"refilling" poems
do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,
she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.
she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.
she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.
she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
somewhere between the fourth and fifth
load of laundry,
sometime after breakfast~lunch,
now served in the USA at home,
as an all day meal, per the edict of Mcdonalds,
start fixing dinner, take a break, walk to the mailbox,
retrieve the post and quick retreat back inside,
ah that Texas sun, bilingual chili hot,
toss the unopened on the prior weeks pile,
cause everyone loves company
the home-cold-brewed ice coffee needs a filling
for the fridge has decided not to help
by automatically refilling the pitcher
even if it could
I, busy folding,
needing two hands
and all my teeth
for folding my master’s rocket ship
sheets
my master observes with one of his alternating demeanors,
this one, super silent watching, announcing that I need a nap:
*“don't you always say, baby,
take a nap when you can, baby,
for when you need one, baby,
you probably won’t be able, my baby”*
with selected-hand-led fingers,
he lays me down to sleep,
bids me to slow slide to dreamland, dinner will keep,
curling inside my frame, hands a-cupping my *******
telling me a drowsy tale, inherited from his mother’s womb
and his granddaddy’s tongue, mindful of his family’s history
there, is where, they find us,
dinner fixings burnt,
me and my five year old baby boy,
still sleeping fast, around 5pm, bodies enwrapped,
tied by blood and entwined in old nursery rhymes,
Texas tall tales of Pecos Bill,
me and my very own
nap-ster master
<•>
p.s. and they call me by my other name to wake me, momma
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:14 PM UTC
To a point
We over promise too much of ourselves.
In spite of how high we value ourself,
We actively listen in effort.
Refilling how much of ourselves we spill.
I am not ashamed to admit that at times I need help.
But it is in these times where I fully understand.
That there won't be another you.
You smile and help me realize that I never want to lose
any piece of you.
Stopping the spill to see how much you effect me.
In reaction to a sudden action of silence.
Most beloved.
It is especially important.
Where we don't have to prove anything to each other.
Just knowing that you are there is enough.
Just know that your love is enough.
It is in these moments.
I stop to think.
Where would I be without you.
Unimaginable
Sep 24, 2018
Sep 24, 2018 at 3:20 PM UTC
Gathered pieces of a great puzzle ;
refreshed perspective like ocean riptides
foment at the confluence collecting dark rivers’ flow
Repurposing back-eddies ,
rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters ,
inherent buried soul-shine purging
from the ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the hidden depths
of inner stillness as if a refilling wellspring
burst forth , reawakening muted sighs unspoken
Forming poetic constellations of black and bright
to lighten afar the nebulous darkness ,
a sea of swirling ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
by the muse of a migrating flock ,
striving to discover new sacred grounds ;
yet there is an undeniable song sung
in the howling winds of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
that empowers a restoration of spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves
of summoning winds ,
arousing that which time erases
A manifest renaissance
among the rousing nuances
of poetic continuum ,
judicious to rediscover
the enthralling vastitude
of every breaking wave
in a boundless sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
stir oceans of verse eternal ;
provoking a verve revival ,
the magnitude of an unbroken circle ,
ocean swells merging singularity
with the omnipresent colour
of uncharted depths
As if thoughts are assuaged
by a union of intimately touching souls
with words of intangible spheres ,
sparking subtle shades of meaning
spanning poetic immortality
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
to manifest the immensity,
enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
harvested from the tree of humankind ,
willingly sharing without regret nor intention ,
with deference to the soul of one-blood,
one-love enabling an enlightening
metamorphosis of the human journey ...
© harlon rivers ... all rights reserved
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 11:48 AM UTC
There Is A Reason ihop Is Open 24 Hours A Day.
It's Like A MmMmMm. Pancakes!
Like A Mouth Watering & The Sound Of Fork Scraping Plate, Kind Of Morning, Isn't It?
Sunny Saturday Morning In April, With NPR Playing Over The Radio, And The Sound Of Bacon Sizzling, Kind Of Morning.
Take It From Me.
Watched A Heavy Hearted Seventeen Year Old Sister, Ask For Breakfast Ar Midnight, And The Hours Spent Talking Away Her Heart Ache With Mom Was Just A Side Effect Of The Full Stomach.
