can't even close. Tell me I don't hear
this. Birds chirping for sunrise, playing lightly as my
lullaby. Tell me I'm dreaming. My leg still twitches,
seven in the morning, because I'm afraid I'll lose myself
before dawn. Shedding emotion in fast waves of flight,
tell me I didn't run through time, making stars out
of daylight. Orange in the sky, and not from shy
headlights in insomniac cars. Yellow, making its fellow
opening for my uncomforted sleep, not a nightlight like before,
no. Tell me I'm not this.
All feedback is welcome
Morgan Jul 2016
I'm a deer in the headlights,
I'm pacing back and forth
I don't know whether to run
forward or step back
There is darkness where I came from
but I can't see ahead

I'm somewhere between
vibrant red and navy blue

My roommate is vomiting
in the bathroom.
I turn up the television,
and pretend not to hear her

I'm a deer in the headlights,
I can't see the face that sits
behind the steering wheel

I imagine she's soft and gentle,
she'll let me pass & I'll be safe

But what if she's sharp and angry,
she'll strike me down & I'll bleed out

My roommate convulses on
the cold tile floor,

There is sweat rolling off her
rib cage

I find her half conscious,
and I don't believe this is happening again

My back aches
but only in one place

I wonder if it's you,
griping me from behind,
trying desperately to pull me backward

Or maybe my back just aches,
and I think too much

I tried to make a friend again today,
and ended up naked & empty,
fumbling around his sheets,
trying to get out of my mind

I don't think I'm doing this right
cause I feel like a deer in the headlights,
and I miss my mother,
and I know she'd slap the cigarette
right out of my hand,
and then she'd kiss my forehead,
and I'd feel better

I'm tripping over gravel,
Pacing back and forth
The yellow light creates a straight line
And I keep following it to the same place

There's been a song stuck in
my head for three days
and 8 & a half hours,
I can't focus on anything else

I told a boy I hate
that I love him,
just because I like the
way it sounded as it rolled off my lips
And I knew I'd get high off the look in his eyes

Maybe that's my whole problem-
Start to finish,
Plain and simple,
I just wanna be liked
And I never have been

Can't tell if I'm useless
or too used-
Can I be both at the same time?

I'm a deer in the headlights,
trying to find my way back to my mother,
going blind from the colors

I'm a deer in the headlights...

Mom,
If you can hear me now,
I'm so sorry for who I am
Honey Nov 2014
i want to go back home to the sky
in the stars i see my kind.
my wrists are giving out
i sometimes forget to breathe.
you said i reminded you of an array of white roses with dead petals
start writing a eulogy.
the cotton candy sky cries for me
i miss it dearly now
nostalgic for its burning beauty
in the headlights, heaven calls
angels echo my name against tunnel walls
earth is so strange
i close my eyes
i tell myself i'll feel at home when i die
in the headlights, i see heaven
in the headlights, heaven calls.
1969 Hartford art school is magnet for exceedingly intelligent over-sensitive under-achievers alluring freaks congenital creeps and anyone who cannot cut it in straight world it is about loners dreamers stoners clowns cliques of posers competing to dress draw act most outrageous weird wonderful classrooms clash in diversity of needs some students get it right off while others require so much individual attention one girl constantly raises her hand calls for everything to be repeated explained creativity is treated as trouble and compliance to instruction rewarded most of faculty are of opinion kids are not capable of making original artwork teachers discourage students from dream of becoming well-known until they are older more experienced only practiced skilled artists are competent to create ‘real art’ defined by how much struggle or multiple meanings weave through the work Odysseus wants to make magic boxes without knowing or being informed of Joseph Cornell one teacher tells him you think you’re going to invent some new color the world has never seen? you’re just some rowdy brat from the midwest with a lot of crazy ideas and no evidence of authenticity another teacher warns you’re nothing more than a bricoleur! Odysseus questions what’s a bricoleur teacher informs a rogue handyman who haphazardly constructs from whatever is immediately available Odysseus questions what’s wrong with that? teacher answers it’s low-class folk junk  possessing no real intellectual value independently he reads Marshall McLuhan’s “The Medium Is The Message” and “The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci” he memorizes introductory remark of Leonardo’s “i must do like one who comes last to the fair and can find no other way of providing for himself than by taking all the things already seen by others and not taken by reason of their lesser value” Odysseus dreams of becoming accomplished important artist like Robert Rauschenberg Jasper Johns Andy Warhol he dreams of being in eye of hurricane New York art scene he works for university newspaper and is nicknamed crashkiss the newspaper editor is leader in student movement and folk singer who croons “45 caliber man, you’re so much more than our 22, but there’s so many more of us than you” Odysseus grows mustache wears flower printed pants vintage 1940’s leather jacket g.i. surplus clothes he makes many friends his gift for hooking up with girls is uncanny he is long haired drug-crazed hippie enjoying popularity previously unknown to him rock bands play at art openings everyone flirts dances gets ****** lots of activism on campus New York Times dubs university of Hartford “Berkeley of the east coast” holding up ******* in peace sign is subversive in 1969 symbol of rebellion youth solidarity gesture against war hawks rednecks corporate America acknowledgment of potential beyond materialistic self-righteous values of status quo sign of what could be in universe filled with incredible possibilities he moves in with  painting student one year advanced named Todd Whitman Todd has curly blond hair sturdy build wire rimmed glasses impish smile gemini superb draftsman amazing artist Todd emulates Francisco de Goya and Albrecht Durer Todd’s talent overshadows Odysseus’s Todd’s dad is accomplished professor at distinguished college in Massachusetts to celebrate Odysseus’s arrival Todd cooks all day preparing spaghetti dinner when Odysseus arrives home tripping on acid without appetite Todd is disappointed Odysseus runs down to corner store buys large bottle of wine returns to house Todd is eating spaghetti alone they get drunk together then pierce each other’s ears with needles ice wine cork pierced ears are outlaw style of bad *** bikers like Hell’s Angels Todd says you are a real original Odys and funny too Odysseus asks funny, how? Todd answers you are one crazy ******* drop acid whenever you want smoke **** then go to class this is fun tonight Odys getting drunk and piercing our ears Odysseus says yup i’m having a good time too Todd and Odysseus become best friends Odysseus turns Todd on to Sylvia Plath’s “The Bell Jar” and “Ariel” then they both read Ted Hughes “Crow” illustrated with Leonard Baskin prints Todd turns Odysseus on to German Expressionist painting art movement of garish colors emotionally violent imagery from 1905-1925 later infuriating Third ***** who deemed the work “degenerate” Odysseus dives into works of Max Beckmann Otto Dix Conrad Felixmulller Barthel Gilles George Grosz Erich Heckel Ernst Ludwig Kirchner Felix Nussbaum Karl *******Rottluff Carl Hofer August Macke Max Peckstein Elfriede Lohse-Wachtler Egon Shiele list goes on in 1969 most parents don’t have money to buy their children cars most kids living off campus either ride bikes or hitchhike to school then back home on weekends often without a penny in their pockets Odysseus and Todd randomly select a highway and hitch rides to Putney Vermont Brattleboro Boston Cape Cod New York City or D.C. in search of adventure there is always trouble to be found curious girls to assist in Georgetown Odysseus sleeps with skinny girl with webbed toes who believes he is Jesus he tries to dissuade her but she is convinced

Toby Mantis is visiting New York City artist at Hartford art school he looks like huskier handsomer version of Ringo Starr and women dig him he builds stretchers and stretches canvases for Warhol lives in huge loft in Soho on Broadway and Bleeker invites Odysseus to come down on weekends hang out Toby takes him to Max’s Kansas City Warhol’s Electric Circus they wander all night into morning there are printing companies longshoremen gays in Chelsea Italians in West Village hippies playing guitars protesting the war in Washington Square all kinds of hollering crazies passing out fliers pins in Union Square Toby is hard drinker Odysseus has trouble keeping up  he pukes his guts out number of times Odysseus is *** head not drinker he explores 42nd Street stumbles across strange exotic place named Peep Show World upstairs is large with many **** cubicles creepy dudes hanging around downstairs is astonishing there are many clusters of booths with live **** girls inside girls shout out hey boys come on now pick me come on boys there are hundreds of girls from all over the world in every conceivable size shape race he enters dark stall  puts fifty cents in coin box window screen lifts inside each cluster are 6 to 10 girls either parading or glued to a window for $1 he is allowed to caress kiss their ******* for $2 he is permitted to probe their ****** or *** for $10 girl reaches hand into darkened stall jerks him off tall slender British girl thrills him the most she says let me have another go at your dickey Odysseus spends all his money ******* 5 times departing he notices men from every walk of life passing through wall street stockbrokers executives rednecks mobsters frat boys tourists fat old bald guys smoking thick smelly cigars Toby Mantis has good-looking girlfriend named Lorraine with long brown hair Toby Lorraine and Odysseus sit around kitchen table Odysseus doodles with pencil on paper Toby spreads open Lorraine’s thighs exposing her ****** to Odysseus Lorraine blushes yet permits Toby to finger her Odysseus thinks she has the most beautiful ****** he has ever seen bulging pelvic bone brown distinctive bush symmetric lips Toby and Lorraine watch in amusement as Odysseus gazes intently Tony mischievously remarks you like looking at that ***** don’t you? Odysseus stares silently begins pencil drawing Lorraine’s ****** his eyes darting back and forth following day Lorraine seduces Odysseus while Toby is away walks out **** from shower she is few years older her body lean with high ******* she directs his hands mouth while she talks with someone on telephone it is strange yet quite exciting Odysseus is in awe of New York City every culture in the world intermingling democracy functioning in an uncontrollable managed breath millions of people in motion stories unraveling on every street 24 hour spectacle with no limits every conceivable variety of humanity ******* in same air Odysseus is bedazzled yet intimidated

Odysseus spends summer of 1970 at art colony in Cummington Massachusetts it is magical time extraordinary place many talented eccentric characters all kinds of happenings stage plays poetry readings community meals volleyball after dinner volleyball games are hilarious fun he lives alone in isolated studio amidst wild raspberries in woods shares toilet with field mouse no shower he reads Jerzy Kosinski’s “Painted Bird” then “Being There” then “Steps” attractive long haired girl named Pam visits community for weekend meets Odysseus they talk realize they were in first grade together at Harper amazing coincidence automatic ground for “we need to have *** because neither of us has seen each other since first grade” she inquires where do you sleep? Todd hitches up from Hartford to satisfy curiosity everyone sleeps around good-looking blue-eyed poet named Shannon Banks from South Boston tells Odysseus his ******* is not big enough for kind of ******* she wants but she will **** him off that’s fine with him 32 year old poet named Ellen Morrissey from Massachusetts reassures him ******* is fine Ellen is beginning to find her way out from suffocating marriage she has little daughter named Nina Ellen admires Odysseus’s free spirit sees both his possibilities and naïveté she realizes he has crippling family baggage he has no idea he is carrying thing about trauma is as it is occurring victim shrugs laughs to repel shock yet years later pain horror sink in turned-on with new ideas he returns to Hartford art school classes are fun yet confusing he strives to be best drawer most innovative competition sidetracks him Odysseus uses power drill to carve pumpkin on Halloween teachers warn him to stick to fundamentals too much creativity is suspect Todd and he are invited to holiday party Odysseus shows up with Ellen Morrissey driving in her father’s station wagon 2 exceptionally pretty girls flirt with him he is live wire they sneak upstairs he fingers both at same time while they laugh to each other one of the girls Laura invites him outside to do more he follows they walk through falling snow until they find hidden area near some trees Laura lies down lifts her skirt she spreads her legs dense ***** mound he is about to explore her there when Laura looks up sees figure with flashlight following their tracks in snow she warns it’s Bill my husband run for your life! Odysseus runs around long way back inside party grabs a beer pretending he has been there next to Ellen all night few minutes later he sees Laura and Bill return through front door Bill has dark mustache angry eyes Odysseus tells Ellen it is late maybe they should leave soon suddenly Bill walks up to him with beer in hand cracks bottle over his head glass and beer splatter Odysseus jumps up runs out to station wagon Ellen hurriedly follows snow coming down hard car is wedged among many guest vehicles he starts engine locks doors maneuvers vehicle back and forth trying to inch way out of spot Bill appears from party walks to his van disappears from out of darkness swirling snow Bill comes at them wielding large crowbar smashes car’s headlights taillights side mirrors windshield covered in broken glass Ellen ducks on floor beneath glove compartment sobs cries he’s going to **** us! we’re going to die! Odysseus steers station wagon free floors gas pedal drives on back country roads through furious snowstorm in dark of night no lights Odysseus contorts crouches forward in order to see through hole in shattered windshield Ellen sees headlights behind them coming up fast it is Bill in van Bill banging their bumper follows them all the way back to Hartford to Odysseus’s place they run inside call police Bill sits parked van outside across street as police arrive half hour later Bill pulls away next day Odysseus and Ellen drive to Boston to explain to Ellen’s dad what has happened to his station wagon Odysseus stays with Ellen in Brookline for several nights another holiday party she wants to take him along to meet her friends her social circles are older he thinks to challenge their values be outrageous paints face Ellen is horrified cries you can’t possibly do this to me these are my close friends what will they think? he defiantly answers my face is a mask who cares what i look like? man woman creature what does it matter? if your friends really want to know me they’ll need to look beyond the make-up tonight i am your sluttish girlfriend! sometimes Odysseus can be a thoughtless fool

Laura Rousseau Shane files for divorce from Bill she is exceptionally lovely models at art school she is of French descent her figure possessing exotic traits she stands like ballerina with thick pointed ******* copious ***** hair Odysseus is infatuated she frequently dances pursues him Laura says i had the opportunity to meet Bob Dylan once amazed Odysseus questions what did you do? she replies what could i possibly have in common with Bob Dylan? Laura teases Odysseus about being a preppy then lustfully gropes him grabs holds his ***** they devote many hours to ****** intimacy during ******* she routinely reaches her hand from under her buns grasps his testicles squeezing as he pumps he likes that Laura is quite eccentric fetishes over Odysseus she even thrills to pick zits on his back he is not sure if it is truly a desire of hers proof of earthiness or simply expression of mothering Laura has two daughters by Bill Odysseus is in over his head Laura tells Odysseus myth of Medea smitten with love for Jason Jason needs Medea’s help to find Golden Fleece Medea agrees with promise of marriage murders her brother arranges ****** of king who has deprived Jason his inheritance couple is forced into exile Medea bears Jason 2 sons then Jason falls in love with King Creon’s daughter deserts Medea is furious she makes shawl for King Creon’s daughter to wear at her wedding to Jason  shawl turns to flames killing bride Medea murders her own sons by Jason Odysseus goes along with story for a while but Laura wants husband Odysseus is merely scruffy boy with roving eyes Laura becomes galled by Odysseus leaves him for one of his roommates whom she marries then several years later divorces there is scene when Laura tells Odysseus she is dropping him for his roommate he is standing in living room of her house space is painted deep renaissance burgundy there are framed photographs on walls in one photo he is hugging Laura and her daughters under big oak tree in room Laura’s friend Bettina other girl he fingered first night he met Laura at party is watching with arms crossed he drops to floor curls body sobs i miss you so much Laura turns to Bettina remarks look at him men are such big babies he’s pitiful Bettina nods

following summer he works installing displays at G. Fox Department Store besides one woman gay men staff display department for as long as he can remember homosexuals have always been attracted to him this misconception is probably how he got job his tenor voice suggesting not entirely mature man instead more like tentative young boy this ambiguous manifestation sometimes also evidences gestures thoroughly misleading after sidestepping several ****** advances one of his co-workers bewilderingly remarks you really are straight manager staff are fussy chirpy catty group consequently certain he is not gay they discriminate against him stick him with break down clean up slop jobs at outdoor weekend rock concert in Constitution Plaza he meets 2 younger blond girls who consent to go back to his place mess around both girls are quite dazzling yet one is somewhat physically undeveloped they undress and model for Odysseus radio plays Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly With His Song” both girls move to rhythm sing along he thinks to orchestrate direct decides instead to let them lead lies on bed while curvaceous girl rides his ******* slender girl sits on his face they switch all 3 alternate giggle laughter each girl reaches ****** on his stiffness later both assist with hands mouths his ****** is so intense it leaves him paralyzed for a moment

in fall he is cast as Claudius in production of Hamlet Odysseus rehearses diligently on nights o
Janessa Sep 2016
It starts with a stare
We're both well aware
You're pulling me closer
Pulling me in

Eyes locked eager to sink in my teeth for the taste of your sin
The nights blaze from heat of exchanges
Times fades so drive me away

Dim the headlights the streets are open
Once dark skies burst in orange and blue
Sit still on your passenger side and watch you drive me to fall in love

We fall in love

And when you speak it leaves me weak
In the days and days I'm lost and I am craving more
Yes you can touch me easy

The night blaze from heat of exchanges
Time fades so drive me away

Dim the headlights the streets are open
Once dark skies burst in orange and blue
Sit still on your passenger side and watch you drive me to fall in love

And if I lost you I've lost every piece of me inside you
With every taste of me that you take I break just

A little bit more
A little bit more
A little bit more
A little bit more
A little bit more

The night blaze from heats exchanges
Time fades so drive me away

Dim the headlights the streets are open
Once dark skies burst in orange and blue
Sit still on your passenger side
And watch you drive

Dim the headlights
We fall in love
resource:
video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdLbmu_vugA
Egg Mar 2018
There were nights I spent,
with my hands pressed against a cold window
waiting.
For headlights that said you were home.
For the stomping of your heavy boots,
for the thud of a closing door,
for the swish of your jacket,
And your footsteps down the stairs.

There were nights I spent at that window,
hours and hours that wouldn’t end.

Today I am sitting at a different window
But I still don’t see your headlights.
It’s been seven or eight years by now
-you lose track of those numbers somewhere after three.

I am 17 today.
I was 17 yesterday too.
I will be 17 tomorrow.

I’m trying to use that as my constant
because I cannot use you.

You are the sky in a bright city.
Everyone looks up to you,
but they never find any stars.

I never needed any stars from you,
I never needed to look up and find you,
shielding me from above.
I never needed that.

I just needed your headlights,
just my window and your headlights,
the stomping boots and the door,
the swish and your footsteps.

I just needed… no
I just wanted
your headlights.
Chris Thomas Oct 2016
Boots caked with mud
A broken key in the keyhole
And headlights that peer through cracked curtains

Talons dripping with blood
A heart stripped from its cavity
And headlights that burn through the blindness

Shirts stained with sweat
A souvenir lost by the side of the road
And headlights that cut through the devil's breath

Stars blanketing southern skies
A falling remnant of yesteryears
And headlights that have died from the overdose
Jason Cirkovic Nov 2014
Is there tear gas in this room?
Because I can't stop crying
The gas crawls down my esophagus
And crushes my wounded heart.

“God this hurts”

I keep typing,
Praying to computer screen
That I'll forget the smell of your hair
I type till my fingers bleed
So I can forget what your touch feels like
How our lips fit perfectly together.

“God I hate myself”

The only phrase I think of
When I'm pleading for things to back to normal
Back to the days
Where you didn't want to to crack open my skull
And see all of the ugly things
That drift around my cranium

“Baby please I'm sorry. I’m a mess,
A klutz, who waltzes around with stupidity
Baby I get this feeling in my head
When you are not around
I want to keep writing you these love letters
By sliding them under your doors called your eyelids”
But I can’t

I sit alone in the bus called life
Looking across my seat
I see you, my love
Holding onto the bar
Your pretty Blue headlights
That make me drawn to you
Your pretty Blue headlights
Covered with the rain I caused
I'm a rain man,
you see, when people get close to me
I get scared
And force the skies rain to tears with pain.


The only thing that floats in my mind
Is that I hope the man of you life
Buys you flowers
Sunflowers especially
And shows up to your work unexpectedly.
I hope you can travel to Paris
and keep a long list of all of the countries
you've cuddled in.
With him.
I hope you he can handle seeing the stars
From your eyes every time you guys cuddle
Under the moon light.
I hope he can teach you how to slow dance
And I hope that he can teach me
On how to be a better man.
Aditi Jun 2015
Maybe my kisses
Were too soft to be felt
Or not hard enough for you to memorize them,
Maybe that is why I have seen you
Looking down that alley,
But lemme tell you,
You are looking for love
At all the wrong places.

Maybe the words I said
Were not enough
But you forgot my love is composed
Of a million feelings I can't name
Now all of them have reshaped
To beg you,
Please don't go chasing those two headlights

Maybe I should not have closed the door,
Right at your face
And still stood there
With my hand on the door ****,
But I guess I knew
I won't get too far
Without letting you know,
Love almost never lives
Where you lost it

So please before I am lost,
In the arms of someone
Who is mesmerized by starlight
I would like you to know,
When the headlights move away too fast
For you to follow
When you lay defeated and in the cold,
Remember these words of mine
That asked you not to go chasing those headlights.
They shine brilliantly
But they are just light,
Gone away in the blink of an eye.
"With you, it is only you,
without you, it is the same old equation
with you, there is no one else
without you, I'm caught up in those two lights"

his message a year back.
this is my reply.
Celeste Libert Mar 2014
I was fine till you came along.
I was fine making my way through this dark, scary, beautiful, huge forest. My brown skin made it easy for me to move around in the darkness without drawing attention to myself. I knew my way around. I knew what I was after, I knew what needed to be done.
I always avoided the road. I've seen others venture onto that road and they have all gotten hurt. Family members, friends, strangers. They all took different routes, but always ended up at the same destination.
Sometimes I'd be at the verge of the road, observing, wondering if I should make the step onto the black pit with the single dotted white line, but they were all the same. Nothing captured my attention, nothing made me brave enough to want to take that step, then you came along.
You were different. Your first impression, although you didn't know, left me in awe. The way you moved so gracefully and carefully. The way you slowed down to practically a crawl along the road like if you knew the dangers that could be done when you move too quickly.
I noticed you once, twice, then the times became countless, but every time I saw you I found one new thing I liked. Each night I'd wait for you, faithfully. One night I waited at the side of the road for you but you never came. Maybe that was a sign.
After weeks of waiting I eventually gave up. The road slowly became lonely to the point of desertion.
The night I decided to cross the road with hopes of reaching safely to the other side was the night you returned.
There I was, in the middle of the road and you came faster than before with your headlights brighter than ever.
I froze. I couldn't move. I was a deer in your headlights, your love shining on me.
The warmth of your light, your love, was comfortable in the midst of the brisk cold night. The brightest light I have ever seen venturing on this road, and I was captivated by it, by you.
Then your light started to fade, and the darkness got darker till there was no more light. Finally, I could move again, no more light blinding my way, but now I feel helpless, because within those few moments together, your light brightened up my life making me notice the beauty hidden within the darkness.
As I walked along the path that I've started and you continue yours, I only hope that maybe one night, when I'm ready to venture onto the road again I'd be the deer in your headlights.
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like recycling scar tissue you refuse to show
Like holding the words to a cookbook containing the recipe for disaster
Like the blood of an open wound placed by the whip of an unruly master
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like when you finally learn the meaning of you reap what you sow
Like a magnificent sand castle washed away by the sea
All the sand becomes one and denies the right to be free
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like the sting from the phrase I told you so
Like a deer caught in headlights frozen dead in it's tracks
Like gazing the stars if we could just climb the smoke stacks
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like excluding truth from what you think you know
Like playing life in a game of poker, and the *** is everything but cheap
Karma has the high hand, face up, read'em and weep
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like running through red lights because all you want is to go
Like a jack of all trades who can't fix his own heart
Like the tortoise that took off before the race even start
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like a hundred oars and no arms to row
Deceive me
Lie to me
**** with my head

On the edge of the cliff
Then you pull me to bed

Your love is a drug
*** with you gets me high
I’m a full blown ******
Makes no sense; don’t know why

You're an ever present torment
The fission laser splitting my mind
A jig-saw puzzle that was completed
Slowly each piece from each piece you unbind

Seductively you tear me down
Like the clothing you disrobe
A deer staring into headlights
I am frozen on the road

The weight of the world bearing down on me
As those focused beams get closer
Gladly I welcome them
Even though I’m not supposed to

Every rational thought I have
tells me how wrong you are for me
But they are drowned and muffled out
No more thoughts; keep your pennies

No sensible way to explain
Why I ******* love you so much
You’re a psychotic crazy *****
that I don’t want anyone else to touch
A blowtorch ignites a flame
A fire fierce and burning bright
Even though I know it will burn me
With all my gathered strength and might

All it takes from you is that look
You cast that Vampire’s gaze and grin
Instantaneously my defenses lowered
and you know you’ve ****** me in
Immerse myself into the flame
Intense pain; you melt my skin
Until pain I feel no more
I’m enveloped in your sin

And like a ****** choosing dope
Everyday, your sin I’ll take
I will gladly sell my soul
The most egregious of mistakes

A preying succubus appears
like a dreamy demoness
A world of dreams are turned to nightmares
Fills her needs for human flesh
Written: February 19, 2018

All rights reserved.
Madisen Kuhn Feb 2015
you are the song
i want to listen to
in that cliché and timeless
3am moment on the highway
windows rolled
down with the
potential-filled and empty
yet comforting indigo
sky blowing past,
only car on the road
just us, me with my
feet up on the dash,
fingers interlocked with
yours on my lap,
headlights illuminating
the road and trees
ahead, can’t think about
anything else except
for the pulse of the night
and cold air on my skin
and oh God
this is my life and
i feel so alive
Headlights flashing in the west lane told us
Something was wrong
That it was only a matter of time
Before traffic would halt to a stand still

Late evening darkness, a trunkload full of groceries
Still another 45 minutes until we would be home
Not looking forward to the chore of unloading
The sorting out and organizing, putting things where they belonged
Couldn't see the end of the line in front of us
From where we found ourselves
At the end of the line
Headlights coming up behind us to take over that position
Pushing us closer and closer to whatever it was
We had been stopped for...

"Uh-oh", she said, and I understood completely
"Wonder how bad it is?"
Even as Highway Patrol cars
Black as vultures with carnival lights dazzling
Zipped by us, close cut to the left, at unnatural rates of speed
Their sirens blared louder than usual
Almost pulled, it seemed, by a magnet
To the scene
A small perimeter surrounded by casino lights
Luring the line of cars forward
A yard at a time
Towards confirmation, their worst fears
Vicariously offered by the indifferent hand of fate
"There it is!", she said. "I can almost see it."

I took my iPhone out of my pocket and opened
The camera application
"It's too dark for that," she told me, a little perturbed
She expressed her disgust with me that I would capture the scene on video
"Ah, but the lights are cool. "
Even then I understood exactly where she was coming from
And I realized that I was disgusted with myself
Never mind, I'd already started, might as well let the camera roll
Cool lights and all

The truck in front of us began to make some progress
Picking up a little speed
No more than necessary to witness
The reason for the wait...didn't we deserve it?
Such a pain in the *** to have to wait

"There it is...Whoa, that looks pretty bad."

The car was facing the wrong direction
There was no doubt that it had been going in the right direction
Before it all went wrong
Alone, though it looked as if it had smashed head-on with a truck
No hit and run, not from the looks of it
Most likely the concrete embankment
Velocity
The automobile's hood torn off to expose
A tangled and crushed engine smoking
A good portion relocated inside the cab
The whole thing looked like a vision
From the mind of an artist
Trying real hard to give Salvador Dali a run for his money
In black and white, exposed only by the bright, flashing, candy machine lights
That made it possible for all of us to see
The cops hovering around the scene every bit as impotent
As we
None were even close to the wrecked machine

Like anyone would have done
Admit it or not
We rubbernecked our way around the display slowly
Slowly enough to see
Only a second or two of noticing
In the miraculous glow
Of the overhead light
The driver

He was still as a stone at the bottom of a pond
Head slumped only slightly
With no one at his side to encourage him
His chances were slim to none
The cops seemed to be repelled by the car
As if none wanted to get too close to whatever it was
Floating through the night air
Coming from inside the cab of that crushed machine
We felt it ourselves passing by and we fell silent
I struggled in my mind to understand why I felt the way I did
What deep wells of my psyche had been tapped
A stone skipping across those waters, the ripples colliding
Splashing into others, forming even more, without reason
Without significance, without a single clue
We were forced to settle for silence and I gave it the opportunity to sink in deep
Until I turned on the radio, hoping for some kind of levity

"Well, there goes the ambulance", I said
As we both noticed it's lights flying westbound toward the scene
"Maybe things aren't as bad as they seemed," I said
She was more realistic:
"Maybe they're worse."

We drove the rest of the way home
Sober and somber
The spirit was still with us
But I could tell it was breaking apart
We didn't notice it after I turned the radio on
The classic country station
The only one we could agree upon
The song was just beginning to fade out
I recognized it as Eddie Rabbit's biggest hit
"Driving My Life Away"
And I couldn't help but think,
Someone's got a wicked sense of humor
Nicola-Isobel H Nov 2011
Flood the sallow walls,
Calling forth the shadows,
My soul in the hands of the knife,
Deer in the headlights
©Nicola-Isobel H.          05.11.2011
Anna Patricia Aug 2014
Suddenly, I feel myself fighting for air.
Another thing I have to fight for and it doesn't seem fair.
We've been fighting for hours.
I just need a break.
I need you to leave.
You can do better.
You can live better.
You can be better.
Without me.

Fighting for hours and a simple misunderstanding pushes me over the edge,
And I can feel myself falling, struggling for air.
I can feel hands on me.
Helping me up.
Pulling me onto my feet.
But I'm blind to you.
I run to the street, needing to get away from you.

Suddenly, I'm staring into the headlights.
Countless headlights.
I know they're coming closer,
And I don't care.

This isn't the first time I didn't care.
It isn't the second time,
Or the third.
I guess it makes twelve now.
Or thirteen.
I don't even remember.

Although I can't see you, I feel those hands on me.
Those once strong hands,
Made tired and weak from trying to catch me.
I pull harder and harder.
I want to see the beautiful light.
I want to walk towards the light.

Again, I'm falling, falling harder than ever.
I feel my head fall into your palm,
And I know you let my head crush your hand on the cement of the old sidewalk.

And I know you'll always let me crush your hands.
And I know that you'll never let me look into the headlights.
But I would rather crush my body than crush your hands.
Yes, this is very roughly written, but this is more of a story than a poem.
This happened last night. I don't know what to do.
we wonder from room to room carrying words
on dry lips like paper
and the windows keep them inside
so tight that we have to draw on them
with our last breaths
these fingers, once caressing the piano keys
are stuck on the wheel, tight
tighter then a walking rope under the overweight clown
but eyes are not laughing
eyes protrude the dark
like wings of a night bird in search of prey
and never look back
the answers await in front of us
so close that we can smell the fear
of all the questions we ever asked
and when the dawn comes
our hearts behave
like one..
one deer  in the headlights
Julianna Eisner Apr 2014
Inside these dimensions of my prison,
paralyzed, immobilized,
shattered in fragments of fear,
I utter stifled screams
from my body heap,
piled on the hardwood floor

c
       r

     u
        
                   m
  b

        l
i
         n


g

trapped, desolate and
wretched in mind,
what is left of me after invasion and ravage?

Chase away this these vultures and thieves,
so to shut out this duality
blinding me,
a rabbit caught in headlights    
                                                  ­ up
                                        me
                   ­        pick
For now I have remained silent,
less the words I have spoken to you,
to reconstruct and repair
this shattered Self,
seeking guidance.
(Until further notice)

i love you.

and

let's
just
run
away
Michael Oct 2014
I am lonely, not lonely

the choice up to now
has been mine

I will slip away
(at will)
into the recesses
of small shops
of empty rooms
or quiet spaces

to avoid her touch
or his gaze
or their judgement
our subconscious desires.

But all swallowed up

deep in the belly
of fog, of smoke
a vast, impenetrable

night sky

suddenly the
all-encompassing fear
grips me

washes over
so suddenly

I realize
I have not lived at all

that I am
suddenly
(forcibly)
the only one left.

Down a long, winding road
that trudges on endlessly
into the fading silhouette of trees
and broken sidelines

dim headlights

I am lonely, not lonely.
Jordan Rowan Jan 2016
The night sounds of fallen angels
Building stairways back to home
And the radio plays softly
Like a crooner left alone
As the night falls into the velvet shades
And beats down the bedroom door
Of all the visions that come to me
It's of one I'm hoping for

The postman closes up the station
And the buses get cleaned with rain
The asylum rests and barely breathes
As the countryside goes insane
Prophets speak of peace
On the dim hue of TV screens
Of all the moments that seem real
I still wait to watch my dreams

Imposed upon the westward wall
Are the silhouettes of weeping oaks
Swaying in the wind that talks
But they only tell me jokes
Swept beneath the silver stars
Sleeping on blanket clouds
Of all the space above me
I feel as if I can't get out

Headlights and passing trains
Sound like time passing by
Gone are the hearts inside
Like the years beyond my eyes
Sounds from the suburb city
Blow like sirens in my mind
Of all the thoughts within me
Only one freezes time
Deyer Jul 2016
The headlights, as always,
were blinding.
The End
was carried in discomfort between us,
its warm air pushing sweat
from our pores.
Some lost cells lead us to this point,
the word "tumor" hanging
                        numb
                        in the air.
There, we had no choice
       but to leave the conversation;
       unsatisfied, but now
       more aware of what lingers
       in the shadows cast by
       headlights at dusk.
Spenser Bennett Mar 2016
Most nights
I am both
the frozen deer
and the
Unrelenting headlights
Jamie Horridge Mar 2014
Who are you and why do you have this effect on me?
You walked in the room and I can hardly breath
Do you make me nervous on purpose, or is it just me?
Are you doing this on purpose?
I'm falling so quickly

I don't wanna rush it and call it too soon
But if you were the sun, then I'd be the moon
Your eyes illuminate the streets with the only light I can see
I'm just a deer in your headlights when you look at me

Take me anywhere you want to go
I'd follow you into the dark in places I don't know
Wherever you are is where I want to be
You're everything I want, and all that I can see

If you have a hint of doubt about the things that I have said
Just believe me when I say, you do laps inside my head
If you leave it up to me,
I'd tell you to stick around
You be the tree,
I'll be the roots in the ground
I'll help you grow and try to give you everything you need
Darling, it'd make me happy if you grew old with me
ryn Sep 2014
Doom train hurtling along
Through the fog in my mind
Towing freight, rectangular and oblong
Dim headlights, you're travelling blind

Five carriages long, excluding engine and caboose
Metal against metal, spitting sparks on steel
Undetermined path, rails will choose
Chugging along on dirt covered wheels

In the cabin, I see the light
Emanating from your furnace
Swallowing up coals in your gaping bite
Tongues of flames licking the surface

Fire breathing, spewing thick black smoke
Almost unseen, against the dark of night
A long plumy arm as if extending to choke
And plug the remaining sources of light

Meandering precariously on tracks that weave
Over uncharted, unfathomable terrain
Your store, so reliably you heave
Worming your way through my brain

What's in that cargo of yours?
What lies within those boxcars?
What drives you to diligently run your course?
What fuels you to travel near and far?

Loads of self pity, self loathing and self reproach
Snaking your way to an unknown destination
Screeching brakes as if a stop you approach
Herald the train of dubious intentions

Light is upon you, dark will dissipate
Your plumes starting to lessen from your stack
The dawn breaking horizon you didn't anticipate
To see another charging towards you on this very same track...
See "Light Train"
See "Collision Course"
Jim Davis May 2017
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis
Kevan passed away over a year ago.  I just wrote the poem recently.
Dorothy A May 2012
Chad looked over at his sleeping son sitting next to him in the passenger seat. This little journey from the airport to his home still seemed so strange and uneasy to him. It astounded him that Ian was now twelve years old, nearly a teenager. To be honest, he still did not fully feel sure about this arrangement, this set-up for him to have his son for the summer. Nevertheless, he tried to project confidence to everyone involved, to his family and to Ian's mom. He kept reminding himself that it did not matter how he felt.

He needed to step up to the plate.

No, Chad Brewster never envisioned himself as a father, never dreamed of it, and certainly never once desired it or would have chosen it as his path. Though some of his close friends wanted or had a family, it was never a part of his plans to ever be a dad. He did not dislike children, but he just never expected he would ever settle down and have them.

He especially never expected to be a father at the mere age of sixteen years old.

The suburbs of Las Vegas were worlds away from the suburbs of Milwaukee. Driving down the desert surrounded streets and highways, sometimes homesickness tugged at his consciousness. At times, Chad’s craved the surroundings of his old existence—the shady pine trees, and spending time at Lake Michigan—and he would gladly trade some palm trees for the some of the pines he was so accustomed to. But this was the life he now chose to have, and he thought he should have no reason to complain or be too sentimental. Many people were not so lucky to experience any refreshing change in their lives, and he was able to have it.

While on the road, Chad reminded himself to give Ian's mom, Becca, a quick call to let her know that they were on their way to his home. He pulled out his cell phone before he got distracted. Ian already texted her a few times to let her know he was alive and breathing along the way.

Becca had her reservations about sending her son off to be with his dad. He had his visiting rights, though, and she couldn't lawfully deny him them. It was a tough decision to send him off alone on the plane to meet up with his father, but Ian had good sense, and he was taking a direct flight to Vegas. He loved to text, and his mother made sure he had his very own cell phone to keep in constant contact with her. It was so hard to let him go like this, for Becca cherished Ian. He had a much harder start in life than some other kids, and she felt partly to blame for it.

Chad got a hold of Ian’s mom. "No way in Hell! You are calling me now?" she angrily accused him, her tongue sharp with criticism. "You know **** well this is his very first plane trip by himself, and I thought you'd have the decency to tell me once he got off that plane! Please! Don't try to convince me that this whole thing is a huge mistake, some major lapse in my judgment. Can you do that for me? You could have at least had the decency! Put him on the phone! Let me talk to him!"

"Look, Becca, he's asleep. It was a long day for him. He's exhausted". Chad was trying his best to hold back any displeasure or to raise his voice, but he expected his calm wouldn’t last. "Don't ***** me out for not calling you the very second you are demanding. You know I would have called in a heartbeat if I felt Ian was in danger. You know I would".

"Oh, I'm really not so sure", she replied, sarcastically. "I'm tempted to fly over there and come get him! I've been sick about it all day!"

"Such a **** drama queen, Becca! Like it or not, the world doesn't revolve around you! You don't have all the control! “ The anger rising was rising up in his tone. Her judgment of him of was so tiring.

"Oh, really Chad?" she replied. "I've got my act together a long time ago, but you...".

"Look, he is my son, too!" Chad shouted loudly. He was fed up of her ****** attitude, ready to hang up in her face.

"You could have fooled me!"

His eyes were glaring as he drove down the arid Nevada highway, just as if Becca stood there right before him, her finger wagging in his face, her other hand on her hip. He pictured her now as if time and everything in it had stood still, and she was before his motionless car and in his face, still in step with time and letting him have it.

This little display was so typical of her. Only Becca Morgan thought she ever had any common sense when it came to their parental abilities. Sure, she was the one who really raised their son, but she never would have pulled it off without the huge intervention of her mother.

Without a doubt, Ian had to admit to himself that he had been avoidant and immature in the past, but Becca did not have the patent on good parenting or on maturity. In her eyes, Chad was never going to be a proper father, even if he proved it.

Chad vowed that he wasn't going to pay forever for his mistakes of being an absent father, far more absent than present in his young son's life.

He looked over at his son sitting beside him. Ian was sound asleep—thank God—for he heard his parents squabble about him far more than he should have. In fact, he never saw his parents talking in a friendly manner. No matter how they began talking to each other, their conversations always ended up with angry words.

Ian must have been dead tired to sleep through it all. He hardly stirred since he fell asleep. If Chad wasn’t driving, he would be studying his slumbering son in peculiar wonder, sitting there for quite some time and thinking how on earth he ever was able to produce such a child, a seemingly healthy and well-rounded boy. It was as if his child was an UFO alien, or something—someone to be discovered for who he really was, and someone to be fathomed with fear.  He felt that uncomfortable about being placed into the role of a father.

It gave Chad's stomach a funny, odd feeling to think he wasn't too much older than Ian when Becca—his loving girlfriend at the time—came up to him and told him the shocking news. It would be the news that would forever change his life, and hers.

She was pregnant. Chad was definitely the father.

It wasn't that Becca did not know what to do about her condition, for she knew what she wanted from almost the very start, and she had settled it in her mind without much inner conflict. There was no helplessness or hopelessness in her, not like some pregnant teenage girls that found themselves in such a predicament. She wanted to have her baby and keep it to raise as her very own, and not for a future adoption—with or without Chad's approval. She did love Chad, but in the long run, she did not care what he thought if he did not agree with her.

As far as she was concerned, this baby was hers.

Chad, on the other hand, was terrified, simply terrified. He did not want to believe the news, hoping that Becca would turn around and tell him it was a huge joke. He would be quite ticked at her if she did such a thing, but also very relieved. He would gladly kiss the ground for it not to be true.

If only it was a joke. Becca was quite serious, playing  no such prank on him, Next, she planned to tell her mother next about her unborn baby. But the first person she wanted to tell was her boyfriend, and she expected that he would be on her side—or at least be won over eventually.

As a dumbfounded Chad stared at her in disbelief and shock—like the classic deer in the headlights—Becca insisted that she was telling the truth, that she was even beginning to show. She could prove it.  Her periods had stopped, and three home pregnancy tests confirmed her suspicions.  Gently, she took Chad’s hand to place over her stomach. Freaked out of his mind, he ****** his hand away as quickly as it touched her belly. His knee **** reaction would always stick in Becca's mind of how Chad really felt about her. It was almost like she had a disease.

She suddenly felt dejected. It looked like Chad would not be on her side, after all.

Maybe it wasn't his? Chad knew that Becca would hate him if he ever implied such a thing. She was crazy about him. Chad knew that. But she had an equal amount of passion to go the other way if he betrayed her. The doubt on his face, and the hesitancy in his voice, did betray him and Becca’s heart slowly sank. She wanted Chad to care, to understand, certainly not to view her as the guilty partner who was ready to ruin his life.

Instead, it looked like the beginning of the end for them.

No way was Chad willing to break the news to his parents, especially his dad, Ed Brewster. He’d rather put a gun to his head than say anything about it. Chad really never saw eye to eye with his father.  Unlike his two older brothers, Michael and David, Chad always felt like he could never please the man. His mother, Nancy, had forever seen Chad as the role that life had given him—the baby of the family. He seemed to have more leeway with her, but not so much as an inch with his father.

Ed, a veteran police officer, wanted all three of his sons to do well in life, better than he had achieved. And as Michael and David were dreaming of such careers as doctors and lawyers, all Chad ever dreamed of was to be a drummer in a rock band. Playing the drums was fine for a hobby, but Chad's father wanted his son to see the garage band he played in as something temporary, something to grow out of.  His son saw otherwise, never seeing himself ever retiring his drumsticks for some job he was bored to death with, or that he hated. He didn’t care if he would never end up earning a dime from it, not playing the drums would be like not having arms or legs. Chad would never give up on his musical aspirations.

One of the first photos that his mother took of her youngest son was him as a baby, sitting on the floor in the kitchen and banging a ladle on the bottom of a pan. At that age, he would much rather play with kitchen utensils, using them like a drum, than any shiny, fascinating toy in his possession. His mom simply thought it was adorable. His father wasn't so impressed, especially since the racket he made was only the beginning in his musical journey of too much noise surfacing from the basement.  There would be plenty of times when Ed would warn his son to give the drums a rest, or he would throw them in the garbage, for Chad could practice for hours on end.

It seemed that music flowed in Chad's blood, was natural to him, but no one in the family had any such musical talents or ambitions.  While his father just didn't get it, his mother supported him with any help she could. When he was six, he was in his glory when his she bought him a child's drum set to bang on. When he turned eleven, she bought him a real set of drums, and encouraged his participation in school band. His brothers' interests were far more typical. They were heavy into sports, and they always had their father's blessings. When Chad kept on doing what he loved, he was seen by his dad as almost a delinquent.

Now that he was an adult, his love of music was paying off. Resettling in Vegas provided many opportunities, plenty of musical venues. With all the entertainment in Sin City, Chad could find enough work playing the drums. There has been a good flow of steady work for him to work in the casinos, and he also played in a local band that did such gigs as weddings, birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. They were a group of six talented musicians that got together to form their own band, and play just about anything—rock, rap, blues, jazz, country and swing. They soon voted with each other on what to call themselves. A good name had a lot to do with if someone got hired for gigs, and nothing they could think up sounded any good.  It seemed like all the great names were already taken, nothing new under the sun. The Sonic Waves sounded the coolest, but since that name was already used, Chad played around with the idea and suggested they call themselves Sonic Stream. That had good potential, and the others agreed with it. He was glad and honored to make such a contribution to his band.        

Chad could honestly say he was happy out here in Nevada. His mother felt like he was trying his best to distance himself from the reality of his problems, especially his strained relationship with his father. Chad disagreed. He just wanted to feel like he could accomplish something in his life, not proving anything to anybody—but to himself.

Would Ian be happy out here with him? It would only be for the summer, but would Chad make a good impression on him in his life out here? Ian glanced over at his son who still slept almost like a baby, seemingly wiped out, though the day was still young.

Several minutes later, Ian called out, "What time is it?"

Somehow awakened, he was rubbing his eyes, disoriented by the fact that he was in a different time zone and in an unfamiliar place. Chad smiled at him, trying to reassure the boy that he was glad to have him here.

“Almost two thirty", Chad returned. Ian moaned and tried to sit up straight, squinting from the glare of the strong Nevada sun. Quite groggy, his internal clock was not sure what time it was.

Your mom called”, Chad told Ian. “You know your mom, bud. She does worry about you”.

“I texted Mom. I said I made it OK”, he replied.

“But did you actually talk to her?” Chad asked. “You know how she is. Unless she talked to you herself, I am sure she was convinced some madman took control of your cell phone and pretended to be you”.

Chad laughed and Ian tried not to act like what he said was that funny, but he shyly grinned and tried to cover his mouth to conceal it. He did have a special bond with his mother, but he knew his dad was right. His mom worried way too much.

“I talked to her just before the plane took off”, Ian admitted.

They drove in silence for a while. Chad had to admit to himself that Ian was looking more and more like him the more he grew up, and Chad seemed to favor his mother's looks—of which he was grateful—for he never wanted to resemble his dad.  Lots of times, Chad and Ian were mistaken for brothers, Ian a much younger brother, but surely not imagined to be his son. Chad felt that Ian was already looking like a teenager, maturing fast for his age, and Chad often was perceived as younger than his twenty-eight years. Ian was growing up so much more than his father could envision, and Chad knew why. It wasn't like he saw his son so frequently that the change was not obvious. Every time he saw him, a big gap had been gapped by growth and change, and Chad was guilty of missing much of those experiences.

Was it that Chad did not really want to grow up? Becca surely accused him of that. His father did, too. Performing gigs in a local band seemed far from a man's job to Chad's father. When he still lived in Wisconsin, he knew he had better learn to have other work to fall back on, for band work did not always pay the bills in those days. That is why he trained to be an x-ray technician. It wasn't the job of his dreams, but it helped keep him afloat when making money from music did not meet his financial requirements. Even though Chad did achieve a fairly decent and respectable job, it did not seem to matter to his critical father.

At the mere age of sixteen, Chad had nothing to back him up against the anger his father would have towards him. He knew he would be knocked down for sure when his parents found out about Becca's pregnancy.

The words his furious father told him stung pretty harshly. "You don't have the sense to be a father! You don't seem lately to have the sense to be anything! You'd ruin that kid’s life, for sure!"

His father had to always play the street-smart cop, even at home, and Chad was fed up as looking like a criminal in his eyes. He almost wanted to cry, but refused to show his father any such weakness. Instead, he gave him the best stone cold, unemotional response that he could muster up. Replying in a monotone manner, though he really feared his father's anger, was the best way to stick it back to him.

"Sure, you're right. I take after you. Bad fathering runs in the family", he said back.

Ed looked like he wanted to punch his son, though he never laid a hand on any of his sons in such a way. Trying to repress his own sense of hurt, and remain with his anger, he replied, "If you were eighteen, I'd throw your *** out right now! Don't push your luck!"

Chad always aspire
L Smida Feb 2013
Ask me why I don't like to drive
I will give you the easiest of all answers
It's because I have to put full trust in complete strangers that get behind the wheel of vehicles that have the ability to **** people if not used correctly
Half of the people are selfish idiots who don't give a flying ****
And I don't even like trusting people to begin with
Even people that I know very well
People that do give a ****

I have to trust that you'll stop at that big red stop sign as I'm cautiously pulling through the intersection
I have to trust that that red light there is going to retain your hurried monstrous being from crossing my path
I have to trust that all you rowdy strangers are actually driving with the correct licenses
If one at all
I hold my breath driving through town hoping that no one will floor it out of a parking lot to cut me off
Even when there are absolutely no other cars around
Making me slam on my brakes is easier for you than to wait for two seconds to let me pass
That'd be inevitable
It's like no one even sees me on the road
I'm as invisible as a ghost
Either that or the judgement is way off
Any slight amount of doubt whether you'll make it or not
Should be handled by waiting
Because that doubt about not making it could turn into a full certainty when you're smashed into someone else

But it happens all the time without fail
I cannot drive through town without getting ******* at someone's stupidity
People hate waiting
Even if its only for two seconds
And I don't get it
Where do you possibly have to be that's so **** important
Everyone is constantly in a hurry all the time
FYI, driving slow and taking your time saves so much gasoline it's not even funny
If you wanna stop complaining about burning through gas,
Just drive slower
It won't **** you
It actually might save you
(Ex: it use to take me a quarter tank of gas to get to school and back when driving 70-80 MPH. I was following the speed of traffic. Now I drive the speed limit which is 55. My gas needle does not move!)

Driving under the influence?
Only god knows
Don't get me wrong
Some drugs are awesome
But not while driving
Putting other people's lives at risk by driving with a foggy head?
(Babies, children, families)
Not cool whatsoever
Do you care at all
Obviously not if you're doing so
Who cares if you **** someone
Everyone does it
It happens all the time
I have to trust that you wild human beings are watching the roads and being alert
But I already know that you are not concerned in the least bit to watch where you're going
Heaven for bid you put down that phone for more than three minutes

I don't like having this paranoia chewing on my gut every time I need to go somewhere
I have my headlights on 95% of the time
Why?
So people can easily see me coming
What do I see when I drive?
No one because people don't drive with their headlights on during a ******* blizzard or heavy rain
Hell! People don't drive with their headlights on in the ****** dark
Let alone a little rain
Someone ran me off the road once because they weren't paying attention and they totaled my beautiful ******* car
In plain day light
Basically T-***** me right into a ditch
Why?
Because he couldn't take one tiny second out of his very important life to stop at a ****** ******* stop sign?!?
And by conserving that second he slowed us both down by painfully whole hours
He ruined my whole month
Ruined my whole driving career
Because I carry around this paranoia chained to my leg that weighs about as much as a boulder
Giving me all these hellish problems that could've easily been avoided
You can see why I hate driving with a burning passion
No one follows the rules
I hate watching out for morons when it shouldn't need to be done

This is what bothers the **** out of me
They are giving licenses to ANYONE now a days
The ******* driving test is suppose to be a hard ******* test
They need to make it harder in my opinion
If its one thing that I wish people would do
Is follow the traffic laws
If everyone did that
We wouldn't need insurance
We wouldn't have problems
We wouldn't have to cuss at each other and get enraged
Road rage wouldn't exist
I wouldn't have to drive and get a heart attack every time someone swerves in front of me
I don't like having random obstacles like that

I drive the speed limit
Why?
Because if someone hits me
I won't get blamed
You don't like how I drive?
You can't complain because I follow all the rules
You can't say a **** word about it
I like being relaxed when I drive
I leave myself enough time to get to my planned destination
I don't like to rush around because that's the number one thing that ***** people up
You hurry and your mind forgets every little ****
If you're late and you're stuck behind me going 40 in a 35
Sorry Bub but I ain't gonna go any faster for you
I do not want to get into an accident and have to deal with all that **** again
Or get pulled over and have the little money I have get ****** outta my pockets
Not gonna happen
Get into an accident and see how you like it
Get pulled over and waste money
Go head
Be my guest
Afterwards, I bet you'll give the road 50% more of your undivided attention
Bad mood rant.... :/
Jenny Jul 2018
the electricity runs through our veins
and past the street signs we rumble by
in the car you stole, we go fifty above the speed limit,
the roof of the car is the noir sky above
and the midnight rain pelts our upturned faces
the dancing drops of water drip onto our smiling lips
the sound of the sky collapsing
echoes the flashes that streak the sky,
the flickering light casts paved roads with a brief brightness
(as if god were wearing light up sketchers)
the lacy brallette that wears me
gives me the bravery to stand up in the speeding car
the velvet pants that ripple with the wind
drink up the nighttime rain
and the rare headlights race past us,
heading into homes and hearts
the mellow playlist that connects the aux cord to our ears blasts
so loud, we can no longer hear our insecurity
the mascara that once clung to my eyelashes
now streams down my face.
on a two way street,
we drive down the middle
unafraid in the face of direct dangers
so unaware of the towering empty skyscrapers
and instead highly exhilarated
from the street signs we drive by
too fast to read the blocky lettering
the road signs glint, smiling as we wave and reach towards them
the cigarettes you smoked are thrown through the open window,
still smothering slightly.
i can still taste the smoke on your lips
and your hand tucks my hair behind my ear
and as the wind objects and inhales
unreal in the hazy a.m. car trip
the tunnel rushes towards us,
and we both hold our breaths,
as if breathing would contaminate us.
the lights that glint, cast a yellow-white glow
and for once, i see you for who you are
a boy too buzzed to feel
a kid who only felt "sort of"
a person who couldn't heal
and a lover who could never give love
about a boy who was my living teenage dream // nothing scarier than finding a broken loveless boy who makes you the same
Britt Nichole Oct 2014
But it hurts you because you love her,
and you can only see his laughter under her smile,
and his hands in the wave of her hair.
You caught his generosities inside the sparkle of her eyes.
There was never a fire before;
now there is one and it hurts you.
But you still love her - God, you still love her.

And sitting here - with her,
for the unknown first or last time,
you can't tell the difference between a moment of ending,
or the beautiful unfolding to a new beginning.

Walking down dark streets on cold nights hasn't helped the ache of her,
or the pains of her with him,
or the burning that waltzes along with picturing them together.

You know, that since the day she left, you have had ample opportunities to end it all.
But you love her - God, you love her.
And loving somebody means that fear must be welcomed and triumphed,
yet you've never feared balancing on the curb,
or the streetlights at 2 am,
or the feeling of completeness when stepping off of the safe spot and right into the path of oncoming headlights.

You've only ever feared one thing - loving her,
but you did it then,
and you're doing it now.

So maybe heading for the headlights really is the only thing you should've feared all along.
Dani Dec 2018
You drew me in, in that special way you do
Pulled into your space without resistance
A deer in headlights in total awe of you
Frozen and nervous, between us there is zero distance
Crashed into each other slowly like waves in the ocean
Beautiful and harsh, full of passion
Water to sand, meshing together in slow motion
Fierce with lust, and an undeniable connection
The sweet taste of your lips on mine
Makes butterflies swarm my whole body
Hidden nerves, corner kisses, crossing the line
We don’t mind, and it’s fun being naughty

So to you I raise my glass
Cheers for bringing me intoxication
A toast for every slap of my ***
A smile, for every bit of our infatuation
Richie Vincent Jul 2018
Goodnight moonlight,

Sweet dreams, moonlight,

I am away now,

Driving under your blanket, your bright stars lighting everywhere dark,

It is a late hot summer night, however I have turned the heat on, on this long summer road,

It reminds me of you,

Warm, open, and free,

I like it this way,

Windows down, hot air blowing, there is no room for cold here,

I like to play the radio soft,

It reminds me of you,

Stevie, you feel like the 80s,

And your voice reminds me of hers too,

My headlights illuminating the street signs just enough for them to dance, like everything has just a little bit of magic in it,

The first time I met you, you shook my hand, moonlight, and you were embarrassed about it, I thought it was kind of cute,

I might just keep you in my chest pocket on this ride home,

I will see you tomorrow night,

Same time, same place,

Goodnight moonlight
Mikaila Jun 2013
"Bye, Lee!" chirps one of my friends. I muster a smile for her, put a little enthusiasm into my voice, "Bye!" and start walking down the side of the road, home. Or wherever. It's nighttime, and mist hangs in the air, so thick in spots that it's almost rain. I put my ipod on, smooth my hair back, look up at the few stars. It's cool but so humid that I can feel the air pressing on me.
"Elevator straight into my skull..."
No street lights. I like it that way. I like it better when the darkness isn't broken by pools of light. I can think better, then. Not that I really want to think. Hence the loud music. I know I should change the song, put on something less smooth and dreamy, less dark, less thoughtful. But my nature is to dwell on whatever mood I'm in. And tonight I'm in the mood to lose all my choices. I think about her. About her lips, red in the bright lights. About how she wouldn't really touch me. About what it would mean if she had. I think about giving up. I think about how empty my life would be if I did. I think about how hard it promises to be if I don't, and how slim my chances really are. I think about everyone else she could pick. I think about the time she picked me. I can't shut it off, there on my long road in the misty darkness. It just runs by itself, a never ending stream of thought. It hurts! God, it hurts to think that I may never really get to love her again. To kiss her. To hold her. It hurts to think of the very real possibility that she's just being nice, letting me near her. It hurts to think that maybe she wants what I want, but will refuse to let it happen. It all hurts. And I stop, hold my head a minute, scrape my hair back from my eyes and look up, trying to regain control. It hurts so that for a moment I can see myself curling up right there, a tight little ball, and crying until my tears run out. I can feel her arms around me, the ghost of what used to be. They are so comforting that I could cry myself to death, knowing they aren't real.
"On the edge of a dream that you had..."
It's not the fact that she's not here, not just that. It's that she could be, so easily, and she's not. And that drives it home into my heart. I am disinclined to lie to myself, about anything. But I know that I could lie to myself over her. I could do that, I am that vulnerable. What hurts is that I don't know if I'm lying to myself. That I could so easily see the signs that she doesn't want me, so easily, but that I ignore them. I don't know what I believe. I don't know what to think. When I look into her face, I can read nothing there. No joy to see me, no disgust, no love, no hatred. Somehow it's almost worse to think that perhaps she feels nothing at all. Indifference is more unendurable than hate.
"Has anybody ever told you it's not coming true?"
But no, no she can't feel nothing... Why would she choose me for anything ever if she didn't feel something? God, I can't hold it all. My head spins. I feel my arms wrapped around me, around my stomach so tight that I am forced to my knees. Get a grip, Lee. Get a ******* grip. Fists. I stab my nails into my palms, feel the half moons of blood rising as I force myself to stand. I'm too tired for this. Too tired to worry, too tired to hurt. I just want comfort. Her comfort. But she won't give it. She is far away. I can feel her distance when she is two inches from me. I can feel her pushing me away even when she hugs me. Especially then. It tears my heart up. I feel the tears run down my cheeks, and I am ashamed, defeated. And all of a sudden, in my desolation, I hit the plateau that never used to be there. I level out and suddenly a heavy apathy weighs my limbs like lead.
"You can hold on but I wouldn't waste your time..."
Suddenly I stand completely still, a realization slowly dawning in me, raising my eyes, relaxing my stance of anguish. I can feel my body loosening. My mind empties, and there is the center line of the road in my head. It's white and broken. The pavement is smooth and dark, not yet marred by cracks or crumbles.
"Farewell my..."
And abruptly there I am, standing on the line. I missed a whole moment. My eyes feel glazed. My breaths come like in sleep. To think of anything elicits no response, no reaction, no recognition. All I am is one moment.
"Black balloon."
I lay down, carefully, so that I fit perfectly on the line, and stare up at the black sky above me. Repeat, repeat, repeat, the song plays over and over, too many times to count, deepening the darkness around me until I feel as if I have never been anything or anywhere or anyone other than this. I am only darkness, and there are no edges to me. It hits me like a wave, the truth. That she's not coming back. That I am wasting my time. That I am alone. But where I expect tears, panic, anguish, I find only a sick calm. The kind of calm sureness that comes with finally finding the truth, and not caring one bit, because you know exactly what to do.
"Ahhh, ahhh. Ahhhh. Ahhh, ahh, ah, ah..."
Five minutes ago- was it five or fifty?-there was no way out of it. There was no solution but to move forward. Nothing I could do. Now, I cannot feel desperate. I can only feel this sort of sad, calm obsession.
"Farewell my..."
This drive, this compulsion, with a touch of melancholy but a peace almost like sleep. I sit up. Push myself to my feet. Stand in the very center of the road. Headlights are creeping around the corner. I stand there and stare at them. It's odd to see. Have you ever stood before a car, directly in front of it, and it was so dark you could only see the headlights, growing, growing...? I suppose you probably haven't. It is almost a spiritual experience, seeing them loom ahead of me. They pull me toward them like a magnet, and my body sways and leans forward. Here they come, right here, so close... My eyes are full of the glow of those headlights. They are the same as me. Empty and full of cold light.
"Black balloon. The weather had its way with you."
And now I am sprawled on the road. Below me I see blood. I see limbs askew. I am above myself, suspended within the mist, and before all the lights invade and pull us apart, I see the girl I used to be. She is so pale. So small. So fragile. For the first time in so long, her face does not show the lines of pain. She looks so...peaceful. And I feel no regret. I know I am unraveling, and I am so glad to feel myself slipping away. I feel my memories fading, my cares, my empathy, my hatred, my pain, and finally...my love. I am nothing. Finally. Finally I am nothing.
"Farewell my..."
Going...going....
"Black balloon."
Gone.
Half poem, half short story, inspired by the song Black Balloon by The Kills. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ruc1jTK2H_s
kas Dec 2017
this is how it happens
it's the last day the temperature will be
above thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit
until February
you're not looking at the date
it's just the end of November
the middle of the night in the middle of a road
at the end of November
the hum of this small town hurts your ears
you're stuck in a dream where everything you see
turns into a weapon
this is how it happens
you knocked back sharp, amber liquid
to make this place feel a little more okay
and it only worked halfway
no matter how soft the edges are
you bruise your hips when you
run into them in the dark
you're ******* on your fourth cigarette when
a police officer pulls over and asks
how you're doing today
in the too-bright white of the headlights
the sick taste of Red Stag sticks to
the roof of your mouth
the mouth that you're moving into a smile
the mouth exhaling plumes of smoke at the ground
you're okay
"i'm okay."
you don't tell him what you're really doing
you're really taking all of your
thoughts about stopping your pulse for a walk
you don't tell him you've been
chasing ambulances all night long
please, officer don't leave me alone, you don't say
he tells you to have a good night and drives away
and this is how it happens
the moon smiles at you with every single one
of its tiny, sharp teeth
nobody but your cat finds you in that bathtub
nobody but your cat watches you rise from red water
watches it drip drip drip
from every chasm carved in your left arm
nobody but your cat saw the soft animal of your soul
shiver from the cold that day
it's the first day the temperature
dropped below
thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit inside your chest
based on true events
Anya Sep 2018
When someone praises me
I'm like a deer
under headlights
Of course I'm delighted
beaming,
even
But I really don't know-
how to respond
...
Do I brush it off?
Act like it's
not a big deal
whether or not
it really is
And move on
to another
subject?
...
Do I just stay quiet
Look down shyly,
and smile?
Or just let the conversation
pass me by?
...
Do I adamantly
reject it?
Refuse, and insist
to the point
that the person
before me
ends up
fighting with me
about
it?
...
Do I roll with it,
faking non-existent
confidence?
Owning up to it,
sometimes
in a joking manner?
...
Do I immediately
switch the topic
to praising
the one
who praised me?
Or have them talk
about themselves
to turn
the
attention from me?
...
Or, do I just smile
large and wide
and thank
the person?
...
I don't know
and it irritates me
that I can even have trouble
with something
as lovely
as a compliment
...
It's not
negative
hurtful
or even
a criticism
...
So why does it
bother me?
...
Maybe
...
I care too much
about what others
think of
me
Life's a Beach Jan 2015
Your laugh was a cloud
Loud
Enveloping
Mist which covered me without the
slightest resistance
insistence
I needed assistance to breathe

Your laugh shows I'm useful
shows there's a need
For us
as I feed on the delicious awkwardness we
shared
Caught unawares by being liked

It's a shame your laugh
was the cloud which hid
a trucks headlights

crash
shared
spent

Your laugh a narcotic cloud I refuse to repent
old poem completely mixed up and switched
fruit and honey Sep 2016
__________________

a girl with a mind like a tunnel
somewhere amidst a winding mountain road
quiet and familiar
the tunnel
calm and inviting

as his headlights
approach
from the distance
particles of light
start finding their way inside
the tunnel less dim
with every
heartbeat
until
everything is illuminated within
fractions of a second
his headlights span out
into every corner
and every crevasse
and brings every brushed away memory  
into full view
warmly embracing every hidden secret  
and for a moment
the tunnel becomes
unnaturally bright
          the kind of bright that makes you
          squint your eyes and
          hold your breath and
          dig the tips of your fingers
          into the foam of your steering wheel
          but you don't get afraid because
          your eyes adjust before
          the fear sets in
and when your eyes do adjust
you forget that it's ever been dark at all
and you feel as though this light
can last forever
          but our eyes can only handle
          so much light  

now he's approaching the exit
and his headlights
are reaching out
beyond the arch of the tunnel
far into the thick woods and towards the
mountain tops
as he passes through on his way
to some final destination
and he never even thought to stay

so cherish
the very last seconds
and cherish
every fraction of his
beautiful bright light
before the tunnel
goes dim
and everything is
quiet
and all that is left is a numbed pain
          the kind of pain you feel
          when your pupils
          dilate
          so fast
          they hurt
.
I wrote this poem over six months ago, not long before I met the most loving, cheesing, kick-*** guy, with his bright mind and beautiful soul and I keep thinking... finally. a man who thought to stay.
.
Elise Nov 2013
My demons came up to me and introduced themselves today
and told me:
Humans are fire
Knowing no bounds they can either warm you or burn you  
attracted like moths to a light post you find yourself addicted to sparks in the black
thats why you love them;
you're looking for yourself

Only a sad collection of scars and almost's,

I was a match  
&
You were an inferno

Trying your hardest to please everyone just to leave yourself with nothing but ashes and a couple dollar bills
You stood there and burned, gluing your lips to my ear so that every time I turned I could hear you ringing in my head to set you free
Fully leaving would have been too easy
I swear you could have been sitting in the back seat of my car having a conversation with the headlights of oncoming cars as I drove home in the darkness
Slamming my hands on the steering wheel to try to atone for my own mistakes

you burned yourself to forget
&
I burned myself to feel

when the rain came neither of us were ready
I seem to have washed away
but you
simply lit another match
(one that isn't me)
I have quite knowledgeable darkness surrounding me//you are not gone, you simply have left my center of attention
rae luna May 2015
every time i see your headlights come up the road
and pull into my drive
my stomach turns and my heart races
just like the first time i saw them
Layla Thurman Sep 2014
The Radio is turned up loud
And we're all just singing along
With the windows down

We don't know where we're going
Just off into the future
To chase our dreams elsewhere

Were young and were dumb
Couldn't care less to listen
To the warnings our parents gave us

Then in the blink of an eye
All our life is flashing
Like the headlights we didn't see

In a moment caught in a car crash
All the radio plays
Is the silence of our beating hearts

— The End —