"methanol" poems - Hello Poetry

CONFESSIONS OF A DROPOUT: DEAR EDUCATION I am caught up in the ideal world where I breeze through the fast paced life I look back and I see no one not even my own shadow Life dumped me on a rainy day because I wanted to become of this generation I was everything to pretend friends Life seemed worth it with everything but you The drugs, the cars, the money and the alcohol… **** I even drank methanol But when push came to shove I had to grow up By then life had already given me deathly blows that were beyond me Deathly blows that sent me to a dark pit, a dark pit were life ceases to exist God himself knows that I am beyond saving grace since I am a different case Truth be told I dug my own grave Now I am a slave to this burning rage I now believe I am going to rot in this cage Poverty looked and me said when I grow up I want to be like that girl Pain looked at me and shed tears….. Death visited me and renounced its existence So dear education if you ever get this letter know that I send my sincere apologies I wish I could have listened, I wish we could have been friends more I now live a life of regret were I dream of having a ride on death’s train I wish you could take me back but furthermore I pray that you lend me a dying wish Dear education…… please do accept my apologies!

0

Sep 14, 2014

Sep 14, 2014 at 3:10 PM UTC

one-pamela-pusumane

CONFESSIONS OF A DROPOUT: DEAR "EDUCATION"

CONFESSIONS OF A DROPOUT: DEAR EDUCATION I am caught up in the ideal world where I breeze through the fast paced life I look back and I see no one not even my own shadow Life dumped me on a rainy day because I wanted to become of this generation I was everything to pretend friends Life seemed worth it with everything but you The drugs, the cars, the money and the alcohol… **** I even drank methanol But when push came to shove I had to grow up By then life had already given me deathly blows that were beyond me Deathly blows that sent me to a dark pit, a dark pit were life ceases to exist God himself knows that I am beyond saving grace since I am a different case Truth be told I dug my own grave Now I am a slave to this burning rage I now believe I am going to rot in this cage Poverty looked and me said when I grow up I want to be like that girl Pain looked at me and shed tears….. Death visited me and renounced its existence So dear education if you ever get this letter know that I send my sincere apologies I wish I could have listened, I wish we could have been friends more I now live a life of regret were I dream of having a ride on death’s train I wish you could take me back but furthermore I pray that you lend me a dying wish Dear education…… please do accept my apologies!

21

*It's optional Like the fading of skies Early, wild, or remorseful. All the impalpable space in the lights Scaled in weighty gilt and curls The locks and gold of sun, early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket. Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain- an imagery commence to carouse into planet deep. A promenade atop the tulle of skies, an optional way to live. Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple Where there are options to live, to bleed. Like the lurid sunrise sifting on yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed like granulated sugar Oh the taste of chemistry on the shea butter candles. It's sanguine and optional, your farewells on laden calendars of poems A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames A cadaver veined in pink, bearing plethora of methanol down pulverising bone.*

0

Jun 27, 2014

Jun 27, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC

pachyderm-the-clare

The cadaver

*It's optional Like the fading of skies Early, wild, or remorseful. All the impalpable space in the lights Scaled in weighty gilt and curls The locks and gold of sun, early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket. Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain- an imagery commence to carouse into planet deep. A promenade atop the tulle of skies, an optional way to live. Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple Where there are options to live, to bleed. Like the lurid sunrise sifting on yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed like granulated sugar Oh the taste of chemistry on the shea butter candles. It's sanguine and optional, your farewells on laden calendars of poems A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames A cadaver veined in pink, bearing plethora of methanol down pulverising bone.*

29

Prohibition came, but not to Whiskey Hill. A man has got to eat; a drunk must have his fill. Old Abner dug a basement before fall Beneath the milking barn at night; Dug down and mortared up a wall; Bought copper sheets and hammer-fit 'em tight, Disguised his vent holes in the stall By countersinking posts to keep them out of sight. Set down a trapdoor and a sturdy stair, Strawed the lot and penned up his old mare. In all he did, he didn't tell his wife a thing; He reasoned there was money to be made... More than the crops would ever bring, More than the eggs the chickens laid, He'd be enriched by moonshine in the spring. He learned to ferment mash from an old book, Soaked down a bag of corn and let it sprout, Waited twelve full days before he took a look, Cracked kernels, poured on water, boiling hot, Then pitched the yeast and left his hidden nook, And all the while kept his mouth shut; Seven days and Sunday passing by, Old Ab could wait no more; Ate supper quick and told his wife He'd one more feeding chore... Stole to the barn and shoo'ed the mare aside, Pulled up the vent posts from the floor, Climbed down and lit a fire inside Beneath the still to let the vapors soar. A thrill began as drops began to fill the jug; The fore-shot blended in as Ab forgot That methanol would poison off the slug, So when a shot he took, his breathing stopped. Above, impatient Molly stamped, then paced Hungrily in her pen, shoved to reach her hay And dropped the standards in their place, Plugged tight the vents, above where Abner lay. When Hildy woke, her husband still was out; She walked down to the barn, no sign to see; And thought it odd the horse was out... The cattle lowing hungrily for feed. The sheriff came to have a look; No luck had he, Old Hildy sold the place and moved away. Where she went and how remains a mystery. A cousin bought the place: house and barn and still (unseen). His sons, exploring, found old Abner in the spring Beneath the horse's paddock where he lay.

0

Feb 10, 2013

Feb 10, 2013 at 1:40 AM UTC

don-bouchard

Whiskey Hill

Prohibition came, but not to Whiskey Hill. A man has got to eat; a drunk must have his fill. Old Abner dug a basement before fall Beneath the milking barn at night; Dug down and mortared up a wall; Bought copper sheets and hammer-fit 'em tight, Disguised his vent holes in the stall By countersinking posts to keep them out of sight. Set down a trapdoor and a sturdy stair, Strawed the lot and penned up his old mare. In all he did, he didn't tell his wife a thing; He reasoned there was money to be made... More than the crops would ever bring, More than the eggs the chickens laid, He'd be enriched by moonshine in the spring. He learned to ferment mash from an old book, Soaked down a bag of corn and let it sprout, Waited twelve full days before he took a look, Cracked kernels, poured on water, boiling hot, Then pitched the yeast and left his hidden nook, And all the while kept his mouth shut; Seven days and Sunday passing by, Old Ab could wait no more; Ate supper quick and told his wife He'd one more feeding chore... Stole to the barn and shoo'ed the mare aside, Pulled up the vent posts from the floor, Climbed down and lit a fire inside Beneath the still to let the vapors soar. A thrill began as drops began to fill the jug; The fore-shot blended in as Ab forgot That methanol would poison off the slug, So when a shot he took, his breathing stopped. Above, impatient Molly stamped, then paced Hungrily in her pen, shoved to reach her hay And dropped the standards in their place, Plugged tight the vents, above where Abner lay. When Hildy woke, her husband still was out; She walked down to the barn, no sign to see; And thought it odd the horse was out... The cattle lowing hungrily for feed. The sheriff came to have a look; No luck had he, Old Hildy sold the place and moved away. Where she went and how remains a mystery. A cousin bought the place: house and barn and still (unseen). His sons, exploring, found old Abner in the spring Beneath the horse's paddock where he lay.

48

Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance! From roses to doses, They did, they do and are done watering roses with alcohol. Since I was conceived my blood is that much of methanol and that disturbs my devotion. She had turned her womb, my temporary home into an ocean of ***** From which i was swimming in whisky, As much as this is risky, I was sleeping on bedrums. At times I woul'd feel drums booming such that my heart skips beats, But still pump methanol, my source of oxygen. She had turned her womb into a savannah biome, My life was dry but still i survived. What a beautiful galaxy within which I existed? Made of Heineken stars and clip drift ropes, That keeps on drifting and leaves me tipsy! Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance! I wonder if Black labels is the reason i am black? If my birth in autumn would be ascribed to autumn harvest? Only lucky Brandy is my name, rather than smin off spin. Like a stranger in his own element, For my first foot steps I waddled, twisted and turned. For my first blood test, mother came back in mascara ***** tears Not because I was positive neither negative but alcoholic. my blood is invalid, that is the product of the woman in ***** Like a bouncing putty, i can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance!

0

Oct 22, 2014

Oct 22, 2014 at 9:56 AM UTC

sibusisoxtdo-gama

I was born tipsy

Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance! From roses to doses, They did, they do and are done watering roses with alcohol. Since I was conceived my blood is that much of methanol and that disturbs my devotion. She had turned her womb, my temporary home into an ocean of ***** From which i was swimming in whisky, As much as this is risky, I was sleeping on bedrums. At times I woul'd feel drums booming such that my heart skips beats, But still pump methanol, my source of oxygen. She had turned her womb into a savannah biome, My life was dry but still i survived. What a beautiful galaxy within which I existed? Made of Heineken stars and clip drift ropes, That keeps on drifting and leaves me tipsy! Like a bouncing putty, I can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance! I wonder if Black labels is the reason i am black? If my birth in autumn would be ascribed to autumn harvest? Only lucky Brandy is my name, rather than smin off spin. Like a stranger in his own element, For my first foot steps I waddled, twisted and turned. For my first blood test, mother came back in mascara ***** tears Not because I was positive neither negative but alcoholic. my blood is invalid, that is the product of the woman in ***** Like a bouncing putty, i can still bounce. Look at me, I can dance. I am not drunk, Just only a bit tipsy, I am chemically off balance!

36

I'm telling you I love you You're not saying a thing but I ******* love you I keep finding blood on my sheets *but I ******* love you* And I haven't been sober since the day you left I don't think I've been sober since the day we met Because whether you're staying or going, you're always leaving bruises You're always leaving Tell me how this game works; You're the one with bullets for teeth but I'd do anything to be your target if it meant you'd call me back I bled at the boarder of life and death for you because I couldn't think of a time without your violence I hate you the most on the days that I don't And I hate that I want you back I'm still wounded and healing but I just want you back I'm telling you I love you You're not saying a thing *but I ******* love you*

0

Jan 14, 2016

Jan 14, 2016 at 1:42 PM UTC

kaylene-nel

Methanol

I'm telling you I love you You're not saying a thing but I ******* love you I keep finding blood on my sheets *but I ******* love you* And I haven't been sober since the day you left I don't think I've been sober since the day we met Because whether you're staying or going, you're always leaving bruises You're always leaving Tell me how this game works; You're the one with bullets for teeth but I'd do anything to be your target if it meant you'd call me back I bled at the boarder of life and death for you because I couldn't think of a time without your violence I hate you the most on the days that I don't And I hate that I want you back I'm still wounded and healing but I just want you back I'm telling you I love you You're not saying a thing *but I ******* love you*

27

One’s mind will buzz And your stomach a-boil. In the time we took to drink One took the same to reach the sink And even though your mind did toil It will always merely come back to a fuzz. And once set upon disaster, The body reacting as if it is scared, You will see it lynch your mind, Turn you around and cause you to bind. Act now, teeth are still bared. One will survive it ever after. Down the bottle in a devious clear glass. Time equivocates all that is true. It was a time to remember that I forgot. It lasts an era in space spanning a spot. The curved figure likes waterloo And there will be nothing apart from the glass. The time I’m spending brooding Will be nothing but a bagatelle. For it amounted to nothing And I sat hoping for something. But I am never going to be versatile; For example: The smudging is from my drooling.

0

May 30, 2011

May 30, 2011 at 2:41 PM UTC

sue-dunhym

Methanol

One’s mind will buzz And your stomach a-boil. In the time we took to drink One took the same to reach the sink And even though your mind did toil It will always merely come back to a fuzz. And once set upon disaster, The body reacting as if it is scared, You will see it lynch your mind, Turn you around and cause you to bind. Act now, teeth are still bared. One will survive it ever after. Down the bottle in a devious clear glass. Time equivocates all that is true. It was a time to remember that I forgot. It lasts an era in space spanning a spot. The curved figure likes waterloo And there will be nothing apart from the glass. The time I’m spending brooding Will be nothing but a bagatelle. For it amounted to nothing And I sat hoping for something. But I am never going to be versatile; For example: The smudging is from my drooling.

24

Methanol You were two-faced like most people, and that hasn't changed, but I have... You will be disappointed to learn I am not wasteful with my loyalty anymore.

0

Jan 10, 2017

Jan 10, 2017 at 7:38 AM UTC

crimsyy

Vīgintī Novem

Methanol You were two-faced like most people, and that hasn't changed, but I have... You will be disappointed to learn I am not wasteful with my loyalty anymore.

8

Methanol I was a bandage which you ripped off as soon as your wounds were healed, because I was loyal and what a mistake that was because I can't be anything else, except what lies on the opposite end of the spectrum; completely detached and indifferent. Maddening methanol, blinding me with your impurity, but now I see what a fraud you were. "Losing" you didn't injure me, your absence didn't sink its teeth into me; you were sour as sudden abandonment, I was more than glad to be rid of you.

0

Jan 2, 2017

Jan 2, 2017 at 8:08 AM UTC

crimsyy

Novem

Methanol I was a bandage which you ripped off as soon as your wounds were healed, because I was loyal and what a mistake that was because I can't be anything else, except what lies on the opposite end of the spectrum; completely detached and indifferent. Maddening methanol, blinding me with your impurity, but now I see what a fraud you were. "Losing" you didn't injure me, your absence didn't sink its teeth into me; you were sour as sudden abandonment, I was more than glad to be rid of you.

22

Despaired, impaired, scared of my past ways, can't seem to get away from crime, sorry to say mamma, even though I know you pray for me each and every single day. Gun shots, drugs, ***** money flowing through the streets, crime is the only way a family like mine can stay on their feet. If only life could be like Neverland but it seems like the creator had different plans for us; man. Brother apart of the gang called the crip, sitter prostitutes on 5th avenue, cops payed off by the higher ups, don't have no safety kit. Getting so jaded by the land that I have been based in, feel caved in, no place to be saved in, because this is the land of demons. City of sin, where no wins, we submit to the higher powers whim. Puppets we all must fall in line, no hope in the city of crime, are we out of time? No time at all for us dusty broken porcelain dolls, as long as we high on the methanol, steal that million dollar car make sure it filled with petrol. Sell it on the black market because some one will buy it, and if we get caught we deny it.

0

Feb 3, 2016

Feb 3, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC

ClassyJ

Desperation in the Streets

Despaired, impaired, scared of my past ways, can't seem to get away from crime, sorry to say mamma, even though I know you pray for me each and every single day. Gun shots, drugs, ***** money flowing through the streets, crime is the only way a family like mine can stay on their feet. If only life could be like Neverland but it seems like the creator had different plans for us; man. Brother apart of the gang called the crip, sitter prostitutes on 5th avenue, cops payed off by the higher ups, don't have no safety kit. Getting so jaded by the land that I have been based in, feel caved in, no place to be saved in, because this is the land of demons. City of sin, where no wins, we submit to the higher powers whim. Puppets we all must fall in line, no hope in the city of crime, are we out of time? No time at all for us dusty broken porcelain dolls, as long as we high on the methanol, steal that million dollar car make sure it filled with petrol. Sell it on the black market because some one will buy it, and if we get caught we deny it.

1

To be buried due to old age Is a dream I take for granted Allow children time to assuage Not to join blanketed by the planet Age, a privilege not given to all Genocide before nightfall Malnutrition at the mess hall Drugs calling souls to awol Avarice causes many to fall From buildings so so tall methanol, cannon ***** alcohol Death dealers always on the call But to be buried due to old age Is a dream I take for granite tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

0

Aug 7, 2018

Aug 7, 2018 at 3:45 PM UTC

EvilShredder

Age Privilege

To be buried due to old age Is a dream I take for granted Allow children time to assuage Not to join blanketed by the planet Age, a privilege not given to all Genocide before nightfall Malnutrition at the mess hall Drugs calling souls to awol Avarice causes many to fall From buildings so so tall methanol, cannon ***** alcohol Death dealers always on the call But to be buried due to old age Is a dream I take for granite tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

19

I am not apart of my body And I'm not apart of my mind These places aren't real and neither am I- I find comfort in this feeling, oddly satisfied. I fade away forgetting the pain Stuck in this haze I can't seem to reciprocate a single conversation Slipping away they think my fate is seldom at the devil's gate But truly I am just dissociating away. I can't seem to remember what it was they hated But I no longer feel the weight of all that's been done to me Spinning freely away from your gaze. My memory is stuck. Someone took a key and locked it up and these painful thoughts seep through the bars causing me to feel ajar, I feel panicked I feel disgusted. The pain I thought I hid from is now being digested. Piece by piece get it back in tiny parts, float away and forget the pain please protect my heart. I can't seem to remember what it was you've done to me, but I know in my bones, my body never felt like home, because it was you who had injected me and infected me, with your sick sticky specimen, locked up in your basement den, ruining my mind teaching me to fly. My head is nearly leaking methanol disguise my self hide it all. I believe I'm a doctor I know I can prescribe it all myself. Self medicated nose full of Xanax lines i can't seem to get inside my head. Heart is bursting out my chest, lungs are full of cigarettes, God It was such a mess I loved it. The chaos he created, made me replicate it, a cycle of doom there's so many men in my room, who am I anymore? Front view right above myself just so I can watch my body rotting. This self destructive part of me is so **** exhausting. How come no one sees my cries how come no one saves me from these lies. Im feeling lonely. Each person came and took a awfully big piece of me I'm starting to fall apart so easily. Sixteen years feels like too much. When all you've felt is enough The cold bitter wind just let this be the end of me, so maybe I can float away for real this once instead of in my mind I can't make it this time. The goddess in the wind, kissed me tenderly and told me it's time to win. I felt the warmth and I started to sing, that's when I turned 18 and you gave me a ring, we rebuild all the parts they broke together, and while I may still float away, my angel boy is there to catch me when the wind blows me too far away, slowly and tenderly wrapping my torn heart in his arms, He saved me.

0

Feb 11, 2025

Feb 11, 2025 at 2:22 AM UTC

Pixiiboo

Borderline half dead

I am not apart of my body And I'm not apart of my mind These places aren't real and neither am I- I find comfort in this feeling, oddly satisfied. I fade away forgetting the pain Stuck in this haze I can't seem to reciprocate a single conversation Slipping away they think my fate is seldom at the devil's gate But truly I am just dissociating away. I can't seem to remember what it was they hated But I no longer feel the weight of all that's been done to me Spinning freely away from your gaze. My memory is stuck. Someone took a key and locked it up and these painful thoughts seep through the bars causing me to feel ajar, I feel panicked I feel disgusted. The pain I thought I hid from is now being digested. Piece by piece get it back in tiny parts, float away and forget the pain please protect my heart. I can't seem to remember what it was you've done to me, but I know in my bones, my body never felt like home, because it was you who had injected me and infected me, with your sick sticky specimen, locked up in your basement den, ruining my mind teaching me to fly. My head is nearly leaking methanol disguise my self hide it all. I believe I'm a doctor I know I can prescribe it all myself. Self medicated nose full of Xanax lines i can't seem to get inside my head. Heart is bursting out my chest, lungs are full of cigarettes, God It was such a mess I loved it. The chaos he created, made me replicate it, a cycle of doom there's so many men in my room, who am I anymore? Front view right above myself just so I can watch my body rotting. This self destructive part of me is so **** exhausting. How come no one sees my cries how come no one saves me from these lies. Im feeling lonely. Each person came and took a awfully big piece of me I'm starting to fall apart so easily. Sixteen years feels like too much. When all you've felt is enough The cold bitter wind just let this be the end of me, so maybe I can float away for real this once instead of in my mind I can't make it this time. The goddess in the wind, kissed me tenderly and told me it's time to win. I felt the warmth and I started to sing, that's when I turned 18 and you gave me a ring, we rebuild all the parts they broke together, and while I may still float away, my angel boy is there to catch me when the wind blows me too far away, slowly and tenderly wrapping my torn heart in his arms, He saved me.

22

Methanol You were my first secret handshake but handshakes are history, why should I befriend a snake, when I could avoid the misery? I'm not imploding from the pain of having no real closure, no need for guilt to build my heart a terrain over your lack of composure. The smiles you saw after I pulled the trigger, after my deed, were a symptom of no remorse, no blister for plucking power out of a ****

0

Jan 6, 2017

Jan 6, 2017 at 11:32 PM UTC

crimsyy

Vīgintī Ūnus

Methanol You were my first secret handshake but handshakes are history, why should I befriend a snake, when I could avoid the misery? I'm not imploding from the pain of having no real closure, no need for guilt to build my heart a terrain over your lack of composure. The smiles you saw after I pulled the trigger, after my deed, were a symptom of no remorse, no blister for plucking power out of a ****

16

Our dreams alive, in three songs You looking to get ****** in the arms of what's going on Touch about the reality, of the great good of the hearts of the nosegay I took a nosedive, or the opened up fire of the circle's curlicue Hells burning and sings, and burns the throat of supernatural sordid affairs of the singed dresses, lips quiver and nape the murmurs, closer to your party girl Listening to the parallelogram lights of nadirs on the cream drop, on the trap, ******* stint rest are we Sleeping with the nocturne-blonde, wheelchair on the cannibal dynamo of the change looking in product elitism, sold out before they knew they were buying war You're a bit inside, further into my ferried heart on the wheels of fire of the crossroads of the good, The hoods out, the special affair sounds like a girl, the number of the pocket Of the ashcans on Wednesday, so smart about your Hakagaw bows, open doors to my cellar in speakeasies and tensions On the phone calls, in the terse rhyme sin, the sails determination of confessing our love, in the strong live in the heart of years that do not have any limitation and have no learned lessons, See tomorrow's is the night that's alive, it's the midsummer's daydream and the midnight cauterized midriff How do we sell it, and the trench warfare in the solidarity of the streams of dresses in steaming stowaway, maybe we good we have mister magic selling the war in a handful of stardust Shadow rises in that pass as years go by Shadow is a pejorative term for copies of running on hurt looks in open books of minds, we have our own wars in piled plasticine in methanol, hydrogen prologue of the helium Time throws us into the year in the complete word that completes me, and I'm a bit nicer I'm so lost, I'm a bit nicer Deep sarcasm in the classroom The winners have become bad, and no one cares about the losers What does it mean? I'm not telling you my stories

0

Aug 22, 2019

Aug 22, 2019 at 10:11 PM UTC

aditya-roy

Selling War

Our dreams alive, in three songs You looking to get ****** in the arms of what's going on Touch about the reality, of the great good of the hearts of the nosegay I took a nosedive, or the opened up fire of the circle's curlicue Hells burning and sings, and burns the throat of supernatural sordid affairs of the singed dresses, lips quiver and nape the murmurs, closer to your party girl Listening to the parallelogram lights of nadirs on the cream drop, on the trap, ******* stint rest are we Sleeping with the nocturne-blonde, wheelchair on the cannibal dynamo of the change looking in product elitism, sold out before they knew they were buying war You're a bit inside, further into my ferried heart on the wheels of fire of the crossroads of the good, The hoods out, the special affair sounds like a girl, the number of the pocket Of the ashcans on Wednesday, so smart about your Hakagaw bows, open doors to my cellar in speakeasies and tensions On the phone calls, in the terse rhyme sin, the sails determination of confessing our love, in the strong live in the heart of years that do not have any limitation and have no learned lessons, See tomorrow's is the night that's alive, it's the midsummer's daydream and the midnight cauterized midriff How do we sell it, and the trench warfare in the solidarity of the streams of dresses in steaming stowaway, maybe we good we have mister magic selling the war in a handful of stardust Shadow rises in that pass as years go by Shadow is a pejorative term for copies of running on hurt looks in open books of minds, we have our own wars in piled plasticine in methanol, hydrogen prologue of the helium Time throws us into the year in the complete word that completes me, and I'm a bit nicer I'm so lost, I'm a bit nicer Deep sarcasm in the classroom The winners have become bad, and no one cares about the losers What does it mean? I'm not telling you my stories

19

lately life feels like an invisible fire, doused in methanol, hot on my heels. so, Vigiles, lay into me a firebreak, right down my spine, quench the fiery blood. make me a dormant hearth full of cinder, promise me to colder nights. just don't forget to bring a match, bring the spark to my thatch.

0

Jan 5, 2025

Jan 5, 2025 at 5:47 PM UTC

cyclops

methanol fire

lately life feels like an invisible fire, doused in methanol, hot on my heels. so, Vigiles, lay into me a firebreak, right down my spine, quench the fiery blood. make me a dormant hearth full of cinder, promise me to colder nights. just don't forget to bring a match, bring the spark to my thatch.

10