"overdoes" poems
what does it mean
to truly give up
is it a toss of a hat
or maybe off with the gloves
hang up that old uniform
for some a skirt
its different upon our ****** features
repulsed by thier smell of ****
no money for food,
to get a ride or date
the road to forgiveness,
some question my faith
who wears shoes on the beach
who taught you how to teach
five years old
everyone dying their head with bleach
we are now to the open gun case
open body
and break down
due to the sadness
give me three more minutes
or this soul feeds madness
medication didnt stop the depression
in clinical therapy
maybe its a head ache
try an aspirin
overdoes 73
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 2:59 AM UTC
Love is a salesman i'll never let in,
Yet he won't go away-
always overdoes his stay.
I offer him a drink or a slice of bread,
He takes it all in as if he's underfed.
Love sells to the ones who dream of much hope.
Building your confidence, fighting your fears,
But when needed seems to be nowhere near.
After all of this time you think one would learn,
Yet for some crazy reason we let love return.
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
The best drug in the world
Are not the ones you inhale,smoke or stick a needle in your arm
It is a drug more addictive then coco
Kills you faster then a overdoes
You can never overdoes it
But it gets you high immediately
When it gets in your system
You can't go to rehab for it
Cause you will keep going back to it
Everyone I know is addicted to it Including me
Somepeople want it so badly
But others are tired of it
Since its been killing them
You wonder what drug this is
Some of you call it
Infatuation,caring,
Being there for someone everyday
But we simply call it love
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 5:58 PM UTC
Morning light, wrinkles sinewy ginger skin as distant bells
Ring of temperate ice and softer shapes. it overdoes the
Oculi, receding from the ostracized mirror.
Sprawling fronds of living illuminated wax, sweats
As hummingbirds flutter, licking clean any sagging
Nectar; molasses colored like sunset cornsilk.
The shades were drawn but i could see.
Spanish moss hung and swayed from your limbs,
Life collecting life, swarmed full with inviting creases.
Steam would not rise here; moisture surrounded moisture.
Dew after rain, dew after night. there would never
Be a season of drought. ginger would wrinkle in the sun
And the bells would muffle as the ice thawed into pools beneath
Our bodies as we slept; as we dreamt. we flooded ourselves
In puddles of imperfect cubes. our tea now, would only be warm.
Taken just like the Queen.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC