"indirect" poems
The sky is a bowl of withered stars.
With emotion veiled
in the corner
of those truly murky blankets.
I spoke with the ghost of a fulminated tree
he told me his story
that is mine.
So his indirect revenge.
I will make a prayer to the rainbow after the flood,
after us,
after you and me.
There is no solution outside of love.
Aug 27, 2018
Aug 27, 2018 at 1:51 AM UTC
How can I access these feelings
I’ve never felt before?
No experience can measure to the
pain I feel internally, fragmentally.
I’ve never felt real pain,
but I can write.
I can imagine how it is to feel this way
is this indirect or insincere?
I’m not sure.
But I feel it.
In my lungs I feel it.
In my heart I feel it.
In my brain I feel it.
Pain I’ve never experienced,
It’s inside of me
and I can’t make it leave.
How do I make it leave?
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
The next to empty train
Roars through the mist of dawn
As it passes the lakes and elves
The dark and mystic pines
-forests that once told of horrors
To keep the ones like me
From crossing the line-
This box, this crate
A testament of the modern man
To whom which it serves
It is somewhat of a time traveller
When it breezes the land
That years have made its own
And yet there are scenes from my window
That I know are proofs
Of exceptions to the rule that reads,
“time will take its toll”
All the brooks and oaks
And even more so
Every bolder and stone
Convinces my heart and soul
That I need not be marred and scorned
Broken and torn
By the thistles and thorns
And all the bourdons that the lions
Of this glass world
Convict me to *****
Since there is a side
To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I
A side of realism and cynicism
Thus I am well aware of my mortality
And the scarcity of the time that is mine
My existence is an indirect unwritten vow
To never bend my back and bow
To never fall in line
And receive my share of coals
To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks
In a race against nature or God
A race to prove one or the other
Or even both wrong
A race we’ve already lost
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
All of the moves on a
chessboard of which
the permutations are
infinite, have been
witnessed at Camp-
Nou by the G.O.A.T.
Upon hillside tracks
and mountain passes
where herds pasture
on unsure footings at
cliffs edge in all types
of weather is the Goat.
Think of a goalkeeper
waiting for an indirect
free out of vision from
behind a wall of players,
imagine the thoughts-----
between predator & prey.
................
|˚ |
| |
Tribute to Lionel Messi
Barcelona on his 7th Balon D'or.
Dec 7, 2019
Dec 7, 2019 at 6:20 AM UTC
They say that the cities
Are paved with gold
That this is the land
Where dreams are made true
I'll tell you its where they are sold
Only the ruthless can afford
To rise to the top
The cities are nothing but cold
Homeless in doorways
And beggars on corners
A meagre minimum wage income
A damp house to welcome
Indirect subtle insults
Discrimination and accusation
Faulted into submission
One size fits all
Well it better fit you
Or you're just another number
Database, forms and paperwork
Lost in the system
Nine to five
Or the underworld shift
Borrow from Peter to give to Paul
Man made traps
Crime is always at an all time high
Theft, **** fraud, ******
Delinquency
Occurring frequently
I read the news
And it starts my day off miserably
Concrete jungle
Where have you gone simple things
If you have a minute
Tell me about the other side
The place I want to go
Acres of playground fun
I want to hear about the trees
The earth beneath your feet
Do you sit by the river
And feel complete
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 5:46 PM UTC
Small and observant,
this girl child already loves her solitude.
Dark eyes taking in everything for much later,
long hair a little mussed-up, tumbling over feet pyjamas,
she stands quietly in the doorway of her little bedroom.
Across old parquet floors, into spare white rooms
she gazes at the grown-ups in their party clothes,
secretly planning that someday she will be one of them.
Plain white origami birds, suspended from the high
vintage ceilings, hand-made from her poet-mother's
typing paper, are the only decorations.
The soft, indirect lighting, all invented by her father
out of simple things, creates a perfect visual tone.
This quiet inventor has also chosen jazz he loves
to animate the evening for his friends.
These grown-ups in their party clothes,
yellows, greens and reds, puffy skirts, stiletto heels,
men in simple suits, white shirts, thin black ties,
talented painters, holocaust survivors, intellectuals,
talking, laughing, smoking too much, martini glasses in hand.
What stayed with her most was the music, and the way
it brought the whole world right to her.
Jazz from here in her native city,
Soft, sultry Bossa Nova that her soul knew even better.
Only some of what she saw that night became the life she chose.
The intimacy of observing, of silently forming words around
what she saw, talking and laughing with friends,
loving passionately, getting scorched to the bone,
and the music, the music....
The music would always stay with her, leading her across
wide expanses of this beautiful old world
to the parts of it that she would someday taste, and see.
Her life would become the stretching wide open of her heart.
To love it all, to write about it all.
to give this back, someday,
to the music, and to this big, beautiful old world.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 11:28 PM UTC
The question regarding the question relies on what the question really is.
If the question implied is a question directed outwardly, then it may be misinterpreted as a question to oneself internally.
Otherwise, a question explicitly directed inwardly is critical to deciphering the question that one will address outwardly.
If an indirect question is questioned through the user, then the question itself becomes a metaphysical question to choose from.
In the event a question is said through alternate means, consider the quantitative/qualitative state of the question at the time being; as it may be resolved by asking the question in a subconscious level indeed.
Superficial means tends to seek fundamental questions to the reality of the state one naturally possesses.
In the case where the unconscious decides the opportune event to question the conscious reality, one must interpret the means in examination of the intrapersonal mentality.
If the question is imposed through correlative thought and subliminal expression, then the question itself is related to a parallel conscious state intertwined with the unconscious state of mind of progression.
If the question is relative in combination to the solutions mentioned above becoming apparent, then one has means to ask the question without questioning the question itself in disparate.
Otherwise, the question continues to perplex the question through the continuation of irrelevant questions that one will have thought; creating a treacherous belief so concurrent one could not have fought.
Therefore, is the reality of the question portrayed to the reality you live in or the reality of others? As this poem was conclusive to subtly evoke thought in the questions we construct.
By: Michael M. De La Fuente
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:08 PM UTC
you stopped talking so I stopped trying.
it's a miserable existence to feel the pain of slowly dying.
and now we're trading indirect curses hoping the other will notice first and give in and say hi.
but instead we sit alone and suffer in silence.
just pretend that you're fine.
hide behind those fake smiles and blank stares.
the feelings will fade until you remember you care and you miss her.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:54 AM UTC
Melancholy tea;
Steaming so delicately
Filling with transparency
Light fragrance and an indirect
Flavor of neglect in
A rimmed broken teacup.
Apr 22, 2013
Apr 22, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
We are the genuine men
We are the fulfilled men
Standing together
Headpiece filled with ideas. Huzzah!
Our powerful voices, when
We cheer together
Are loud and meaningful
As wind in wet grass
Or dancing feet over wooden floors
In our damp attics
Shape with form, shade with colour,
Dynamic force, motion without gesture;
Those who have crossed
With indirect eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Forget us—if at all—not as found
Peaceful souls, but only
As the genuine men
The fulfilled men.
Eyes I dare meet in nightmares
In death’s dream kingdom
These do appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a whole column
There, is a tree standing
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More close and more bashful
Than a newly formed star.
Let me be closer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me not wear
Such obvious disguises
Silk shirt, snakeskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
Closer—
That first meeting
In the twilight kingdom
This is the living land
This is fruitful land
Here the cloudy images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a living man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a newly formed star.
It is like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking together
At the minute when we are
Shaking with excitement
Lips that would kiss
Form praise to no stone.
The eyes are here
There are eyes here
In this valley of living stars
In this flowing valley
This whole jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this first of meeting places
We ***** alone
And invite speech
Gathered on this beach of the free river
Vision, unless
The eyes disappear
As the periodic star
Monofoliate daisy
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of whole men.
*Here we go round the mulberry bush
Mulberry bush mulberry bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush
At five o’clock in the morning.*
Between the thought
And the implementation
Between the movement
And the deed
Rises the Light
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the inception
And the construction
Between the feeling
And the reaction
Rises the Light
Life is very short
Between the need
And the want
Between the potential
And the substance
Between the ingredients
And the ascent
Rises the Light
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world begins
This is the way the world begins
This is the way the world begins
Not with a whimper but a bang.