Stumble Into This.
With Bloodshot Eyes, And Ripped Up Jeans, 5am And Hung Over.
The Waitress Will Always Take Care Of You.
It's Like Her Duty, Along Side Taking Orders And Refilling Empty Coke Glasses, She'll Serve You
Blackberry,
Blueberry,
Chocolate Chip,
Strawberry Strung,
Bananas,
And Whip Cream Shaped Like A Smiley Face,
Without Any Questions Asked.
Pancakes Are The Breakfast Of Champions. So You Remember This. Your Fork And Knife Battle Weapon, Ready To Turn This 15 Minute Meal Into A Valiant Reawakening.
And Remember You Are King Today.
Staff And Stone, And No One Can Destroy You.
Eat Up, And Be Strong.
Smile.
I Dare You.
Lick Your Fingers, And Ask For Seconds.
This Is Life, And Asking For Another Helping Has Never Been A Bad Thing.
Bite Your Tongue, Drink Back This Moment. I'd Ask You To Taste It, If Your Mouths Weren't Already Full.
I Know, There Will Be Tequila &Wine; Bottles You'll Try To Drown Yourself In.
But I've Learned Something Sticky Sweet Seems To Heal The Broken Edges Just A Little Better.
Daddy Always Said There Was A Reason The Light On The 'Waffle House' Sign Never Went Out. A Warm Plate & A Smile Is Sometimes All You Need To Make A Place Home.
The Next Time You Get Offered Pancakes, Consider It A Token Of Appreciation.
Always Say Yes.
Even If You're Not Hungry.
Take A Bite. You Won't Regret It.
I Promise.
May 13, 2013
May 13, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
they hit you everywhere,
bruises, slow faders,
pretty much all over,
spaced out, body and time
some, they come back,
months, years later,
enticing, devising,
with revelations perfect,
you melt with helpfulness
some claim they are born
with only questions and an
insatiable quest for knowing,
but line in the soil tween rows
is there for you not to cross
some proffer their pain,
asking for ablution and absolution,
from demons they wish to share,
but refusing the smoke of my offering,
that could cleanse both our inhalations
like highway men of yore,
they hit everyone, below the belt,
stave breaking into the heart,
slow bleeding, with answers
received in absentia and silence
until the till needs refilling, and they
renewed, reappear, reformed, with
perfect words, even better questions:
my portfolio of replies mostly go/grow
old, noting the obvious, we are socially
distance by age and geography and
degree, I free and clear to provide while
they just free to hit and run, one more time
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 9:11 PM UTC
It's on them nights I drink alone. Find myself thinking of home. These beers bottle bones empty and shatter. Liquor lung sigh. Chest heavy like a white trash wind chime. Like a six pack of bud ice hanging from some fishing line. Hear them low notes bouncing of the lips in the wind. And maybe you worry, but **** I'm fine to drive. And on those days when my gut isn't a gas tank for beer refilling at a pity party pit stop, I drive on love. Write love poems on phones before the ***** knocks me out. And sure, maybe my love makes as much sense as the words I slurr. And maybe my love is as unique as the crackheads needle in the haystack, but I'll still love you serious as a heart attack. Like a stroke... of genius... an epiphany about the realness of God. That maybe the story is flawed, but you're welcome to believe. And maybe I'm drunk right now, but I never meant to deceive. So kiss me with your break lights, while a pray to the slow light that I can live life like an old man feeding birds on a bench in the park. Got nothing else on his mind... just love... you maybe. And whatever you might think. I promise. I'm fine to drive
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 4:32 AM UTC
As if I’m going to wash my sins,
by finding a substance so viscous - to annihilate the acid
that seeps through me.
Perhaps it’s you refilling my first glass,
which is dried up by 11,
and replenished by 5 past.
Must I keep forcing it down my refusing gut,
so I can bare the stutter drooling,
crumbling, out your teeth.
Till I’ve sipped needlessly on your lies
and fell drunken on your delusional fables.
Now I’m slurring in my nights,
awoke, still high on your acid.
Eyes are bulging, bloodshot
from you firing bullets of your decaying burden.
-
As I walk I stumble,
diverging around solum streets.
Crows peck at my skin, to prompt me at sunrise.
Now and again I revisit
the morsels I had collected from the bottom of your chalice.
Savouring as I gulp down my regret.
Desperately urging to be hungover your reveries
one last time.
Apr 11, 2018
Apr 11, 2018 at 7:01 PM UTC
She scooted along the checkerboard floor
collecting ***** plates
& refilling sweet teas.
I placed a double-order of fish tacos
& sat right next to the buffet of hot sauces
just to watch her toss her brown hair about
from under her pink pussycat hat
& lithe body covered
in delicious ink
& piercings.
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
It's the nonesense that haunts me. The bits drifting in that don't add up. I'm gagging on the bits, it's killing me.
I am all the far flung dreams in me, the hopes that drive the need in me, the need to wake. Motivated.
I'm draining out the ***** water, refilling from purer streams. I'm working my way from right to left, pulling levers. Pressure's building, dust sifting from my imagination. I'm driving myself forward, pain no longer a distraction. The bits of me not fitting, will be drifting. I'm moving off, sailing out into the galactic tide, all the valence specks, frozen in space.
I am an extension, the ultimate manifestation, the unending arm of the universe. I am the cosmic Katana.
Aug 19, 2010
Aug 19, 2010 at 9:35 AM UTC
I know a girl who won't give up.
The strongest woman in the world.
She will smile
Without biting her tongue.
She will laugh
Without sadness on her lips.
She will soar
She will fly
In time---
Every single night.
She pains.
She pains.
She dies,
time
til
time
in every single
drawing breath.
Needlessly.
She cracks.
She wounds.
She breaks.
She scars.
Scarily.
Killing herself
Just to fall asleep...
Before she prays.
Makeup---
She pains.
She pains.
Yet she stands.
She tires.
She tries.
Makeup---
She smiles.
Fractured.
Yet still smiles.
Tearless.
Wearless.
Tireless.
But not painless.
Makeup---
She talks.
She pains.
She smiles.
Makeup---
She walks.
She pains.
She runs.
Makeup---
She's strong,
yet her strength
it needs refilling.
For she stands,
it aches,
yet still she has,
anaesthesia.
Makeup---
She succeeds.
Yet it pains,
walking away.
Makeu---
She goes home
Alone.
It hurts.
It hurts.
Yet she drives.
Make---
Cooks food.
Instant made.
It burns.
It burns.
Yet she eats.
Mak---
Brushes her teeth
Looks at a mirror
Seeing herself,
Smudges.
Blurs.
And yet she still
has the power
to close her eyes.
Ma---
And she lies on her bed.
With all the pain in the world.
She doesn't even
have to wash off
the makeup on her face,
she just cries it off...
M---
Before she prays.
Just to fall asleep...
Killing herself
Scarily.
She scars.
She breaks.
She wounds.
She cracks.
Needlessly.
Drawing breath
in every single
time
til
time
She dies
She pains.
She pains.
Every single night.
In time
She will fly.
She will soar.
Without sadness on her lips.
She will laugh
Without biting her tongue.
She will smile,
The strongest woman in the world.
I know a girl who won't give up.
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 5:01 AM UTC
It had been 2 weeks
She assumed the kids were asleep
Because he entered
He must of thought seductively
(making sure to shower first)
with an air of cool calmness
a scent of beer with a new thirst
for another type of refreshment
not fulfillment
but refilling
not romance
mere maintenance
she sighed & looked up
through her glasses at his swollen frame
like a balloons tied to a clothes horse,
left there for a day
so they sagged and lost their colour
& the frame had become visible
but only at its peaks
through the sheer power of gravity
his bones became seen
through his collar of his van huesen shirt
he thought so debonair (had a classy air, sleekish air)
she smiled acceptingly
as he pretended to be sincere
when he told her that he loved her
even after all these years
she was still a **** momma
she tried not to laugh
when he kissed her on the neck
& rubbed
her breast like he wanted milk
she spread her legs
when he pushed them
& waited for the steering
of a trailer into a garage
in reverse
at midnight
under influence
with the subtlety of a steer
it reminded her of years ago
when she had laughed at the austere
teachers that had enraged her
with their frigid sneer
& she smiled to herself an thought
of her *** like a rare fruit
only to age and watch it be eaten
by a once charming now savage brute
who turned into a blob of sorts
& she aswell had sagged
at least they sagged happily together
there's some comfort to be had in that
so she waited for the ******
with an image impressed in her
of a smirking withered teacher
arms folded & a smug grin
with a look that proclaims
‘here u are
it seems we’re on a par
an existence so far
from what u saw in dreams u had
of supple limbs & knowing grins
to dry skins and droopy things'
a flower wilted & smelling a bit funny
the faded colour of pale brown
in the end she felt lie a jug of sorts
he rolled over & went to sleep
she eventually did also
thinking about wat to cook next week
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 3:24 AM UTC
I finally picked up my refill
And finally stopped running uphill.
