"roullette" poems - Hello Poetry

What's the procedure when you got a gun in your head? Been declining Invitations to come home Now I'm coming volontuarily The green grass got heavy , lights became to bright lost my sight , got blinded by the lights Crystal **** that's my new name....feeling numb right now I failed to the math , Look how my troubles mutliplied And lord knows that i tried.... Juggling life on one hand , now it's all flashing Russian roullette! , that's how i lived leaving here seems such a good idea No place like home so they say. GUESS THAT'S WHY I'M COMING HOME BANG!!!!!!

0

Sep 20, 2013

Sep 20, 2013 at 4:19 AM UTC

valentine

Another sad sonnet

What's the procedure when you got a gun in your head? Been declining Invitations to come home Now I'm coming volontuarily The green grass got heavy , lights became to bright lost my sight , got blinded by the lights Crystal **** that's my new name....feeling numb right now I failed to the math , Look how my troubles mutliplied And lord knows that i tried.... Juggling life on one hand , now it's all flashing Russian roullette! , that's how i lived leaving here seems such a good idea No place like home so they say. GUESS THAT'S WHY I'M COMING HOME BANG!!!!!!

14

Gamble -a risky action undertaken with the hope of success. Derived from the 18th century English word gamel, meaning to pay games. Remember the players we left behind… The strangers who you held one night friendships with on evenings where the sun refused to shine. Remember the fairy lights. Remember the benches outside of Bodega and the smuggled bottles of wine. People seem so much more friendly when they drink. But hey, if it takes a glass of poison to make us all less toxic then we can pass out happy… We’ll creep out of sobrieties bed knowing it’ll be the angriest alarm we wake to as the sun tries to steal 5 of our 40 winks the next morning. But you know.. Gotta risk it for a chocolate biscuit. I’ll trade in sleep at the chance I’ll be dealt a more interesting night. Break ice with strangers at hope we both share a bit of over lives. Trying to to create a story worth telling is a gamble. And I feel sorry for people who fall asleep at half 11. Seems like such a wasted day. Like if life composed of options and outcomes there must be a better way. I slay the idea that each night we have 8 hours of sleep debt to pay. Because in those wee hours of the morning, those are when demons make music videos, those are when normally vacant balconies play host to the half drunk couples finding comfort in each others bodies. That’s when the parties get quiet. When the humans have intoxicated themselves into lullabys and start softly singing their lives into the ears of a friend willing to listen and I will bet you have something I wanna hear, and I bet I'll have soemthing to give back, and while you and I are here we'll keep betting. Each syllable is a chip on the table. Each sentace is an opportunity to double down. The bar will not close, the roullette will keep spinning and we'll grow a little ritcher with every new story we share. I make bets with time and breath. And if you spend time with me then you will to. You the few who have paid you admission fee into my conciousness. You who throw dice with me on the empty streets where street lamps themselves begin to sleep. You who I will one day come to love. It's risky. Risky like petting stray dogs. Risky like telling your loved ones that you've been seeing demons in the mirror. Risky like getting one knee and offering your life to someone. It is risky.... but that's fine. I will teach you how to gamble.

0

Nov 21, 2016

Nov 21, 2016 at 8:54 AM UTC

robbert-van-dongen

Gamble (unfinished)

Gamble -a risky action undertaken with the hope of success. Derived from the 18th century English word gamel, meaning to pay games. Remember the players we left behind… The strangers who you held one night friendships with on evenings where the sun refused to shine. Remember the fairy lights. Remember the benches outside of Bodega and the smuggled bottles of wine. People seem so much more friendly when they drink. But hey, if it takes a glass of poison to make us all less toxic then we can pass out happy… We’ll creep out of sobrieties bed knowing it’ll be the angriest alarm we wake to as the sun tries to steal 5 of our 40 winks the next morning. But you know.. Gotta risk it for a chocolate biscuit. I’ll trade in sleep at the chance I’ll be dealt a more interesting night. Break ice with strangers at hope we both share a bit of over lives. Trying to to create a story worth telling is a gamble. And I feel sorry for people who fall asleep at half 11. Seems like such a wasted day. Like if life composed of options and outcomes there must be a better way. I slay the idea that each night we have 8 hours of sleep debt to pay. Because in those wee hours of the morning, those are when demons make music videos, those are when normally vacant balconies play host to the half drunk couples finding comfort in each others bodies. That’s when the parties get quiet. When the humans have intoxicated themselves into lullabys and start softly singing their lives into the ears of a friend willing to listen and I will bet you have something I wanna hear, and I bet I'll have soemthing to give back, and while you and I are here we'll keep betting. Each syllable is a chip on the table. Each sentace is an opportunity to double down. The bar will not close, the roullette will keep spinning and we'll grow a little ritcher with every new story we share. I make bets with time and breath. And if you spend time with me then you will to. You the few who have paid you admission fee into my conciousness. You who throw dice with me on the empty streets where street lamps themselves begin to sleep. You who I will one day come to love. It's risky. Risky like petting stray dogs. Risky like telling your loved ones that you've been seeing demons in the mirror. Risky like getting one knee and offering your life to someone. It is risky.... but that's fine. I will teach you how to gamble.

16

I played a game of Russian roullette with the devil himself. Guess who won? Fate

0

Dec 20, 2011

Dec 20, 2011 at 4:30 AM UTC

jacob-1

Yours Truly

I played a game of Russian roullette with the devil himself. Guess who won? Fate

2

The clichè story between the wilds Starts with a sly fox secretly tracks And a prey who pursues for the bees With the honey is surely sweet Not in a den dark and deep The prey remarked its bad days In a howl of a bird during cloudy eve The bees are chasing the east behind the tree tops Birds' eye view, wide and clear, To shut the morning breeze and his beak The fox clever yet numb Watches the prey, dare not to move, for her hungry ***** She sniffed (the idea of) the perfume of its wing, Hugged and kissed its feet, staring directly Gives her shadow to dance and her physique charm to still The line ended without a start like any gambling roullette Whatever the defeat must be accepted May one's soul laid its tongue to ground May the fox turned its head back For the approaching hunter --- yearning for her meat and fur. I wish I may?

0

Apr 27, 2016

Apr 27, 2016 at 2:35 PM UTC

CeriseRed

The Fox and The Prey

The clichè story between the wilds Starts with a sly fox secretly tracks And a prey who pursues for the bees With the honey is surely sweet Not in a den dark and deep The prey remarked its bad days In a howl of a bird during cloudy eve The bees are chasing the east behind the tree tops Birds' eye view, wide and clear, To shut the morning breeze and his beak The fox clever yet numb Watches the prey, dare not to move, for her hungry ***** She sniffed (the idea of) the perfume of its wing, Hugged and kissed its feet, staring directly Gives her shadow to dance and her physique charm to still The line ended without a start like any gambling roullette Whatever the defeat must be accepted May one's soul laid its tongue to ground May the fox turned its head back For the approaching hunter --- yearning for her meat and fur. I wish I may?

22

I want to hear myself again I want to hear songs from my paints and my fingertips, a visual applause for the love and the loss Where can I learn to find my rhythm again? I strayed off to the beat of your drum Played false notes and danced to your Russian Roullette. I am not your Russian Roullete. I want to vibrate with happiness Fill my eyes with warmth and radiance I want to dance and laugh and mean every single ringing echo My voice may still quiver and crack, but when it rings, It will harmonize with the light and the words I'd been dreaming for you to say. Though now, It will climb from my own throat and reach to kiss my lips, with nothing more but self love and honesty pk.

0

Nov 24, 2015

Nov 24, 2015 at 1:30 AM UTC

i-dont-want-to-give-my-name

thoughts

I want to hear myself again I want to hear songs from my paints and my fingertips, a visual applause for the love and the loss Where can I learn to find my rhythm again? I strayed off to the beat of your drum Played false notes and danced to your Russian Roullette. I am not your Russian Roullete. I want to vibrate with happiness Fill my eyes with warmth and radiance I want to dance and laugh and mean every single ringing echo My voice may still quiver and crack, but when it rings, It will harmonize with the light and the words I'd been dreaming for you to say. Though now, It will climb from my own throat and reach to kiss my lips, with nothing more but self love and honesty pk.

17