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"lokos" poems
Bike videos, you love em so And we'd sit on the couch Right across the street, you and me And last year surreal Your eyes never looked so different So blue, blueboy What happened to your voice? My brown boots I could never say no to you Drinking four lokos on the carpet Kissin in the toolshed I remember those tall tall sunflowers They died and took you with them **** so sunny back then
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Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Jodie's Sunflowers
I make trips to the corner store, at 12 in the morning. Calling all cars to get the **** out of the road, I'm swerving. Calling all lights, blink and be gone. Streetlights, stoplights, lamps, lighters, blunt tips, cigarette butts, all lights be gone. Dear Earth, get low in the darkness. On my first trip, I was accosted by rabid dogs who drooled shoelaces and I could tell they were being hounded by the kilter of their angry maws and sawed-off minds. They barked like guns. And they saw me--completely irrelevant--- popping caps off Lokos taking sips that could **** up an Orca, completely swimming. I had to kick them home. At work today, Someone got caught stealing five pesos worth of food, and got threatened with a felony, but they've got some lint in their pocket, and knew how to keep it cool. My girlfriend operates in ideas. I've been at work for so long, that I yell and walk around, like I'm in the shower.
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Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 10:35 AM UTC
Uniform displeasure with life.
Newport packs, 4 lokos, and beer. Loud music so we both can hear. **** talking and goofy laughing.   The best feel, we had ever been lacking. I look at you and you look at me. Next thing you know... *** in the back seat. "Can't let you go" by Fabulous The way you made me feel. So tremendous   I'm screaming from my throat And moaning from my lung You hold me down And made it hurt til it stung I scratch your back You pull my hair I bite my lip You stare me down. I *** you *** We both wake up.. What the **** had we just done?
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Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
Drunk Love
I don’t think about us too often anymore I don’t think about the night at the clubhouse where I dared you to kiss me I don’t think about the nights we stayed up late in my living room while my mom was on vacation I don’t think about how we were up late waiting together, pacing, waiting for our SAT scores to come out I don’t think about the adventures on the beach and the party at your house where I almost lost my virginity to your best friend I don’t think about how I was always your second choice next to her I don’t think about the times we visited college campuses together and you cried in my arms on the pier in St. Augustine I don’t think about how we got drunk on four lokos and had *** even though your mom was in the next room I don’t think about how we didn’t talk for two years when you left for college and moved away from me I don’t think about how when you came back to visit we met up in the mid afternoons for summery, hot, sweaty hook ups I don’t think about when we would roll down the windows in my bedroom and get high at 1 in the morning I don’t think about how we grew up and still ended up meeting up years later to connect I don't think about how we were mid twenties and still harbored so much love for each other I don’t think about none of that, no not at all But I get a taste of that fiery and ****** cinnamon flavored Fireball and it all comes rushing back like a punch in my face
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Jan 17, 2018
Jan 17, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
Fireball