Nov 11, 2012
Nov 11, 2012 at 2:34 PM UTC
I guess I’m okay… What more can I say?
Forget it—never mind,
You wouldn’t understand anyway,
Would you even know what it's like?
Inside a scattered disconnected mind,
Employed to go on strike?
Where indirect misdirect
The sincerity at play,
When sinusoidal chaos spikes
And past meets the future present day?
As paranoid points outlandishly connect
At intervals of broken lines,
Memory lost in recollect,
An array of misshaped bells
Internally infect the eternal confines
Of infinite distributional decay,
Parallels with no intersect,
Streetwise cells with empty signs,
Burned out lights, potholes, and landmines,
Littered all the way.
How am I to convey that all those times
You let your mind wander away
That I was reading, thinking, dreaming,
Teeming, never idle, never strayed,
Seeing, being, so far and away,
Even the brightest intellect beaming,
Could not grasp the feeling
In the slightest of highest orders reeling,
Wound unbound, or as it would be seeming,
Imperfect, even to the disarray
Of the tamest prefect, whose verdict
Could not predict the reflect,
For in this world, seeing is deceiving,
As the lamest reject, defect,
Increasingly decreasing,
In simplistic bliss obey
Crowned unsound fallacies
That contradict all meaning,
Hiding behind reality, the actualities
Lest, protect the thoughtlessness perceiving,
Let me stop you if I may...
I must interject for I digress,
What nonsense was I weaving?
Forget it—I've lost my mind,
I best be leaving,
What more can I say?
It's periodic I must confess,
You probably don't care anyway,
Yeah, yeah, I'll be okay,
Until next time I guess,
I wouldn't want to be misleading.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 10:10 AM UTC
I lack inspiration, when sound does not riddle the causeways of my mind
when echos bounce less around my cranium and more from my lips i find..
solace,
solace in the fact that no longer am i directed from indirect communications but more from the sound i make,
i learnt to grasp the steering wheel in both hands and turn sharp in the corners,
i learnt that without sound echoing through my ears my eyes work with pinpoint accuracy..
i never noticed the way the grass grows over old cobbles..
i never noticed the way my heart beats
the way it skips, and bleats,
i learnt not to be a sheep, but a profit,
a guider to the blind,
don't tell them I'm blind as-well
because it doesn't matter if i can see or i cant
it does not matter if what i say is truth or lies
but if the fiction of my antiquity compels you to lift your heart up
brings joy from the desolation of your mind but to the fore front of the battle field that is your life i have achieved something incredible, I've achieved peace
peace through happiness, joy through inspiration so read on!
read on young soldier,
your broken mind and battle ready battle wounds are bound too tightly by your compassion to conform
take of your bandages and read on! read forwards and on wards and strive to learn, why
why young soldier i know you've never been trained
and i know your mind is ill with discontent and i know your shoes are whittled to your socks and i know
i know how hard it is to stand with two broken legs and only the solace of that barren bare cranium to lean on
but in my antiquity young soldier
i have learnt that we are all warriors
fighters along a broken line standing our ground against greater odds then you could ever conceive of battling...
i know young solider that many will fall and die
and many will perish to broken minds and hearts and souls,
but the ones who make it through this perishable existence, the ones who fight beyond any compassion beyond any reason,
god I've met boys who will tear out each others throats with their teeth I've learnt that men are shells of creatures that have never been fully understood,
my existence has been about
nothing but fighting
and now i have reached an age where i can lay down the rifle of my words, i can leave my blunted knives to rust in a back closet i realized young soldier
the agony of your existence may seem like the end, but its just the start.
and when your reach a point in your life where you can rest,
savor it,
do not let someone tell you how to exist without your consent , do not fight a battle you do not want to fight,
stand your ground young soldier
re-reinforcements are on the way
L.G
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 6:46 PM UTC
I'm not a real person anymore,
You made me fake.
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 1:49 AM UTC
**Everyone have their own
way to express Love
Some are direct and others indirect
Direct will have one direct results
Indirect will have many assumptions
Some how the indirect have some fun**
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 3:07 PM UTC
Bullet-wrapped words
Spill from dangerous mouths,
nonchalantly slurping rumors
from fragile adolescence.
A golden-plated intention
wears a mask of gentle feathers,
but becomes warped with ignorance
and indirect self hatred.
Careless and trivial,
the public twists reality
into sweet butter braids,
melting into an oily confusion
that only small children dare to question.
It is I who asks for something more
and aimlessly wanders varying distance
for reasons unknown,
and I float on words of people
I’ve never heard of,
and follow their fingers as they
carry and steal innocent piano keys,
as if they could truly open locked doors.
Though attempted and failed,
the insignificant longing
trails behind a broken consciousness,
wriggling between the wrinkles of time
and crevasses of awful brain matter,
allowing this to never begin,
never continue,
and never end.
Dec 8, 2011
Dec 8, 2011 at 10:27 AM UTC
Polar opposites, polar opposites, polar opposites.
Because you wouldn’t date someone like you.
In your self-loathing, what feels like an indirect compliment, the first I can remember you giving me in 134 days.
And you admitted we were dating.
Which nearly made me blush.
Sep 4, 2018
Sep 4, 2018 at 12:20 PM UTC
She wants a spark that isn’t there,
that never was, but always burned.
Routine remains in comfort where
love should reside. Two hearts once frost
are made warm when one, and only
joined together when separate.
This truth is implanted to a
girl who is as broken as the lives
she’s left behind. Intentions are
fueled by the hope of a road cleared
ahead of the fallible thick-
et their feet fall on now. Toes are
scarred from entangled roots scattered
the width of the path. To stray is
to stay on course, she says to him.
The fill of a thrill from a chase
already deemed triumphant ball-
oons his wings. He soars in the sky
to rival the eagle. Though ev-
en she cannot ignore the threat
of temptation. Indirect in-
iquities thrive in the life of
the one who began this feat by
fault of suppressed ignorance now
made alive. Infidelity
envelopes their lackluster rel-
ation. They wonder if there ev-
er was anything there at all. A
friendly companionship confused
as love? What is love but a con-
nection between friends. His protests
fall on deaf ears. She has felt the
flames, and they are warm. Their paths are
clear, but not as predicted. In-
to the sunset they walk, between
them another heart, more cold than
the one they shared.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 5:10 PM UTC
Standing Rock
The pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’,
Standing Rock,
is not a photo op,
it’s not a festival,
it’s Indians and Cops,
more correctly,
it’s Native Americans and Corporate Hitmen,
it’s the crossroads,
where environmental defense intersects with big business interests,
it’s getting intense,
water cannons and flash grenades,
mock democracy and a Trump presidency,
military disguised as cops,
and cops disguised as military,
as the original defenders of this land,
continue to make a stand,
at Standing Rock this is not a photo op,
this is indirect imperial tactics meets Direct Action,
highly ironic,
that I write this on Thanksgiving,
the day before Black Friday,
tell me what you do that’s worth livin’,
Quite fitting,
that I’m writing this on Thanksgiving,
a “holiday” in a way,
but really just a heist by villains disguised as pilgrims,
well then,
where does that leave us now,
several hundred years later,
at Standing Rock having a powwow,
how,
have we gotten here,
and how,
as so little changed we’re,
still in this sticky situation,
battling hearts that are as black as oil,
still ******* the blood out of Mother Earth,
still battling Two Headed Serpent Dragon as it coils,
the pipeline is the bloodline,
of an Empirical Two Headed Dragon,
The Divided States of America used to be united,
can someone please tell me what the heck happened,
Standing Rock just might be the last stand for anyone that’s still standin’.
Defendin’,
the Sacred,
with Love,
over Hatred.
Water Is Life.
∆ Aaron La Lux ∆
www.amazon.com/Aaron-La-Lux/e/B00ODPJAOK
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 10:47 AM UTC
I don't love him but he's here and you aren't
And he doesn't ******* hold my hand, all he does is **** me
And god forbid that god forbids you from being near me
Because when I see nothing but headlights and tire tread I think of salvation
I will hold onto you tighter than my father when he came home and told me I'd hate him
We don't speak anymore except about the time you were supposed to kiss me but instead I felt my jaw shatter
And he still wishes his fist could've done the same to yours as a 16th birthday present for me
But I guess you've never liked my voice so why would you wanna hear it
My tongue falls back into my throat like words I've choked on in front of you
If you came back, even as a dream, I would fill half a glass and let you decide if I'm emptier
I have the audacity to think I meant something more to you than to your temper
And I never needed a lighter to play with fire when baby, I had you
I fear fences because the one in my front yard couldn't keep your voice out
I'd gate off my mind but I'm sure I'd still fear January the 1st and I might even miss you
I always loved your hands even when they were breaking me
Even if they've made me flinch at a raised hand or a friendly pat on the back
I ******* hated the roadmaps in your arms because they couldn't guide me out of your grasp
I knew you were dangerous but I was excited by the fear of getting caught with you
I told you, "I am too ******* young."
And I felt more electricity in your fist hitting my cheekbones than I ever had in your lips
Even when I lay my sorrowed mind on his silk sheets I cannot fall asleep anymore
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
It began as an indirect interest
Transformed into a simple acquaintanceship
Quietly building
A little unsure, both hopeful
He watched my favorite movies with me
I wish I could've invented a new word for cuddling; Our bodies fit like puzzle pieces that day
It left me feeling shaky and scared as hell when we finally parted
The first kiss was my favorite part
Not knowing what was going to happen next
I would've sat through thousands of his games
I always said I didn't want to
but I would've helped carry his equipment anywhere, anytime
His left eyebrow always challenged me
Your unshaven jaw always managed to find the perfect place against my cheek
I've never spent that much time on the phone
I can't imagine trying to laugh as quietly as possible in the latest hours of the night with anyone else
I can't describe it
That feeling when everything in the world is just right, because of one person?
That's not what this was
Because it was rarely ever right
This isn't a love poem
Puzzle pieces can't make up for endless arguments
Being ignored all night
Getting adjusted to the fact that "hockey friends" means that he's with his ex-girlfriend
Seeing hand-written letters from her still in his room when I finally gave everything
He was so in the wrong, so why was I being interrogated?
Controlling is not the word I’d use,
I was always given a choice
But what was I supposed to do
When he didn’t like anything I did but all I wanted was to be with him
"I don’t want you to go to that party
"I trust you, I just don’t trust them
"I’ll talk to you after this movie I’m at with all my female friends
"I don’t like how many guy friends you have
"Do you think he’s cute?
"Do you talk to other boys?
"Do you think about other boys?
"Promise?
"Tell me that you promise
"Are you lying?
"Tell me that you’re not lying
"You should tell me all the guys you were into before me
"I don’t like when you talk about your exes
"If you don’t want to argue then just hang up the phone
"Why do you always hang up on me?
"Why are you always mad about nothing?
"Why do you always start arguments?
Everything starts out innocent
But it’s not long before things began their descent
Getting to know people is exciting
Until you start fighting
Liking someone can be the best feeling in the world
But it’s never long before everything becomes unfurled
I’ve always heard that a good relationship takes compromise and hard work
I heard that in a good relationship you have to apologize for what you’ve done wrong
But eventually I was apologizing for everything and it didn’t even take long
So how long do you have to know someone before all the good in your relationship peaks?
How long do you have to know someone before they make a lasting impression?
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 10:54 PM UTC
shouting
LOVE
silently
in most indirect
unmanner
across gaping
expansively
unechoing
carpeted floor
of semi-living room
(soundlessly
she smiles)
Apr 4, 2011
Apr 4, 2011 at 4:50 AM UTC
-4. Know this is the path to a breakup
-3. Try to fix things
-2. Ugly cry in a car because you
know everything has all gone so terribly wrong
-1. Get drunk, get high, smoke something
0. You break up
1. You don't know how to feel
2. Cry into your pillow at night
3. Convince yourself you did the right thing
4. Dream about him
5. Cry more and listen to sad songs
6. Hate being awake
7. Think about posting indirect messages to him
8. Write letters. Lots of them
9. Google what to do
10. Consider taking him back
11. Google why this happened
12. Forget the bad stuff and only remember the good memories
13. Google if it's your fault
14. Talk about him 24/7
15. Make plans to talk to him after a month
16. Lots of quotes saved to your phone
17. Screenshot things that make you laugh too
18. Miss him
19. Be a better friend
20. Binge watch
21. Occasional setbacks
22. Remember that he was an ******* and he made you hurt
23. Talk to other guys
24. Compare them to your ex
25. Start to be see that you're happier
26. See a hopeful future
27. Run into them
28. Feel like the world is crushing you
29. Find out they've been seeing someone else
30. New music playlist, "Moving On" featuring songs about karma and awful exes
31. More writing
32. Throw away his **** delete his photos and number, unfollow him on social media
33. Keep busy
34. Realize this is the end. The for real end
35. It gets easier, and you get stronger
36. If he begged you to come back what would you do?
37. You wouldn't even want him back at this point
38. It's been one month, and you didn't notice like you did when it was 1 week
39. Friends. Friends. Friends.
40. Enjoy being free and doing things for yourself
41. Those songs don't hurt the way they used to
42. Start thinking about other things
43. Feel proud
44. Focus on what's really important to you
45. Keep going
46. Smile
47. ...
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 6:18 AM UTC
1. Look at yourself in the mirror tell yourself this is not your fault
Repeat this step till it is not a lie
2. Gather everything that reminds you of them
Put it in a box, stare at it till it is meaningless
3. Put the box on the curb
1. This is not your fault
4. Delete all pictures of them off your phone, out of your mind, they are just taking up memory
5. You have to erase them from your social media, every picture, every tag, post, indirect, tweet, poke, tbh, every re-post, every message
6. Write every word they have ever spoken to you
7. Burn it
6. Write every lie they have ever screamed at you
7. You have to burn it
1. Look at yourself in the mirror, tell yourself this is not your fault
This cannot be your fault
1. This is not your fault
8. Wear your favorite yellow dress, the one you never felt comfortable enough to wear around them
Sing your favorite song louder than they would ever let you
9 Listen to the sad songs, Adel on repeat, Taylor Swift, every sad song you can think of
You need to cry out the toxicity
10 Fill the gaps in your life with friends, all the people you could never hang out with
Pick up a new hobby, learn how to hem al the pants you have
11 Realize you never loved them, just the idea of them
12 Understand that looking through rose coloured glass red flags don’t look like red flags
1 This has never been you’re fault
You’re starting to realize this has never been your fault
13 Shave off all of your hair
Okay maybe not that extreme but cute your hair short, dye it black, electric blue
Do this for yourself something you’ve always wanted to do
Wear this as a proud sign saying “I’m over you”
0 Realize you’ve found closure
Understanding what happened was half of it
Know that your mind and your body are in the last stages of healing
You’re healing
You have found closure
Nov 22, 2016
Nov 22, 2016 at 10:39 AM UTC
We count cells by manual methods,
Using the counting chamber,
Plating & colony forming unit count.
We let them be counted automatedly,
Using electrical resistance,
Flow cytometry & image analysis.
Then there is this indirect method too,
Using spectrophotometry we count,
Or even by the impedance microbiology.
Dec 19, 2016
Dec 19, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
By: David W. Clare
I sorta knew better but became intrigued at the notion...
It all began with one lonely emotion!
Like a poisoned love potion...
Out of the blue she sent money to the front desk of my flop house hotel deep in the city!
More came later along with promises and lies...
The bellman was asking way too many questions...
I told him it was from an old debt. I bet he saw right through that alibi. He acted shy then the word got out I was a creep, I'm no little Bo Peep!
She and I made plans to meet I was convinced by her intense sense of essence...
She sent **** pictures in the mail, the front desk had opened to inspect!
I suspect an indirect suspicion, the coat-check girl even ran through my pockets stole my coins and matches.
Tough little ***** likes to rant, wants to flaunt her wants my way, asked me to pay for a roll in the hay after she got off work one day...
Then the diabolical debutante went away...
(C) In perpetuity all rights reserved
(P) FilmNoirWorks
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC