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So Dreamy May 2016
dalam soal perasaan dan cinta-cintaan,
satu saran dariku ialah
  jangan kau gunakan banyak-banyak hatimu
   kau tentu boleh merasakan,
    asal tidak terlalu dalam.

      jangan.

      bahkan kalau kau mampu
     biarkan orang lain menganggapmu
    berhati beku soal itu
   biar saja mereka menganggapmu begitu
  asal dalam hati kamu tahu,
perasaanmu sesungguhnya hal yang paling murni untukmu.
Abigail Ella Jan 2014
though said to be golden like that of Eris,
the mores which you so savor are hollow with worms.
your stony statutes, finally crumbling, now
remind me of rose-colored saran wrap:
stretched too thin across the epochs
to bind each lawless Julia at present.
able now to be whole—free from your unadulterated peace,
spun, measured, and cut are your class lines at last.
and so with a sigh of relief so great that it could echo across
all of the Caucasus,
your Ovid, cast away, has returned.
Mary McCray Apr 2014
(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 2, 2014)


God couldn’t be everywhere so he invented…
old-testament guilt, judgment. Surrogate mothers,
an imperfect second to ever-presence.

He is mysterious, withholding.
She is threatening to write
daily—manifestos, depositions,
your biography, threatening
the tell-all proverb.

Sentimental menace, righteous and verbose
with her Saran Wrap of affection.
She is threatening to love and to be loved.
Paige Hatcher Jan 2012
To be perfectly clear …
I’m a nut case.
Not only a nut case, but a hard-luck case
Wrapped up nice and neat
With Saran wrap of mental maladies
And bubble wrapped with faulty perceptions
And you know what?
It’s ******* comfortable in this box.
Relaxed is a side effect of anxiety,
Like having an ******, you get tense
Then that sweet release that leaves you
Melting into the mattress, that’s what my “disorder” does to me.
And while you sit and you stare and you judge and you blame
I … smile and wipe the sweat and tears from my face.
So, to be perfectly clear.
I’m nothing but a beautifully taped box
Of stress, anger, resentment and depression
With a slight mixture of joy and pride mixed in
Waiting to be shipped off
To anyone, anywhere, away from that gaze
Of unrestrained disdain.
And so, again, to be ever so clear.
I’m what you’d call emotionally unavailable,
Damaged goods, as I’m sure you can see
The dents my last handlers left behind for me
To bash out to regain a sense of normalcy,
Then you had to come along and reveal them all again.
Thanks for that. And sorry, but the person you are trying
So desperately to reach is Unavailable.
To be perfectly clear.
jake aller Apr 2020
Friday April 10


Walking in Limbo

a man finds himself alone
in a dark forest
filled with strange trees
and hears voices
in the wind

he walks forward
towards a light
in the forest

and soon finds himself
confronted by a ghostly image
the dead are all around
and he realizes
that he has died

and he is wandering
in limbo
he walks towards the light

and sees a man
at a desk
who asks his name

he says his name
and the man
smiles and tells him
welcome to limbo

join the others
to wait your turn
for judgement is due

and the man
walks back
through the haunted forest

trying to remember how he died
but he has no memory
of his past life

and is doomed
to wander in limbo
stuck between time
and worlds

comforted by the ghosts
around him
and the light
in the forest

writers digest prompt to write an ekphrastic  Poem




New Bodies in New Era

we are living
in a SF world
things are changing
at breath taking speeds

nowhere more
than with the coming biomedical revolution
soon we will be confronted
with the reality

that we can live forever
in new bodies
grown for us
in laboratories

with our memories intact
and I can hardly wait
want to throw off
this aging 65-year old body

and get a new 20-old perfect body
boy, I can’t wait

I would be come
what I always wanted to be

6 foot 6 inches tall
perfect athletic basketball body

perfect visions
perfect hearing
perfect smelling
perfect teeth



well behave hair
no more learning disability
no more coordination problems

no more fibromyalgia
no more arthritis either
no more aching aging pain
no more mental fog

god,
I can hardly wait
hope it happens
before I die

and I hope
I can live
on forever
with my wife

also transformed
into a perfect
**** as hell
new body

poetry soup prompt to write a poem about changes

life interrupted by corona


we live in a strange world
life interrupted by corona
the virus spread throughout the world
disrupting everything

putting life on hold
as more people
hunkered down
waiting for the virus

to pass over us
like in biblical times
the virus
will test us all

life interrupted
on hold
until the virus
spreads through the world

and then
we will all
go back
to life interrupted

writing.com Daily Dew Drop interruption


Saudade for friends I have lost

as I get older
I lose more people
every year

more people I knew
have died moving on
and I mourn their lost friendship

wished I had been
a better friend for them
and knew them better

and with the corona virus
spreading around the world
I will lose so many more

in the coming year
as the virus spreads
its malignancy far and wide

I lost my father due to cancer in 1985
and my sister
due to a freak illness in 2007

and my mother
due to Alzheimer’s in 2005
and my father-in-law as well in 2007

Demel Tucker
high school debate teammate
dead of *** in 1995

Julian Bartley and his son
died in a terrorist bombing
in Nairobi in 1998

Jon Weber college roommate
dead due to prostate cancer
in 2000

Paul Simon  friend from the visa line
dropped dead of a heart attack
in 2004

Ted Halstead
one of my best bosses
died of heart attack in 2007

Chris Richard
one of my former bosses
from my days in Bangkok

dropped dead of a heart attack
shortly before we were due
to have lunch in 2014


and so many others
I have lost
along the way

and soon there will be
so many more
as I get old in the corona era




my lover’s body inspires me

my lover
Lover’s face
inspires me

Filled ****
as hell
still got it

drives me
wild desires
tonight

concrete poem - national poetry month prompt day 9


Vogan Poetry inspires us all

Couth super- of  the world
trailer, stringendo travels afar
Rent center bank me bark me
recipe, stringendo.for sure for sure

National poetry month prompt  day eight Vogan Bot Poetry


The end of the world news depresses me

the end of the world new
depresses me
makes me want to shout and scream

**** leave me alone
to deal with my grief
amid the death and destruction

watching CNNMSNBCFOXBBC media nonstop
filled with essential dread
the end of the world is upon us

from the screaming news media
spreading forth across the land
fake news screams the president

all is alright he proclaims
no one believes his 16,000 lies
and so it goes

we are drowning with information
coming at us so fast
and furious

When will it end my friend
is anyone’s guess
in the long run we are dead

National poetry Month Day Seven poem inspired by the news


the Devil speaks In the Garden of Earthly Delights

in the garden of earthly delights
the devil makes a covert appearance
disguised as always

he wanders about the world
corrupting everything
with his evil foul deeds

the devil turns to me
and says welcome to my world
human

you will soon be mine
death and destruction
revenge is mine

you will all die
i decree it
and he laughs

and continues to corrupt
the garden of Eden
and earthly delights


ekphrastic garden of earthly delights national poetry month prompt day 6

president trump haunts my Dream

president Trump
haunts my dreams
daily dystopian nightmares
as he daily proclaims
the end to the republic

as he ushers in fascism
with his every lie
he corrupts the world
and I hate
seeing his bloated fat ugly body

that haunts my every dream
as I watch him  rant and rage
against my old friends,
his enemies in the deep state
ushering in chaos and destruction


National Poetry Month day four prompt image from a dream



ten words random rhymes

every day I see our president
Trump proclaims that he will be president
his image haunts my dreams
dystopian nightmares propels my dreams
as the president proclaims he is president
the end of republic follows
no one hears our screams
He ushers in endless dreams
fascism inspires
our collective screams

national poetry month Day three prompt  write a poem based on ten random words


674 Santa Rosa

my childhood home
for almost 10 years
was 674 Santa Rosa
Berkeley California

A five bedroom
adobe California home
on the side of a hill
at the bottom of the Berkeley hills

you entered on the top floor
across the street you entered
on the bottom floor
thus it was in the Berkeley Hills

the house
had a large deck
with a perfect view
of the golden gate

we used
to sit outside
watching the sunset
as we ate dinner

my Mom and Dad
would have
their nightly cocktails
on the deck

before retreating inside
to continue
their nightly fights
and arguments

I grew up
downstairs
hearing their constant words
of hatred, dismay and outrage

my parents were the proverbial
odd couple
perhaps
never should have married

but despite the hate
there was still some love
that kept them together
throughout the years

we had a rec room
with a pool table
and I hung out there
with my friends

my mother tolerated my friends
most of the time
she would be somewhat sober
until after they left

and the madness came
over her
as she drank her whisky
and wine

the basement room
was added later
was my younger brother’s room
later was my room

whenever I visited
from college days
hiding out downstairs
avoiding my mad mother

my old room lay abandoned
filled with books
thousands of books
that I had read over the years

when she died
I should have taken
all the books
instead I took

about one hundred
just no space
for the books
of my childhood memories

National Poetry month day two prompt specific place poem 674 Santa Rosa Berkeley California


My life appears to a dream


For I dream
of meeting
the love of my life

in a dream
she haunted my dreams
for eight years

she walked out of my dreams
into my life
and became my wife

yes my life
resembles a fairy tale
complete with a princess

that rescued me
with her undying love
and made my life complete

national Poetry Month Day One Prompt Metaphor for Life Dreamer




Trump Derangement Syndrome Blues

Trump haunts my nightmares
dystopian visions
soon to come true

fan story 15 syllable poem contest

Saturday April 11

To My Dream Woman Who Loves Me

to my dream woman
who has loved me so
over the years
since I first dreamt
of meeting her
thank you for finding me
and rescuing me
I just have three words
to say
I love you
Saran hae
and  in a million other languages
and will love you
until the end of time

writers digest prompt to write a x  Blank  x

BLACK OUT POEM

Black out Poem
God’s Punishment

Original text


During a press briefing today to address the nation’s response to the coronavirus pandemic, President Trump was asked about certain Christian pastors who plan to defy state lockdown orders and hold Easter church services this Sunday.
“I’ve had talks with the pastors, and most of the pastors agree … that they are better off doing what they are doing, which is, distancing,” Trump said, adding that the pastors want to “get back to church so badly.”
Report Advertisement
Trump then referred to a notorious pastor who sits on his religious advisory council.
Defend democracy. Click to invest in courageous progressive journalism today.
“I’m going to be watching Pastor Robert Jeffress, who’s been a great guy,” Trump said. “He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

Jeffress is known for his litany of statements demonizing the LGBT community, abortion, and secular people. One of his most reviled comments came in 2015 when he said the 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” Jeffress said during a speech at Liberty University. “‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”


“I’ve had talks with the pastors, and most of the pastors agree … that they are better off doing what they are doing, which is, distancing,” Trump said, adding that the pastors want to “get back to church so badly.”
Report Advertisement
Trump then referred to a notorious pastor who sits on his religious advisory council.
Defend democracy. Click to invest in courageous progressive journalism today.
“I’m going to be watching Pastor Robert Jeffress, who’s been a great guy,” Trump said. “He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”


Jeffress is known for his litany of statements demonizing the LGBT community, abortion, and secular people. One of his most reviled comments came in 2015 when he said the 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” Jeffress said during a speech at Liberty University. “‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”

Black out text

the coronavirus pandemic, President Trump
hold Easter church services this Sunday.
“I’ve had talks with the pastors, get back to church so badly.”

“He’s a great guy and I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

he 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment on America for abortion.
“People ask me all the time,” ‘Well, I just don’t understand why God wouldn’t protect our nation and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001 to **** 3,000 of our citizens and why God doesn’t protect us. Surely, God doesn’t use pagans to bring judgment upon his own people, does he?’”

Poem

Corona Pandemic is Not’s God’s Punishment



Amid  the coronavirus pandemic,
President Trump
Attended virtual Easter church services
I’ve had talks with the pastors,
We need to get back
to church so badly.”

Rev Jeffries is  a great guy
I’m going to be watching on a laptop.”

Rev Jeffries said

The 9/11 attacks were God’s punishment

on America for abortion.

“People ask me all the time,”
‘Well, I just don’t understand
why God wouldn’t protect our nation
and he would allow these radical Muslims in 2001
to **** 3,000 of our citizens
and why God doesn’t protect us.

Surely, God doesn’t use pagans
to bring judgment
upon his own people,
does he?’”

I am sad to report

Rev Jeffries

I spoke to God

This morning

He confirmed

He did not cause 9-11

To bring judgement

On the US

For abortion

He went on to say

The corona virus

Is beyond his control

And he is not sending it

To punish the US

Or the world

His final words

Please tell Rev Jeffries

To simply ****

poetry super highway black out poem

coffee Whitney

my coffee
morning delight
all day long
not though at night
can not sleep
afternoon coffee
leads to nightmares lasts all night


writing.com Whitney poem form
  
coffee Hay Na Ku


hot
coffee
in morning

ice
coffee
afternoon

Drink
coffee
afternoon

will
soon have
bad nightmares

must
have my
coffee now

drink
coffee
all day long

no
way sleep
will come me

curse
of my
mad coffee

writing.com prompt write a Hay Na Ku Poem
Daily Dew Drop In submissions as well



women playing the lute contemplating God

a woman sits
by herself playing the lute

deep in contemplation
thinking of God's love
for her

thinking of the devil
and his temptations
she continues playing the lute

all poetry contest
various poems april 10 and april 11
wordvango Apr 2017
after watching
the videos of children and humans
striving for a breath
their bodies limp
from a saran attack
I would strap my *** to
a cruise missile
after getting a tattoo
all over my body saying
Assad
this is for you!
It was sickening
beastlike satanic
and I cried
my stomach wretched
I shuddered
here this world is
in the 21st century
and  some of us
are still barbarians
I pray
we listen to the
little girl some
call the  Syrian
Anne Frank
my heart breaks
again
dj Nov 2012
.
I looked
Thru the glass at a trembling lil thing
Beady eyes of a worried gerbil
In a worrisome place

The Petco by my house had
Everything you could have
-almost

Rhino's, Daffodil's
Lynx's, Gecko's & even
Alaskan Klee Kai's

Wrapped up in Saran wrap
Or in little glass cages
With little bobbly water dispensers
And kindly placed dishes
Holding nifty pellets of tasty food
That fits their Specialized Diet Plan

They don't have elephants yet

We'll have to ask the manager to order
some of those
Are Rhino's are a recurring element in my poetry now?
Patrick Kennon Sep 2019
Plastic everything, saran wrap all your guts back together
Entomb the redwoods in bubble wrap
Force feed your children corner store bags
It's raining plastic and everything is getting full
I wonder if you cut up every whole thing, could you melt it together again with plastic
Chemical smoke black and pouring, melt it all down
Wear it on our head, a screaming crown
Bearing witness to our deeds, the road we're walking down
Aridea P Oct 2011
Jumat, 1 Oktober 2010

Aku punya banyak teman dekat
Mereka semua baik pada ku
Tapi ada saat aku bingung
Bingung akan saran yang mereka beri

Yang ini bilang ACD
Yang satu kembali ke ABC
Yang itu bilang jangan
Ada lagi yang bilang coba dulu

Semua membuat ku bingung
Aku berkata, dibilang salah
Aku diam saja, dibilang tambah salah
Ku ambil keputusan sendiri
Tapi aku tak yakin
Oh... Hidup memang sulit
Penuh pilihan dan tantangan

Created by. Aridea .P
Third Eye Candy Oct 2011
The
cyclones are cellophane
saran raptures, and
gale forced smiles in the rain    
that comes after a dead-end starts
with a grave intuition.

Out of the blue,
a sky you knew would be safe
as sun-strokes-
of genius,
proof
that love had
a heart...
you found
mars

That's you
wishing where stars
don't fall
they just hang
in the black hole
dark...
JAM Oct 2021
Oh, my name is Jack Stewart,
I’m a canny gang man
And a rovin’ young fellow I’ve been.

I’m a piper by trade,
I’m a ramblin’ young blade,
And ‘tis many the tune I can play.

Now here’s a simple song
To say what they done.
I told them about all those fears
And away they did run.
they sure must be strong,
And they feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun.

Their mouth is open wide,
The lover is inside
And the tumults done.
Collided with the sign,
They're staring at the sun,
They're standing in the sea.

I’ve got acres of land.
I’ve got men at command.
I’ve always a dollar to spare.

Note the trees because the
Dirt is temporary.
More to mine than fact, face,
Name, and monetary.

Put money in my hand and I will do the things you want me to.
Vanity overriding wisdom, usually common sense.
Should I delete it? they said they'd read it.
They promised they would never ruin it with sequels.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.
Whatever it costs, I will pay.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day.

Now picture this, I'm a bag of *****, put me to your lips
I am sick, I will punch a baby bear in his ****
Give me lip, I'ma send you to the yard, get a stick
Make a switch, I can end the conversation real quick
Okay nobody speak, nobody get choked
You wanna here a good joke?

The comedy of man starts like this:
Our brains are way too big for our mothers' hips,
And so nature, she devised this alternative:
We emerge half-formed and hope
whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough to fill us in.
And babies, that's pretty much how it's been ever since.

Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address.
Like, say, that half of us are periodically iron deficient.
So, somebody's gotta go **** something
While she looks after the kids.
She'd do it herself, but what, is he gonna get this thing its milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt, we can switch.
It's hard not to fall in love with something so helpless.
Ladies, I hope we don't end up regretting this.

That was then,
this is the twenty-first century,
And there’s too much aggravation.
It's the age of insanity,
What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem?

This is the age of machinery,
A mechanical nightmare,
The wonderful world of technology,
****** hydrogen bombs biological warfare.

There used to be a guy for this type of thing,
An underwater guy who controlled the sea,
Got killed by ten million pounds of sludge from New York
and New Jersey.

Water dissolving and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Under the water, carry the water
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean
Water dissolving and water removing.

Then there’s the creature in the sky
Got ****** in a hole, now there's a hole in the sky
And the ground's not cold.
And if the ground's not cold, everything is gonna burn.
We'll all take turns,
I'll get mine too.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the cold again after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.

So I ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned.
I'm a twenty-first century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me,
She can't see my motivation.
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twenty-first century.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical.

Then I had visions, I was in them.
I was looking into the mirror
To see a little bit clearer
The rottenness and evil in me.

You know I think my schooling was phoney?
I guess it's hard not to agree.
You say, "It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree."
Right (right), you're ****** well right,
You got a ****** right to say.
Right, you're ****** well right,
You know, you got a right to say.

Been around the world and found
That only stupid people are breeding,
The cretins cloning and feeding,
And I don't even own a TV.

Put me in the hospital for nerves
And then they had to commit me.
You told them all I was crazy.
They cut off my legs, now I'm an amputee,
******* you.

I don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control,
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teacher, leave us kids alone.
Hey! Uncle Sam! Leave us kids alone!

We wanna grow up to be
A debaser.

“Look at me, look at me
Hands in the air like it's good to be
Alive and I'm a famous rapper,
Even when the paths are all crookedy.
I can show you how to do-see-do.
I can show you how to scratch a record.
I can take apart the remote control,
And I can almost put it back together.
I can tie a knot in a cherry stem.
I can tell you about Leif Erikson.
I know all the words to "De Colores",
And "I'm proud to be an American".
Me and my friend saw a platypus.
Me and my friend made a comic book.
And guess how long it took.
I can do anything that I want cuz

Who gives a **** about an Oxford comma?
I've seen those English dramas too; they're cruel.

So, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth.”

“Look at me, look at me
Just called to say that it's good to be
Alive in such a small world.
I'm all curled up with a book to read
I can make money open up a thrift store.
I can make a living off a magazine.
I can design an engine
sixty four miles to a gallon of gasoline.
I can make new antibiotics.
I can make computers survive aquatic conditions.
I know how to run a business,
And I can make you wanna buy a product.
Movers shakers and producers,
Me and my friends understand the future.
I see the strings that control the system.
I can do anything with no assistance because

I give a **** about the Oxford Comma!
I climbed to Dharamsala too, I did.
I met the highest Lama.
His accent sounded fine to me.

Now, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth”

Comedy, now that's what I call pure comedy.
Just wait until the part where they start to believe
They're at the center of everything
And some all-powerful being
Endowed this horror show with meaning.

Now, Uncle Sammy, did you hear about this one?
Tell me, are you locked in the punch?
Sammy, are you grinding on a pelvis?
Hey baby, are you losing touch?

If you believed they put a man on the moon,
If you believe there's nothing up his sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Moses went walking with the staff of wood.
Newton got beaned by the apple good.
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp.
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask.
Well I took out my dogs and them I did shoot,
All down in the county Kildare.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day

And in the Twenty-First Century
From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
Two dogs, dead in a field,
Glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
They rose up, rose up when whistled at,
their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
Getting into games through a whole in the fence,
For the owner of the blue tarp tent,
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
In the privacy of the last three,
Skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
And us undeceased, and our new cds,
Dippin' on goodies, oakland
it's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue.

But you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

I’ll say they secretly long to be some part of a car crash,
Long to see their arms stripped of the tendons,
The ****** of swelling exposed veins,
Webbing the back of their hands,
To be a red tendoned dog,
To be red tendoned dogs,
Blood breathing by the side of the highway.

Oh, their religions are the best.
They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks.
These unbelievable outfits.
And they get terribly upset
When you question their sacred texts,
Written by woman-hating epileptics.
Their languages just serve to confuse them.
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure.
They build fortunes poisoning their offspring,
And hand out prizes when someone patents a cure.
Where did they find these goons they elected to rule them?
What makes these clowns they idolize so remarkable?
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being thoughtless animals.

See the dwarfs an' see the giants,
Which one would you choose to be?
And if you can't get that together
Here's the answer, here's the key.
You can freeze like a a man of century thirty.

I'll save my breath and take it with me
Till a hundred years and so
Shame you won't be there to see me
Shaking hands with Charles de Gaulle.
Play it cool an' Saran wrap all you can
Be a century thirty man,
You can freeze like a century thirty man

So I live like everyday is my last,
But I plan for tomorrow as if I will never pass.
A Pharoah on the subway
Who never had dreams of jets but fell asleep on run ways.
I just know that one day, that anything I needed I could mold.
Get everything you want it ain't always good for the soul.
A mix of self-worth, some help, a little control,
And I don't know the rest, good as mine is your guess,
The recipe ain't the best, to make it though is our quest,
And if you choose to accept, the meaning of life is yes.

So, we ain't going to the town,
We're going to the city.
Gonna trek this **** around
And make this place a heart to be a part of, again.

That’s the dream but
There are times when all the world's asleep,
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned.
I know it sounds absurd,
Please tell me who I am.

Is this my starring role
Or just a cameo?
Who am I living for?
Well, I can't take no more,
'Cuz when it rains, it pours
What am I living for?
I don't got much, but I got heart and soul.
I found myself through all the highs and lows.
Oh Will I drown in the pain,
Or go dance in the rain?
What am I living for?

So, I can lead a nation with a microphone?
And I can split the atom of a molecule?
Look at me, look at me
Drivin' and I won't stop
And it feels so good to be alive and on top
My reach, is global
My tower, secure
My cause, is noble
My power,
is pure.

And it’s the end of the world as we know it.
it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid
In the eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don't mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down my neck.

Paranoia, paranoia,
Everybody's coming to get me.
Just say you never met me,
I'm running underground with the moles, digging holes.
Hear the voices in my head,
I swear to God it sounds like they're snoring.
But if you're bored, then you're boring.
The agony and the irony, they're killing me.

I’m dead but the world keeps spinning.
Take a spin through the world I left,
It's getting dark a little too early.
Am I missing the dearly bereft?

Timmy, Timmy, Timmy Turner
He was wishin' for a burner
To **** everybody walkin'
He knows that his soul in the furnace

Young man walkin', wishin' for a burner
Four, five, six, ten ratchets on 'em
Ten men with 'em, ten clappin' on 'em
Dead men with 'em, dead men, get 'em
Four-five rip 'em, four-five zip 'em
You talk money, young men get 'em
Beluga, beluga, beluga
he fell in love with the Ruger
he fell in love with his jeweler
he fell in love with the mullah
It's all about the rule
It's all about the move
It's all about the rules

That was then,
Now I am a man, man, man,
Up, up in the air
And I run around, round, round, round
this downtown and act like I don't care.
So when you see me flying by the planet's moon,
You don't need to explain if everything's changed
Just know I'm just like you.

So I pull the switch, the switch, the switch inside my head.
And I see black, black, green,
and brown, brown, brown and blue, yellow, violets, red.
And suddenly a light appears inside my brain
And I think of my ways,
I think of my days
and know that I have changed.

So, be easy and free,
when you’re drinkin’ with me
I’m a man you don’t meet every day.
a lyric poem
The harder you try to pull away,
the tighter I squeeze,
and I swear I don't mean to come off too strong,
but a history of abandonment
and fizzling potential
has left me with constrictor instincts
guess how ******* old this is *****
Bullet Sep 2020
I see it clearly
I’m on my way, nothing is stopping me
I’ll unravel my world
You’ll be able to see
But you’ll never be able to understand
Baby, I’m shooting for the stars
You are not in the same league
I slipped and you where never there for me
Wrapped into your own thing
I’m breaking through the Saran Wrap
I’m fresh but you always tried to cover me
I’m on way
Can you imagine me
Josh Taylor Oct 2013
my words stumble out of my mouth
like a drunk from a bar
without direction and ugly as sin
banging uncerimoniously against
my teeth on their way out
as if they had some hidden
sober thought begging
for me to stop them
because they can't stop
themselves
my skin feels like saran-wrap
stretched over the bony remains
of something forgotten
left to rot within
protective plastic
my heart is alone
it locked itself in a safe
so it could pretend
it was worth something
but even if the key
was not inside with it
nobody's looking
anyway
Ottar Aug 2013
Seren-dip-me-pity,               (she was self-accepting failure,  bad luck wannabe, wears black and sniffles)
the ardent opposite
of Seren-dip-i-ty,       (she was an accidental discovery, no recovery needed, awe, found objects, in the     
                                                                                    moment)
they are part of the
seven sisters Seren,

wherein lies the rub
Saran-wrap, was third           (caught up on herself, clean and air tight, fresh as the day, tough like teflon)
in line, (changed the spelling of the family name - to be sooner alphabetically)
Seren-ate,                         (she sings she dances, she eats, she sings some more, she waits for applause)
does not speak or gesticulate
unless she performs in song.
Seren-ade, used to sing well           (jealous, performance orientated, sometime for love, lately for money)
as well but when the other came
along and did it better she got bitter
and moved in to retail sales        (lemonADE, pomADE, calvacADE of arcADEs, you get it,                                                                  ­                                                      everything ­became a parADE)
And as for the twins who
are always fighting Seren-ity    (lacks calmness, lacks peace, wants a piece of you, uneven temper)
Seren-e                                         (more easy to be obscene, like evening air with a heavy chill, not bright).

The seven sisters of Seren,
who were always preparing
for a fight to the right to
the next beau to knock
on the door, but soon they
all stopped calling,
they were
no longer falling,
over one another,
as the Seren-ities
were now old biddies,
no longer remained a
worth-while dowry, befitting
sitting silently as the seven
sisters of Seren squabbled
soiling the solitude of the soul.
I stepped out of the box, not sure where I am, have not made home if you see me wave, and point me West or East where ever it is I yam.
I want to love you, but I'm afraid to feel
the hollow space in my chest--hallowed ground.
I want to kiss your lips and warm your skin
with the vibrations pulsing through your sense of
touching me where I can't reach
in that cavern housing my thoughts,
the "will they see me? will they want to know"
that I cover myself in dog hair disarray,
that I stand with the fridge door open, chewing shriveled carrots;
hoping to shrink what is soft, weak, feminine, emotional,
dangerous.

but you never respond. you match my arched eyebrows
and my tired dry skin, stretched like saran wrap,
keeping my stench our secret for now.

a mirror never lies,
so why doesn't she love me
as I love her.
Kait Marie Mar 2012
Recluse
beneath congestion of cigarette smoke
and spirits
a crippled voice
deteriorates
His mornings are bleak;
Rise
to the sink
to the shower
to the wardrobe
to the door
to meet the day


Slacks, overcoat, and loafers
topped off with some novelty tie
from the local drug store
He coasts along the brick-stone walk-ways
careful not to place his feet upon
cracks or cross a path with a black cat

A superstitious man he is
a white rabbits foot tucked beneath
his ankle socks
a turkey wishbone key-chain clanging against
his satin-lined pocket
and a four-leaf clover preserved in
saran-wrap pinned against his chest

With each stride
he nears the corner market
and purchases a pack of Perdomo
along with a bottle of unlabeled *****
concealing it bellow the buttons of the coat
He then exchanges with the cashier and exists

His journey leads him around the block
and passed pedestrians
only to be reunited with his stoop
The cold concrete is inviting
he sets himself in
on the third step
and prods his pockets
removing his lite and Perdomo's
for better
use
aflame they go
between crackled lips

Greeted with the sour beverage
his face molds like dry leather
crinkles and all
in reaction to the addicting
bitterness

His eyes pick out people from a crowd
the business man who hurries on by
to important to give a hoot
the youth of who laugh in mockery
yet to prideful to admit they're foolish
the tourist twisting the map above their face
searching corner streets a sign
the woman who bustles her child through
avoiding contact
with the man
who sits on the stoop

Not person goes by that
he wishes he were
he is perfect
perfectly content
in his subliminal life

The smoke rises and falls
from his throat
he wheezes
averting from his train of thought
it wasn't important either way
Z Apr 2019
32
i’m a flytrap in Saran Wrap
Definition clingy
shouldn’t be satisfied to be qualified
as the gum that’s stuck to your shoe

This anxiety could be all from nowhere
It might not be real
But honestly and actually
it’s just how i feel
Tinesha Garcia Feb 2011
We are on the hunt,
Hunting hunters, hunting.
And desolate travellers are we
Surprised by sinking ships
Wrapped in saran-wrap, forced to stick together
All reaching a Shakespearic end to a means that
never really mattered in the first place.
Is that what you believe now?
We are the players playing.

And we are the grey, sunken in eyes of a child needing sleep,
dreams of fishing for Nessie in the local lake,
far-fetched fantasies only exhausting the youth,
we are the needy needing.
Surprise me of your fleeting lost memories of old,
we are the laughter, laughers laughing.
We mock feeling, reality. The raw human emotives.

And we are the biting bile taste that follows slaughter and unsuspected chaos,
The moment pre-regret, where innocence is forever lost in a tossed about immoral sea. Salty and familiar.

And we are the prey, prayers preying
For things we can’t even remember like unmotivated love and a taste for fate.
Don Brenner Oct 2010
Rubber faces.  Foreheads sweat, stream clown makeup when cheeks meet.  Sweet blood: corn syrup, water, starch.  Lick then smell.  Vampires pick jolly rancher debris from teeth.  Blue fangs.  A skeleton in the closet undresses a nun.  Open door open window sit three cats.  Watch the sun set.  Crows murdered around oak trees.  Darkness.  Lights, music, karaoke, Elvis sings Franki Valli.  Richard Nixon gropes a slutty nurse.  Left hand, right breast.  Alcohol permeates air.  Skin, sweat.  Touch.  Marilyn Monroe hoards candy corn souped with beer broth in her stomach.  Passes out.  Steve Irwin wears a sting ray through his chest, ***** tail through his shirt, surrounded in blood.  First place in the costume contest.  Alter egos.  Fred Flintstone feels snubbed.  So does a saran wrapped girl.  ******* hidden with black fabric circles.  Black balloons.  Orange ones.  Red balloons.  Popped.  Silent girl in white stands in the corner.  Caresses a small bottle of cyanide in her fingers.  Thumb, middle, pointer, pointed at Marilyn.  She knows she will not wake up.  They’ll call it suicide.  Elvis finishes his song in a falsetto,
Oh, what a night.
2010
Andre Baez Feb 2014
Four walls are screaming...

Lying here awakened by the deafened sound of silence
Casually existing in a manifestation of neighborly violence
Is a martyr of selfish explanation and station
In the mix for chairman on the way the satan
Gates open for him when he travels from his lair,
But travel comes in spurts of gravitational voids,
Filling up with meals as they enter without choice,
Or any sense of repair for what's there,
Entering crevasses and other openings along surfaces,
That allow one to feel worthlessness,
Never hoisting the trophy given to those whom represent perfectness,
Perfectionist can't resist the temptations to conjure mist,
To make sure and valid that works of art are works of fact which exist,
To be or not to be or create or mislead,
Proceeded by apologies that mislead atrocities,
Across cities so wickedly the deadliness of it all is least thrilling,
As a result of the bland toast experience that leaves most chilling,
Spine tingling, neck wringing, spinal tapping, and wired napping,
Saran wrapping over mouths made by ACME,
Causing destruction much like what's seen on TV,
And bought at your local pharmacy,
Where they farm human beings much like cattle, count the sheep?
Because you're snoring, sleeping through class again and looking bummy,
Roaring is coming from the bottomless pits of your tummy,
You devour the tiniest bits of crumbs and feeling crummy,
Misused sense of self existence is persistent to make you nothing

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours

Shadows in the brightness of the dark,
Spread across expansive spaces of empty walls,
Suffocating the echoes formed by creaking halls,
Hand rise and fall while final gasps are drawn,
Choked sounds leaving as they enter withdrawal,
Enter into my senses stating that the beauty lies in dawn,
Drawn faces lie on skulls where lines are made of chalk,
The rest of the skeleton remains but must be bought in bulk,
Off branded and made by foreign nations,
Easily paid for with easy to find replacements,
The mind is not a terrible loss when you've only ever had half,
To lose another half would only be half as bad,
Half as much mind to get up out of the shield of bed sheets,
Half as much mind to walk, any given day, across any given street,
100% percent chance at the fate which awaits me,
Yet the safety net in place fools me to believe,
That a life without risk is worth living,
As ant piles form in any which place along the floor,
And the handles continuously fall from the doors,
Clothes, dishes, and homework, pile up into chores,
A fatal scene of tragedy reminiscent of noir,
Ambiguity remains in what lies just beneath,
The surface as the crust of earth acts as a sheath,
While the remainder of it grows rotten due to the cheats,
The liars and the friars who act as moonlit buyers,
Of incomplete factions and fractions of complete mishaps,
Perhaps an axe to the frontal lobe would loosen up control,
My eyes are scar filled and leaking massive amounts of soul,
The soil is darkening with fertilization,
While the source material is dying from being wasted,
It's the typical atypical response to taunts and trails of peril fraught,
With sounds emanating explaining the cause of a shot,
Straight through the heart piercing through the rock,
Cries to forget everything that's been taught, "it's a crock!"

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours

To be happy or give family,
Satisfactions of being right you see,
Interactions of puppets tied to string,
Tears next to taxes they're filing,
Humming songs meant to sing,
Has long been the main thing,
To act yet never do the real thing,
It's a monstrosity of honesty,
Honestly saying you are not a thing,
You have no talents you aren't interesting, it's sickening,
That it's truly what they believe,
And thus extend it to fresh psyches,
Of their children like Socrates,
Faith in their words is philosophy,
Till one broke away from topography,
Stopping streams of tears in their streaks, it's done, it repeats,
But all in all is all that he needs,
To defeat the menacing grins to have them at his feet,
Groveling knowing in time that he'll be king,
The sequences flourish from new daisies to trash heaps,
It's a lion stalking and napping among sheep,
The bygones are gone by yet the goodbyes never cease,
The will of the strong is hoisted up by the weak,
But the weak were those who made up the soul of the strong,
The weak were once knights but turned into pawns,
To check into their mates and remain on call,
To stir up disaster by setting up the alarms,
Their charms through voice never lent psalm,
Through all dampening storms he always remained calm,
Even within the shelter of his apartment home,
Ignorance of the outside world didn't disperse of his wounds,
The shreds of skin, metal tasting flesh torn,
Separate the ligaments of the clothes worn,
Mercurial mental in the midsts of complete war,
Picture frames crowd around on the floor,
Commodities in short supply have dissolved,
A death will occur in a mystery solved...

Because four walls are screaming
The world is yours
The world is foreign
The world is burned
The world is corse
The world is hoarse
The world is worse
The world it turns
The world it yearns
The world is yours
The world is yours
The word is yours
The word is yours
so sometimes I'm just right,
cold, calculating and perceptive.
and sometimes I can't make it through the night,
policing my thoughts and perspective.

But tonight is a night of freedom and purity,
closing the doors to opression,
spilling inpure and conformist thoughts,
and avoiding resurrection.

smoking and snorting and popping and coughing,
breathing, decieving, and barely talking,
focused now.
never later.
still breathing this atmosphere of pure hatred.

can't see past my hands in this tomb,
alone i lay and quietly consume,
every last one of them.
I've let them all go.
the part time, doin time, ebb and flow of cold.

growing old.

when I finally outgrow this taste in my mouth,
i'll be able to breathe.
when she finally outgrows me maybe she'll leave.
never looking back, always forward,
never late.
she quietly escapes the debate of our fate.
never look back kid,
cause your soul might turn blue,
tied tight with saran wrap wrappers,
duct tape and glue.
veritas Aug 2018
a glass chalice shattered on marble steps,
a cherub speared by his own arrow—
    do not tell me you do not hear it.

where moon boys and glossy girls live boldly,
they glow, shining and tacky like transparent saran
wrap
a rope around your neck and
stay.
for where death is present, so too is its midwife.

inhale exhale
in the dark
help guide me to the exit sign

oh! perform for the lords and ladies,
lie down under lights and washes of blushing love,
over your body
lay a rose for crows who do not sing.

but beware, when slowly will a golden shroud descend

and you will fall to your knees.
(as petals fall to the ground, so soft)
and it will part a way
(if buttery light could cleave so)
not clear but swiftly fading, slowing

illuminated faintly dimly glowing
above me reaching inhale
exhale inhale exhale inha—

thank you.

.
oh fallen child, where have you gone?
is there really balm in Gilead
or is that the mistaken hope of every saint and sinner?

it is a silent night tonight, blessed with only one star,
and i hope that it is yours.
for the world went black when you closed your eyes
and will need new seeds of light.

how did we fail you so badly?
how did we fail to see underneath, fail to
hear you screaming, telling us you felt wrong.
you spoke out for us, lifted us in our silence,
and yet, we said nary a word during yours.

it is not hard to tell someone they are loved.
to let them know that they have done well, that they have worked hard;
to lighten someone’s heart with a simple word or two.

for in this life of stop and go, the rush and sigh of a few billion souls
runs fast like rapids beneath the feet, and
it is not so hard to be
lost ,
swept up amidst a current of
mockingly pulsating restless life,
all the while being buried ,
fathoms beneath a violent sea of wrath,
a tempest held in depthless waters, a fight unresolved—  
where, under the shadows of a brooding cloud and a weeping rain,
our sorrows will wash over us.

but what good is a battle unwitnessed?
address it say its name.
stop hiding it behind plastic flowers and brittle leaves,
under rice-paper skin and honey smiles.
rip the valance off
of this drapery of deceit
and lay bare before the world the truth.

it was suicide.

he took his life.

mental health is real.
perfection is not.

reach out.
speak up.
give love.

if anyone can be saved, then
let not your death be in vain.
.


rest in paradise, jonghyun.
if you are aching, if you are drowning, know that someone, somewhere, is afloat because of you.  please, do not hesitate to seek help, we are here for you. it is not wrong to feel how you do, to be who you are. you are loved, you are worthy, you matter. reach out, for you are not alone.
Pragya Chawla Apr 2016
in pealing season, she is a girl of lousy ingrowth
she is an unkempt corner; kitchen sink. legs pulled like knives. phone call her curled tendons; isolation in
grit and fibril      
she is women with wings. this is how we stymie the rapunzel. we carve the ugly into her. we teach her to wear skin like saran. skin like punishment
                        cut-coin the rumpelstiltskin. how she is  wound and string, paper-doll; bird-in-a-box
how we wring the juice of her on washcloth. hung upturned from the ceiling fang; plucked and feathered
like apology. cherry-picked; veins like mikado. how it is dark and she is blind-bat wind-warriors; waterboarded with no hands
upturning the paper boats of her in every follicle; how the flipswitch insecurity eats her like pickle. in a storm
she is neither nor tongue nor limb
just breast, bone, the weight of mirrors
how we jettison when the grief is heavy. abandon. thick, empty abandon.
alone in grit-cusps when the monsoon has eaten into the white, wispy mortuary. dark in hallways; yet pale and slender. she is beautiful.
we lift her ribbed corpse off the shoreline.
we unload the offering like red carpet;
this is how we wrap her in white and weary-eyed
translucent. how unavoidable we become when we are the last hope. crippled. when we look hope in the eye. askance. how she will beg you to look at her with the heart in the honey-jar; torso in tourniquet
how the walls are ripped in shades of askance. how we look away.

how us, walls, look away.
how, us, walls, askance.
how we drip of askance; how the pink flesh and cherry-limb slips like matchstick on brushfire
how there is purple and primrose and bruise
there are some spots on the floor where it still reeks purple and yellow and bruise
how we are
               lousy
                         ingrowth
here.  how we
                                                              ­   try
to
pluck
                             and *erase
Kara Rose Trojan Dec 2011
Were you alive when the
bricks began to crumble
beneath our hand-held, kiss
puppets?

Our mumbled whispers
that tapered ladders on gargantuan folds and slung-held
boy-grips.

Cohorts torn into flip stands
layered toward standing sores --
tell me how to cross rapid waters of social trends.

We were strung up the flag pole, almost posted as decapitated heads for the public.

Under teeming hammer-strikes :
glasses shred to paper-splinters
before a car crying white chalk bricks
onto saran-wrapped concrete.

There were antennas perched like speckled,
mangy feathers,
poised, reflecting defiance toward
the wool-ashed sky.

With dirt-trekked journey marks,
there were trees growing silver hair outside the grocery store --
and frown-marked women -- that skin-folded
war paint -- yelled at their daughters to pay attention.
Joshua Haines Apr 2016
This reality, different from yours.
Sandpaper ice-cream cones sold
in engulfed, aflame stores.

This body, tense yet soft
tears underneath
the rub of rope.
My friend's feet swiped
a flailing chair,
And her neck did snap,
feces everywhere.

This sky, wrapped in saran wrap,
becomes pregnant when it rains,
the plastic weighed down by water,
slumps down the aquarium sky,
we slump down as it kisses us,
crushes us, mashes us, thrashes us.

- It all changes here,
from god to god,
from year to year -

Her hips lay like cursive,
pale, promising, pent up
like the shoulders of
an anxious angel.

Her hair a burnt brown,
wrapped around a whatever-count pillow,
like a L'Oréal snake, sleeping sullen,
drifting off into a designer dream,
unsure of this, unsure of me.

I see her as a child --
No, I see me as a child --
No, I see us as children.
This. This surreal feeling I get
when you're around me.
When the world is around me,
vibrating underneath my Toms.
Vibrating in my prescription bottle.
Vibrating between her legs, my ribs.
Between each page, so much is hidden:
my early swearing that my late love
is slowly draining.
Jessica M Feb 2012
Rat
the words catch on my tongue
like they're bound with saran wrap
I can feel them
clawing for escape
I bite and bite and bite on the speckled pink flesh
but I cannot free these pathetic
slaves in my museum of emptiness
chained to my esophogus
by long, thin, elastic threads
my teeth are too dull
to rip through
despite my constant gnawing

like that rat I once saw
in a memory so faint
I may have imagined it
Norman Crane Oct 2020
Flay me, shroud my body
in Saran wrap, for others to see
what you mean to me: a relief
map of live suffering,
writhing organs in a plastic bag,
a human soup to drag
behind you, sensitive to everything you do,
overflowing with formless worship,
pink, raw and dreaming
of a vicious kinship:
Open yourself and slip my parts in,
we can exist, two hideous beasts
within a single beautiful skin.
Kate Browning Mar 2012
Different voices whirl
Around brain mass.
Pang for a tone
That hasn’t gone mad.

Create a realm
Where memories,
Of November,
Are cut out and sold.

Tell the voices
To draw a tale.
Boxes popping about;
From dry air.

Screeching rhythms
As you fold
Onto men,
Like Saran Wrap.  

Authority can’t resolve
Genetic stigmas.
Hidden formulas appear,
Toxicity enthralls.

Grasp her bony joints,
Bathe in unkempt hair,
Let marsh stricken irises
Put an anchor inside.
Cate Dec 2014
Maybe
If I buy new sheets
I'll have an easier time forgetting you
And your shifting eyes
All morning sun and maroon.

I had better get a new color too

Just not blue...
That was the one before you
With the thin hair and half lies
And winter city lights.

And before that I like to remember nothing besides the yellow daisies on a peachy sunrise of my youth,
But the silky stitches will forever hold
Their petals;  
White centered with a splintering,
Tainted innocence;
A pasty white puddle of
Bodies too young-
Caught in the riptide of our
Childhood storms
And a desire for adulthood
Or something seemingly more....
Stable.

Details will only cause us to once again derail
so I must insist you don't question this.

I've been going out of my way so long
Trying to wrap up my Saran facade.
Now every interaction
Feels wrong
And rubs me raw.
My plastic skin is wearing thin
And I might melt against the heat
Of the confrontational defeat
That I suppose ...

We all just get used to.

I keep tripping over perceptions
Strewn across a convex looking-glass
Of stereotypes and slurs that shaped my past;
And I suppose
Made a lasting impression
Rooted deep enough
to now be the
Instigator of my regression
And unrelated, runaway thoughts

That seem to always get deeper

On accident.


Everything will become a hazy memory
And glob into two word phrases
Of the forced politeness
That accompanies the acknowledgement
Of a past regret-
Still freshly gawky
As a transitional stranger;


I am inquiring
In an attempt to find an explanation  for this untold something
That remains unseen
Until we're too disheveled
To distinguish it from a
A misplaced dream or idea.


Relativity counteracts the sheen
And perspective is everything,
But I feel myself slipping away
Into a despondent complacency.

I left all my linens in places
I no longer cared to be.

Yeah,
Maybe new sheets are what I need.

C.e.M 12.23.14
I am starting to think it's only somewhat productive when I turn my rambling into poetry. You guessed it guys- stream of consciousness again and my first draft. Critiques are welcomed and encouraged! Written from the perspective of people in my past and the respective sheets I remember sharing with them/ politicalish rant, all combined together into the symbology of wanting a change- starting with my sheets. I have no idea of that's clear in contex clues. Ok ya the end.
Cate
Abigail Ella Feb 2012
what the label doesn’t mention is that
with rouge comes bone-white knuckles and a strangled reality:
saran-wrap and powdered lemonade,  
and bleach white soles shining through closed blinds
and closed doors that meant nothing until we begged of the key
and found the rooms to be empty--lit by only the fluorescents
and also the ceilings with the stars which I know now are made of plastic
dreams that dangle above
too many heads who have not shaken,
too many fingers glued together,
too many arms anchored
by all the silly things i should’ve buried along with
my listless apathy.

— The End —