I'd been out for days,
And was in a haze
That nothing could fix but my refill.
I finally refilled my meds, guys.
Last week I ran out of my supplies,
And I sunk like a brick
Into depression so thick
That it kept me from refilling my meds, guys.
At last I am back on my Adderall
And everything feels much more natural
I cleaned up the sink
And now I can think
About how good it is to have Adderall.
May 4, 2020
May 4, 2020 at 3:14 PM UTC
He called her a **** at dinner
Told she could be thinner
Played the part of being an ***
Voicing opinions deemed crass
A waiter wandered up
Refilling a cup
Gave the girl a wink
But was more of a sporadic blink
Her date stood tall
And turned his fist into a ball
Told the waiter to **** right off
A comment muddled by a cough
Then, in an act of violence
Came a brief respite of silence
The waiter was struck in the jaw
Knocked on the floor captured in awe.
He was then beaten ‘til dead
Over inferences read
The woman screamed
At her date, the blood coated fiend
Police were brought in
The man simply grinned
Cuffs were attached
As the man’s might was matched
A month later
Due to the dead waiter
The man had his day in court
A bailiff acted as his escort
The man was sentenced to 15 years
The woman, in attendance, shed no tears
The man was taken
He appeared visibly shaken
Taken to a cell at Briar Field
A place all go to yield
He was beaten for days on end
By prisoners looking for time to spend
Searching for a sense of hope
Utilized in avoiding a knotted rope
The man found a friend
With a helping hand to lend
Then one day talking wasn’t enough
The man’s friend got rough
After a quick stich
The man was anointed a *****
Sitting for dinner he was called a ****
By his friend, who had become quite blunt
A guard came by and batted and eye
The friend asked if he wanted to die
Said this man was his slave
A poor butt-fucking knave
The guard retreated
Victory conceited
But the friend pressed on
Until the guards life was gone
Then walked back after the stunt
And called the man a fat old ****
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 8:20 PM UTC
Side Effects Include Hallucinations,
in the way your words make me believe
that we will get that apartment on the 22nd floor with the designer kitchen and the giant windows and two dogs sleeping at the foot of the bed
when we're All-Grown-Up
but i try to hold your hand and it isn't always there
sometimes i reach and all that squeezes through my fingers is a wisp of green dark smoke
and you are suddenly 500 miles away
Nausea, Sickness, Vomiting, and Pain,
like when i wake up with tears already carving scars into my face
and the walk to the front door seems like the farthest walk i've ever taken
and invisible shackles as ancient as the roots growing underneath my head bind me to my nest
(kind of like when you tie me up)
the thorns crawl up the rusty metal and twist into my stomach
wrap themselves around my molten core
spreading shoots through bursting veins
knees buckle, hit the bathroom floor
And May Include Death
you are the perfect drug
an addictive pro-zac that makes me convulse from withdrawals
if i ever dare to skip a day
i have to have more
an self-refilling pill box and all it costs is every last inch of my heart and soul and energy
that's all you ask
Oct 4, 2013
Oct 4, 2013 at 7:48 PM UTC
oh snap.
guess who's back?
I'm one step closer to a heart attack.
these flashbacks drawn from a cutback, turned me into an insomniac,
twas only a matter of time until I had a cardiac
arrest me now, officer. I've done you all wrong.
'cause my heart lying in my breast no longer plays a loving song.
I'd love to play the rest, see who else would try and sing along,
but I best not cause more distress, I know where I belong.
this girl KC.
man, she's killing me.
thoughts grilling me, yeah they drilling me!
this thrilling feeling's chilling me to the core, like it's refilling a sea
that just won't quit. My anchor's heavy as ****
my head's split a bit, teeth grit cause I'm full of these images of misfits, and culprits
whose crimes I didn't know they could commit-
they're all me- I'll admit I don't have a permit to
park my *** in this waste of mass class.
just mind the sass, my ego's thick as thick glass, and I don't have the strength to be harassed (rn).
hold up
>>Boi
I don't got time for this.
I need help, man, tell me what to do, I'm ******
this story's this; I miss the abyss in which I could hiss at KC's every bish she brought home,
reminisce that shish in whish I could blissfully talk about french kissing her.
but now I got me a man.
but now she back I've got no game plan.
tell me can you show me again how life is more than her?
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 6:20 PM UTC
You can’t paint the Sistine Chapel with a roller
You can’t carve The Thinker with a jack hammer
You can’t write a symphony on a Kazoo
And you can’t dance Swan Lake on a trampoline
You can’t bake a cake if you have no oven
You can’t sew a gown with a knitting needle
You can’t build a house out of Lego Bricks
And you can’t win at Lotto without buying a ticket
Why do my eyes not notice the humming bird
Only that the nectar tube needs refilling
Why do I not glory in a field of orange poppies
Only struggle to walk without stepping on one
Why do I pass up small kudus when offered
So I can wallow some more in rejection
Why do I long so for the glow of acceptance
When I have no use for the face in the mirror
We all have to work with the gifts we are given
Talent is not something you can go out and buy
You can’t sigh your way into winning the race
And you can’t coerce people into your fan club
You have to dig deep if you want to find oil
You have to cast bait if you want the big fish
You have to believe that the war can be won
To put down your pen and strap on your sword
ljm
Apr 24, 2018
Apr 24, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
I'm scared. I'm scared of being in a relationship.
Just one word that shakes my knees
And brings tears to my eyes.
I'm scared of a relationship.
And who could blame me?
After what I consider a relationship,
No one would want to even spit the word.
I'm scared of being tied down.
Of giving everything up for Someone
Who can take what they want and leave.
I'm scared of being Numb.
Of falling so deep into depression
That nothing but sweet pain
Draws me out of the Abyss.
All of this
because of a relationship.
I promised myself I'd never let someone
Affect me like that Again.
To let him scratch, burn, cut
Deep enough to leave scars.
To give everything
And to do so freely upon the will of a
Boy.
So destructive in his own thoughts
That even I could see him fraying at the edges.
To let someone hurt me in their own Game.
To fall so deep in love that you
Can't see what's going on all around You
dying at the hands of someone you love.
yet no one knows.
Not even him.
For he is too stricken with a somber, anger, and his own demons
To notice what he does to you.
Excuses upon excuses you make for him
Until the day it all goes up in flames and you thought
It couldn't be worse.
Than this.
Since then I've just been floating.
Recovering.
Refilling every crevice of my heart with the glue of a new life
In the hopes that with the starting of every day it will hold,
Being scared still has never left me.
Please understand why I'm scared.
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 3:21 AM UTC
Note: this isn't my work, but a work of one of the poet named Haron River ( currently go by H A Rivers) in this site who is currently MIA! Time to time I would scour poet's work, and allow them to teach me with their wisdom with their penmanship. This was a poem Haron River gave me as a memento, but all his work is golden, and should be shared! Hopefully new comers would check his work out! Without any further ado, here it is!
Untitled
Refreshed perspective gathered words
Like the ocean riptide gather
The rivers' flow at the confluence
Repurposing back-eddies,
Rejuvenation of stagnant brackish waters
Inherent soul-shine purging
From ancient core of earth mother
Light arising from the depth of inner stillness
As if a refilling wellspring burst forth,
Reawaking sighs too deep for words
Forming poetic constellation
To lighten the nebulous darkness,
Like sea of ink transformed into poetry
A sage opus renewed
By the muse of a migrating flock
Striving to discover new sacred grounds
Yet there is an undeniable song sung
In the howling wind of change
An incitement from a higher dialect
That empowers a restoration of the spirit
Oeuvre uplifted by rogue waves of wind
Arousing that which time erases
A renaissance manifest
Among the rousing nuances
Of poetic continuum,
Provoking a verve revival
Judicious to discovery
The enthralling vastitude
Of every breaking wave
In a vast sea of poesy
Where prevailing currents
Stir oceans of verse eternal;
Provoking verve revival,
The magnitude of an unbroken circle,
Oceans swells merging oneness
With the omnipresent of color
Of uncharted depth
As if thoughts assuage
By the Union of distant touching souls,
Spark nuances spanning poetic realms,
Transcending barriers of unexplored lexicon
To manifest the immensity,
Enkindling rhapsody of hearts and minds
Deeply rooted soul replenishment
Harvested from the tree of humankind,
Willingly sharing without regret
Enabling a metamorphosis
Of the human journey
Oct 31, 2015
Oct 31, 2015 at 9:20 PM UTC
Fresh Direct
Exit
I used to sleep
With pen and paper on my nighttime table.
Nowadays, my iPad tablet rests upon my chest,
Not only does it keep me warn,
It takes my poems from within, Fresh Direct,^
Edits, credits, and delivers them to your door,
While I'm still sleeping.
Which is why they come at all hours.
It is also why they call them,
Love's Labour's Lost saving devices.
Refill
My woman, my number one fan,
Grabs her pillow, mashes her face
Into my iPad warmed chest,
Without asking permission,
Thus fulfilling her mission critical.
Restoring the balance, refilling the tank
With high octane mystical, thru skin umbilical,
A first edition of the day blended mix named,
All's Well That Ends Well.
7:45 am
July 14th, 2013
Jul 14, 2013
Jul 14, 2013 at 9:21 AM UTC
I know what you would say to me:
"At least I was thinking of you."
But all I can see through your texts
Are images of my past life.
Sitting alone in the humid
Air of Florida trying to drown
My tears in pool water as
His slurred words "I'm way too busy"
Mixed with a girl's giggling voice
Flooded my mind repeatedly.
Feeling nothing but numbed surprise
As my father's hand rushed towards me,
Bottles of wine on the table.
Seated at a restaurant as
My grandfather cried saying how
Much I look like my grandmother;
Same determination, same hope,
While refilling his martini.
I hear his dense voice on the phone.
He'll do it, he'll jump, but not if
I tell him that I adore him
And I'll stay with him forever,
Ended with the smashing of glass.
So please forgive me when I say
I'm not a fan of your drunk texts.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 2:17 AM UTC
I don’t need it
The red string
Tied around my ring or index
I don’t need it
An “x” or heart
On the calendar
I don’t need it
A programmed number
Within any device at all
I don’t need it
Any fashioned reminder
Of you and your worth
You live with me
Constantly
On the tip of my tongue
I utter your nom de plum
In sleep
And I call after my mother with your name
As if in a canyon
Reverberating your whisper
This echoes in all the places
You are my favorite song
On repeat
And I soak in the melody that is your mouth
I don’t need a string
An “x”
Or a series of ten numbers
To remind me
Because you’re here
Holding my hand
And refilling my ink
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 12:51 AM UTC
I'm not gona take my life.
Cause it's not mine to take.
It was yours which you gave.
Now this burden to bare is my fate.
My hearts filled with love.
Slowly gettin drained.
And its gettin refilled.
With all this pain.
What they are refilling with is high octane.
Wish i could sell my soul.
Just for 1 happy day.
Too bad i cant..
Its not his to take.
Wish i could sell my soul.
too bad i cant..
Cause thats not a deal i can make.
Mar 31, 2022
Mar 31, 2022 at 6:56 PM UTC
I am denied a second time
a catching glimpse
a passerby
the endless chantering that flows through the rye
until I catch a glimpse of the other side
through your eyes
we go together
a floundering heat
an upheld beat
that swims in midst of rays
to reflect upon your gleaming eye
holding a gaze, time says lasts for days
yet it already happened
a rewound record instilling its tunes
into you
and oh!
you're already gone
refilling these city blues
guess I wasn't ready for you
oh, this generation of use and abuse
to take as material , to ignore the core
denying the message, but focusing on the tune
I guess I really am you
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC