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*****, *****, *****, *****, ***** and moan
about us drinking all the milk
that you didn't help pay for
and then drink each last beer
that you didn't help pay for
while the guy who bought them and got to drink none
is busting *** at work
making him able
to buy yet more things
for you to take for granted.

With friends like these..

By the way,
where's the last few months' rent?
You know, for all the months sense your parents stopped payin' it?
Oh, I'm sorry,
I didn't mean to assume
that you would assume some responsibility
like the rest of us
to whom you ceaselessly complain
about how un-*******-fair
your spoiled ******* brat lifestyle is.

You can't even keep a plant
you want for personal reasons,
so how is it even fair to assume
you could get and keep a job?

How foolish of me!

At least you can roll a good joint
with **** you didn't acquire
and papers you didn't buy.
A ******* professional, you are.

By the way,
that soldering iron
you neglected to leave the house to pick up
would be ******* fantastic to have,
but even a walk half a mile to the post office
is too ******* strenuous
for you.

By the way,
do you want ants?
Because your heap of cans, bottles and dishes
is a great way to get ants,
but you get all vindictive and indignant
if anyone tries to clean "your space"
in my ******* house
you haven't even paid to live in
for many months.

While Money is far from everything,
and I wish it was a non-issue,
kindness and good intentions
will not even begin to pay
the bills, the mortgage
or these exorbitant Californian property taxes;
and, even if they did,
I fear you'd still fall
rather short.

no, not even perhaps:

I've been far too nice far too long
to people who couldn't be ******
to show some ******* respect.
"You're ***** deep in muddy waters, ******' hypocrite."
-The *** by Tool
Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***.
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of ***, coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the ****" Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****!!"
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***,
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the ****?" Laughed Cortney.
"What the ****." I replied.
A true story...
What just happened.
untrue May 2015
"No. Don't. Just stay inside."
As you say. I don't dare ask why.
"It is nice this way. And I can hear your heart."

"It sounds so loud."
(You treacherous heart)

But that wasn't the deal.
And how can I handle that?


What was the deal?
"This is just ***."
No kisses or romance or...

"Let's just forget."


I tried. Wished to. But I wonder you see...
"Just leave me alone. I won't talk about that." censored the things that troubled you still.

"That is hilarious. And you are sad."

And your schadenfreude is not humane.
"I don't know what that is. I also don't care."
But I knew your humanity all too well.

"Stop talking about it. And thinking too."

I have still the right to ******* care about you!
"Look. Cut it now. All my friends know."
I feel betrayed and now the end appears close.


"Oh, well, you know. I may have possibly found you love-able. Once."

You mean ****-able, right? Can't mean anything else.
"Why are you talking like that? I don't like it. It is not you."
(So-over-you attitude) (Couldn't-care-less eyes) -I won't budge.

She's tearful, now, and then she smiles.

Just when I was giving in.
"This is such a funny thing!"
Almost impossible. Anger me, please!

I once couldn't stand one bit, you looking sad.

Faking is not me. You did deserve it.
"Well, night now. My boyfriend has come."
You'll have *** till dawn and boring chat. You told me so.

I walk to my room, and insanely alone,
I shatter my mind with one simple truth:
I loved you too much. You couldn't say you loved me back.

"It was just ***** back then. Didn't think that much."
And I was just a friendly mistake.
Mea culpa and it's gone.
Something about being 151 miles from home
walking around barefoot all day
in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, California
wearing a vest and some black cotton pants,
drinking good Cabernet and lots of water,
eating homemade pasta salad and chicken sandwiches,
in the early-Autumn Summer-esque temperatures,
the third day of the 2013 Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival,
witnessing Gogol Bordello and The Devil Makes Three,
with my great Friends, and also Roomates, Abdul and his Wife,
and their friend and her 20 month old Son
makes me feel sort of ... *****.

Funny how that works;
Unprotected feet on very Public grounds
Unprotected feet on verily treded grounds;
Going barefoot is nice, though.

(Except the ******* sidewalks, incidentally.
Even the streets are nicer to walk on barefoot. Even pineneedles!
I am disappointed, San Francisco! I thought you were on the side of the hippies!)

If anything was learned from the Sixties,
it's that unprotected anything
in San Francisco
is easily a hazard.
Now, that was a ******* amazing day.
Now; to the shower and then directly the **** to bed!
The Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival ******* rocked.
We left at 8 am and just got back at about 11:30pm;
I didn't sleep even last night after dishwashing for 7 hours! Wooo!

It was sorta cute:
someone even tried to sell us ****
and we basically had to tell him: "*****, please.
We comin' out Nevada County; that **** grows like Grass in them yonder hills."

I usually advocate barefootedness when I am on psyches, but I am not on psyches and I am doing so. Just to clear up any confusion. This totally could be a thing I would write on acid or the like.

Parenthetical bit is true but the last part is meant to be facetious, but it probably doesn't even matter that I specify. Read it as you will! I cannot change anything but myself, anyway. Have at it!
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2015
Chaste lovers wonder  .  .  .
How bodies weather the cold,                                                                            
  .  .  .  Never knowing touch.
P Chartier Jul 2013
I am the bobby pins and hair clips you find in corners of your room, on your dresser, or behind your bed.

I am the pictures on your wall that I made when I was once manic.

I am the crumbs you find in your bed that was once my “three or four nights a week bed” which I used as a table.

I am the cafe where we met, and kept meeting.

I am day drives to no where.

I am the Middletown train station before the movies.

I am the mint lotion that keeps the bugs away.

I am the notes I would leave you, that found their way on your wall.

I am the bandaids.

I am that strand of medium length brown hair you will find in your shower

I am that guy, from trivia at that other cafe, that I wanted us to be friends with.

I am the hands that would unlock your locked pointer finger.

I am that key on your key chain.

I am the leftover tea that is always too hot for me to drink, and is left near your bed.

I am ice cream with CHERRIES, and edamame.

I am the sheets on your bed.

I am the downing film theater when you needed to feel better.

I am New Jersey.

I am the reason Netflix recommends Independent dramas with strong female lead. I am the netflix.

I am the stain on your mattress.

I am the drool on your pillow.

I am the sugar in your cabinet above your roomates whiskey.

I am all of the groceries and dates I paid for.

I am all those pictures of me on your phone which made their way to your computer.

I am the light wash boyfriend jeans.

I am that bottle of wine that sits with all other bottles, that you see when you walk out of your room and into the kitchen, and out the door.

I am the reason you once felt content.

I am the reason the corkscrew sits on that stool.

I am the reason why your toothbrush is wet, before you use it.

I am the two red sharpie marks left on those sheets that I got us.

I am mexico. The trip to mexico that could have almost seemed doable.

I am the sent of oils which remind you of hippies.

I am the shoes left at your door, or the teavana jug of tea in the kitchen right now.

I am the fourth of July. I am that pool we never swim in. I am the projected films on the fence.

I am the talker, the thought keeper, the fighter, the writer.

I am Sensual Amber

I am UBE

I am my legs on the wall when I dry them.

I am the tiny pills on your dresser.

I am just someone your next girlfriend will be better than.

I am the bobby pins.
none Jul 2018
I had split in parts.
I lifted my hand but
it was not me
I spoke words but
it was not me
I existed but
it was not me

I split in parts and
there should be dialogue
between roomates
but I was so terribly frightened
to bother them again
The neon kisses the sidewalk below embracing strangers as they pass
in all directions none seem towards home.
***** sidewalks and the slums splendor Im a gatekeeper of despair and hard
luck just living for the bells chime to echo from the counter.

Drunks and ****** gather within my confines the outcasts of the night my people
seldom will I ever know more than a signature upon the page.
Moths drawn together attaracted by neon light.
Tommorows not a promise so embrace feeling and grow numb in reflex for now.

Are we not twisted from exposher numb from the streets brutal truth?
I count the hours a television for companion a bottle a often short staying vistor
who's welcome till the hangover's regret.

Some pills to drive my thoughts and a fresh *** of coffee to fuel my engine
tIme kills even the most unfaded of us all.
And through the night they gather some to escape the cold others for a quick escape
or fast **** to forget as if in a Halloween costume soon they'll return to there true act
of a life.

Embrace as lover's when there nothing more than roomates hey kids were doing great
you coming home for Christmas this year?
And so they like well trained actors reprise there roles.

But i see there mess allnight I collect the rejects nothing more but fragments
glass that reflect what they wish could never be.
If only we could rewind.
But life's highway cant be retraced so on we roll.

I  collect there money and take down there names the keeper of memories
tattered wings fly none the less.
As for the women the far away stares are but shared thoughts of a misery
more bitter we drink from the same passed down glass.

Some things just don't have to be said to be understood.
The nights my watch my vices fuel me for yet another round.
the neon signs my beacon And the moths glide to flame with the turning of the switch.

Were all ****** up but seldom can some show the flaws .
I embrace them unspoken please sign here.
Tommorows walk we'll pretend to not see for we all need to feel
invisible sometIme.

The end of my shift bids farewell to my collected chaos tired we've become in constant
recollection the light is off for now.
Ben Mar 2016
You never thought you'd be here
Not at this age
Not knowing what you know
In fact,
Why isn't the whole world
Lining up to kiss your feet?

You know it all
You've been there
And if you haven't been
A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend
Has been

All your bad experiences
Those are the world's bad experiences
Disregard the child soldier
The **** victim
The mutated and deformed
These are real problems
If they aren't on the surface
They fester below
Rotting away at whatever you could hide away
We all feel so bad for no one

Daddy is too rich
He loves his guns and his motorcycles
And mommy got remarried to some maniac
Who has a drawer specifically for tissues and a sports car

How is an upstanding young man
Expected to compete with that?
Dorothy A Nov 2010
She married him just to get out of the house. He, in turn, was a great rescuer of helpless cases, and she was a damsel in distress. They were both so young. She was barely eighteen and he was almost twenty. It was the Spring of 1968, and none of her friends thought it would last. Those were the days of free love, and all her friends did not expect her to stay tied down for long. After all, she was young and did not experience that much in life.

At first, everything went smoothly. They both tried their best to be a good marriage partner, but their parents weren't good models. Their marriages seemed to be lifeless and void of love. So they  had to learn on their own, by their own, day-to-day experience.  

Soon she became bored with him, and he distanced himself away from her. He tinkered away at his workshop in the basement, bunkered down in his own domain while she found her haven in the kitchen. She quickly became love-starved, reading cheap romance novels to fill up the void.

She became relieved when she was pregnant with her first child, so she would not be alone anymore. Yet the birth of her son did not make life any easier, and it only added fricton to the distant couple. Another child, a daughter came only one year later. Instead of feeling closer to her husband, she only grew more weary of him, and he of her. All of her efforts was put into her children to attempt make her life happy. It did not work all that well for her, and she struggled with depression often. Yet she hid it, putting her best face forward in the midst of her desperation to convince her friends and family that she was fine.

They were both very surprised that the third child came around four years later, another girl, for he barely touched her. They had been existing like two roomates instead of a husband and wife.

It was nearly inevitable that he would stray from her. When she became more and more suspicious, she confronted him and he told her the truth. He did not love her anymore, and he was happier in the arms of another. She cried to her friends, and they all told her to divorce him. Even though she had few working skills, she was better off without him. She cried even harder, for she had to admit that she strayed, too, and she believed she may have been the first to do so.

She caught another man's eye, and she could not understand why a mother of three would be so appealing. Now she felt truly ugly, that her marriage was a lie, and there was no way back, but to be out of it. Most of all,  she felt that she wronged her children, and her illusion of a perfect family shattered before her eyes.

Her husband packed up his bags, but even he had tears in his eyes. He never meant it to be this way. What happened to the time when he could not keep his eyes off of her? He knew his children were counting on him, and he vowed he would always see they had what they needed--the basics like shelter, clothing and food. But they weren't going to have him, not like they once had. He felt like he let down everyone who counted on him, and it was a heavy load to bear.

So he went away, but neither of them could sleep at night. The other side of the bed seemed emptier than ever. The woman he thought he now loved was not going to make him any happier than he was before.

He now discoverd that he was just as much in his soon-to-be ex-wife's life as  he was while they were together, doing repairs on the house, paying bills, visiting the children. So why couldn't they give it another shot? They just didn't know how to revive the mess they were in, but both admitted they were willing to do do. She did not want him to rescue her, like she before, for it never worked in the first place.

They made several trips to their church pastor for counseling. Each one had to forgive the other, and not harbor any hard feelings, in order to begin the process of getting back together. It had been nine years since they first married, and they weren't that young, naive couple anymore. Life had matured them, often the hard way,and they were ready to try again.

Even though all her old friends thought she would never make it, she had learned to love her husband like she could never do before. He had learned to be there for her, and not distance himself. They could have stayed together for the children's sake, but nothing would have been any better unless they changed.  They both knew they did not want a marriage of convenience, or in name only.

Life was certainly never going to be without troubles, but they had remained together, weathering every trial. And they never regretted that they chose to stay together.
skaldspiller Dec 2016
I come in
standard white girl voice....
but no mine is to deep

"Im sooooo drunk"
Like tell everyone everthing drunk
Too much tequila drunk
Ill talk about my exes and my boyfriend drunk
Glad my roomates are good guys drunk ,
Want to see you drunk
Miss you drunk
Knowing how to pick my poison drunk
Head hung and bleary eyed
Probably have a problem
But im quitting on the new year....
Until st patties day
Im a writer and i need a new bottle of gin drunk.
I Suppose Apr 2018
I wake up crudely
To the sound of a fight in my house
My brother and parents
Arguing again
More common than hearing i love you
But less common than hearing i hate you

I wake up crudely
To my maths teacher
Slamming s ruler against my desk
And shouting in my ears
That i cant live without knowing
How to do calculus

I wake up crudely
To my roomates *******
And again remember
The town in which i lost my heart
All those years ago

I wake up crudely
To a sound of my doorbell
It's you
My long lost friend
Here again to make the days easy

I wake up crudely
To the sounds of you screaming
The bedsheets wet
You clutching your stomach
I rush us to the hospital as fast as i could

I wake up crudely
To the sounds of crying
I roll out of bed
And head over to your cot
I lift you up
And sing to you softly
Your mother awakes, and joins me in my tune
And i rock you gently back to sleep

I wake up sweetly
To my loving wife
To my newborn son
In the life i was told I'd never have
And to them i say
A little belief, can go a long way.
A hopefilled message from me to you
LaNae Storm Jan 2019
My best friend- or rather, the person to whom i am their best friend,
Only decides to visit me at night.
You see her name's Insomnia.
I know. She's not real,
But tell that to my headaches from not sleeping well
Tell that my general tiredness throughout the day.
Tell that to the sheeps i count each night (that still doesnt put me to sleep)
She feels obligated to visit me after she found out that depression and I are roomates.

Note to self
Insomnia is not just in my head anymore. Its right outside my sleeping door.
Poetress2 Mar 2019
I don't have all the answers,
why we don't talk or touch;
I think that we, would both agree,
it's becoming just too much.
We never hold each other's hand,
the way we use to do;
We never kiss each other, "Bye,"
as if we have the Flu.
We rarely say, "I love you,"
nor give hugs anymore;
And we always seem so sad,
when we walk through the front door.
We both ignore the other,
this happens all day long;
We don't communicate because,
everything we'd say is wrong.
When we go to bed at night,
we never say, "Goodnight;"
We're nothing more then roomates,
who are living seperate lives.
We both keep our own distance,
as if we're miles apart;
It seems we're always, "Butting Heads,"
just like we **** our hearts.
The two of us aren't happy,
what are we going to do;
Perhaps it's time, to realize,
this relationship is through.
Nellie 55 Feb 24
Last night i was laying in bed with tears running down my face
Locked myself down in this dark place
Sorry mama I miss you
Never meant to hurt you
So i texted my mom out of the blue
She asked if i was okay
I lied and yeah I had a fantastic day
Pretending I'm mentally safe
But nah man
I am not alright
Had night tares the other night
Didn't crash till 5 AM in the morning
Kitty nap
I wish this feeling wasn't overwhelming
No one can help thats the issue
Spazzing the **** out i want to cut through my scar tissue
Buried deep into a insecure level
Buried more issues grab me a shovel
Heres a response
I'm bout crawl
Let the ******* TEARS FALL
but yet they do
but they have their own
but I've got a bottle of jack
Hitting my thoughts like i don't know how to react
I've been hiding in my own thoughts again
Losing confidence and that motivation
Who needs to improve when you're classified as a liar
Whos needs to improve when you're classified as a cheater or a beater or a addict
But to be honest I'm more of a alcoholic
Hold up
Wait a sec
Hey Nel
You're a ******* for beating
Now you're sad and all of the sudden not succeeding
the ****
Man up and handle your ****
Just ******* quit
Don't nobody wanna stick around with you
Look at the petty **** you put yourself through
Yeah you ugly
Bet your *** will burn and maybe you'll be pretty
You can cut and hopefully that deep vein
Will put your *** back to a level of sanity
Remember when mama slapped and punched you?
That was funny because you don't know what she went trhough
You got what you deserved
Now your *** will burn
Hopefully you'll one day learn

— The End —