"shitted" poems
Did you just call me ugly?
How blind could you be?
Don't you know that I got God inside of me?
Tell me dear....
So, full of pride and so focused on your youthful looks.
How much makeup?
How much pride?
How many people?
Will be at your side,
When you close your eyes for the last time.
Tried to be **** at times myself.
Those ideas blew up in my face.
Got a lot of regret debts
anchored down in the valleys of the wrinkles on my face.
Did you know I used to have abs?
Not anymore.
One day I heard my stomach having a private conversation,
with gravity.
Gravity said, 'Winning!'
Took my abs away.
Gave me arthritis and a fever in its place.
I **** so much.
I swear someone has a gun to my ***
It is so ****** up,
when the pistol starts to cry and laugh.
I need a walker most of the time.
I guess the only crime I committed was staying alive.
Yeah, I am old.
So, what! I made it this far.
Take your *** on and be thankful for who you are.
You don't know how good you got it.
You can still get around,
Without leaving fun size Hersey bars behind on the ground.
'Hey, old dude, what Hersey bars are you referring to you? The thing I see behind you are chocolate bars,
With corn toppings.
The old man starts to laugh.
The young lady says, 'Do you mean to tell me that you ******* while you were talking to me this whole time?
The young lady began to puke.
'Baby, I didn't **** on myself. My *** did all the work. I haven't been able to control my bladder for a few months now. Here is a tissue for your mouth though?'
'Did you just hand me your depends?' The young lady said.
'Yep! These Depends never judge me and makes me feel very special.'
The young lady walks away, as she continues to puke.
The old guy says, 'She is so slow. I thought that she would have given me my Depends diaper back.
'Uh oh! What am I going to doo-do in now? That girl stole my Depends!
(C) Copyrighted
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
me? these days?
i have to bribe bonsai tigers
to fall asleep by giving them
excess treats,
drink myself to a limit
and then take insomnia tablets,
glance at the stars
and gag up a bolshevik black hole,
think about russian
newly-wed millionaires
spending so mcuh the taxes go up,
testifying: well when the full circus
with elephants and missing acrobats
comes... and there's no french revolution
versace... we're in bigger crap
we thought we were...
so i took to peddling, keeping heart
rate with feeling rather than
a heart-rate keeper on the wrist known
as apple / iWank...
you'll never believe the amount
of creativity that comes from Onan...
it's like that story of onan and samson
like it's that story of cain and abel...
you'd have to be a mozart to find a creative
continuum in women rather than
beethoven in the hive of being deaf...
say rich and thus say spend...
say poor and thus say like a primate
with two flint stones... what the hell is this?!
japanese crow reduced their beak for
nut crushing purposes into a car tire.
FIRE! FIRE! PROMETHEUS!
so came the world favouring thought
from prometheus' liver
when in diaper-shelter postman pat delivery
by a stork... but each of us that got the slit
of liver never claimed origins in the apple
adam ******* out when eve forgot
that satan's singularity was expressed in
a pluralism: eat this apple, depilate,
and you and adam will be like the gods...
but then the metrosexual emerged
with shaved legs and a shaved chest...
down the drain that dream went:
as long as you eat the apple and know
you have hairy legs... i'm sure whatever you
say he will be ordained with pleasure to perform...
eve - i need a hammer
adam - here babe
eve - i need a nail
adam - here babe
eve - i need five planks of wood, four legs one like an abdomen
adam - here babe
eve - mash it up
adam - hey babe, what's that?
eve - a ****** table, tapestry for porcelain!
adam - woah! that's great!
eve to god - this adam is a ****** robot!
satan to eve - well... get ready for ******
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
you haven't lived
until you've been in a
flophouse
with nothing but one
light bulb
and 56 men
squeezed together
on cots
with everybody
snoring
at once
and some of those
snores
so
deep and
gross and
unbelievable-
dark
snotty
gross
subhuman
wheezings
from hell
itself.
your mind
almost breaks
under those
death-like
sounds
and the
intermingling
odors:
hard
unwashed socks
****** and
*******
underwear
and over it all
slowly circulating
air
much like that
emanating from
uncovered
garbage
cans.
and those
bodies
in the dark
fat and
thin
and
bent
some
legless
armless
some
mindless
and worst of
all:
the total
absence of
hope
it shrouds
them
covers them
totally.
it's not
bearable.
you get
up
go out
walk the
streets
up and
down
sidewalks
past buildings
around the
corner
and back
up
the same
street
thinking
those men
were all
children
once
what has happened
to
them?
and what has
happened
to
me?
it's dark
and cold
out
here.
4.1k
i live in a ******** so boring tractors roam the streets in the usual
traffic,
but i found that you can wizen up to a title of wizard
by finding inanimate things entertaining and thought provoking,
because the internet will not become
the next scapegoat of goldfish memory - not the next
box of entertainment - it will be what god’s green earth indented.
out here, where you’re far from trafalgar sq. you
get crows circling back to the origin of the woods with odin on the lyre
venting out against too much pigeon **** coo coo of the attired men and women marking karma with the no. 13 and being ******* on from on high,
you get seagulls, even, seagulls so far into dry land... imagine!
and you get the autistic zoning in of the cat’s eye,
those cats are very autistic, their eyes tell the sad sad story
of encapsulated solipsism - snap your fingers or meow
and they look at you passing you looking at some randomised
point of entering their sleeping pattern - very autistic those cats,
they look at you almost cross-eyed when you try to snap them out of it -
out of it being: ****** off at being awake.
very autistic those cats, those cats are very autistic, they look
at you looking past you, looking almost cross-eyed -
don’t blame me for the zigzag or the w!
so as i said, it’s so boring where i live you see tractors and crows,
and the only solidification of your presence is either provided for
by an addiction to television eager for the flicker -
or drinking... watching bricks, thinking bits and bobs out
for the torrent of slavic plumbers building the great ****** of london.
lo... upon the yonder... there it blooms *******
i like places where trees tower over man's handing man brick on brick -
makes the sky a bit bigger and less asthmatic.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 10:29 AM UTC
Sometimes I feel like a piece of ****
That was ******* from a dog
That ate a piece of ****
From a dog that ate a piece of ****
That was ******* from a dog
That ate a piece of ****
From a dog that ate a piece of ****
That was ******* from a dog
That ate a piece of ****
Perpetual Shittyness
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
waste matter discharged from the mother's bowels; feces,
excreta, stools, droppings; waste matter,
ordure, dung; **** poo, dirt, turds, ****
"cleaning up ferret excrement":
mid 16th century: from French excrément
or Latin excrementum, from excernere ‘to sift out’ feces;
act of defecating;
a contemptible or worthless person;
something worthless; garbage; nonsense;
"this book is **** unpleasant experiences
or treatment; "I went through a lot of **** last year"
things or stuff, especially personal belongings;
"he left all his **** in my apartment"
events or circumstances;
_"some crazy **** went down last night"_
any psychoactive drug, especially marijuana [the good ****
good **** verb: **** 3rd person present: *****
past tense: ******* past participle: *******
past tense: **** past participle: **** past tense: shat;
past participle: shat; gerund or present participle: ********
expel feces from the body,
soiling one's clothes as a result;
expelling feces accidentally; very frightened.
tease or try to deceive someone or thing.
"I **** you not" exclamation
exclamation: ****
[exclamation of disgust, anger, or annoyance]
Old English scitte ‘diarrhea,’ of Germanic origin;
related to Dutch schijten, German scheissen [verb];
_The term was originally neutral and used without ****** connotation_;
*********** from Greek κόπρος,
kópros—excrement & φιλία, philía—
liking, fondness, also called scatophilia
or **** [Greek: σκατά, skatá-feces],
is the paraphilia involving
****** arousal & pleasure
from specific feces;
meanly, his mother said, _u can drink my ***
but don't eat my **** then she ****
& *** & the boy drank but when
he put the warm **** to his mouth,
she slapped it out of his hand &
yelled, I told u not to eat my ****
& the boy began to cry & feeling
bad his mother turned to let him lick
the bowl & rim the moist wet hole between
her pudgy cheeks & then gave him more
of her tangy *** to drink like lemonade
& chocolate chips, sometimes it was
more like sweet sherbet; but she never
hit him again & he's been eating her ****
ever since; now, his wife lets him drink
her *** & he eats from the baby's *****
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:38 AM UTC
.*i can think of one cool job... a nighttime DJ on a radio station... anything more cool than being a DJ between the hours 12am through to 5am? honestly... can't think of a cooler job... all the song requests are gone from the classical.fm show between 3pm and 5pm... now one is telling you what to do... **** me... as a kid... either a veterinarian, or an owner of a music shop... now? an insomniac DJ... they would never play Christopher Young's Something to Think About in the afternoon... sorry... i'm a Hellraiser cult-follower of the first two movies... and that song? why? i just can't be bothered with listening to that Braveheart over-scratched Song of / for a Princess... it's good... once in a while... but, come, on!*
just one of those nights...
having listened to the scoops
from the alternative...
worried your to hell
about not having *******
enough concerning
the previous day's load
which would make the pleasures
of **** *** look tame...
perched on a windowsill -
solving a sudoku -
and listening to
Frank Zappa's occam's razor...
and wishing:
making sure it was never
hot in the city
by Billy Idol,
or Kiss' crazy nights
to usher in the night,
and the watchman...
why?
it's not your standard
guitar solo...
it's a medley...
big difference...
guitar solos are bound to
a strict return to the rhythm
section...
they are caged beasts...
composed of a restricted
time constrain in a song...
but a guitar medley?
**** me...
it's what obliterates
a need for vocals...
the guitar medley is
the vocals substitute...
and that aspect of music?
mm... gummy bears...
jelly in the knees...
which is why i like
the fact that jazz is the antithesis
of classical music symphony...
sure... i get the Schubert / Schumann
piano duets...
nice...
but jazz?
the breakdown of the quintet?
**** let me count...
piano, drums...
bass... horn... sax...
yep, a quintet...
that moment in a jazz
song? where each instrument
player gets his solo?
genius!
the same with a guitar medley...
neither solo,
nor the rhythm section...
what a beautiful opening
to what i expect to be,
a beautiful night:
as the watchman once said.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 6:34 PM UTC
Im the hardest to Hit
Since Tupac *******
On Killuminati
Somebody pass me the 12 guage shotti
Now feel these slugs hit yo body
Enemies bleed indeed love for greed
Feeds a ***** soul
Since theres no rest for the wickedness
Evilness is an imperative of mankind
Pack a chromed .45 and a black .9
As thoughts began to unravel from my mind
lookin' for adversaries to put
on flat lines
Middle finger to one time
I pull down my pants
so them ******* can **** my ****
NOW WHOS THE REAL TRICK?
im reachin' through souls
Of young boys n girls
They hate me cuz the way i swirl
Money with my two middle fingers to the world
Have no fear cuz the Lord is here
In flesh he puttin' me through a test
For my heart
Battlin' tactics im growin' frantic
Never see me panic
Now you punk *** critics show me yo heart
Puttin' rounds in yo chest
Now ya dearly depart
No sorrow from me on a mission
Hittin' yo number one charts
With this **** ****
my ****** feel this from East to West Coast
Though I'm From the South i still
Love to boast
Makin' a ghetto toast
To the real
Got every heart in the burbs to slums
Packin' steel
No time to back downs soon ill be holdin' the crown
Mild scars from breakin' the slaveryyy
Wither its reason or rhyme to crime and strife
We embracin' that **** life!!!
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:47 AM UTC
America-- you’re about as inspiring as vanilla ice cream puddled in the summer sun
a damp dishrag, america, you can’t clean up the mess you are.
Your subjects, or should I say, Objects--
your agency bereft gdp drones--
they hanker, they brood
like a syst; they’re ****** vacuoles: private, malignant, caverns of capital
your pride? starving children, dying cities?
it’s a grand ole’ flag, you pathetic ****
How about considering this:
The people, inside your prisons?
They’re free.
The people outside?
minions, hackneyed excuse for existence, and pestilence.
the ones who know oppression are free, and the ones oppressing do not know.
that’s why I love you, America.
You are what humanity needs; a slow, painful drain on our existence.
Consciousness slowly being ignited and swallowed, only to be ******* out and flushed away.
You, america, are a popcorn bag popping in the microwave, left on for too long.
You can’t expand any further, and you taste like cancer.
America, you are beautiful, and the death you bring tastes like lime flavored popsicles
that we lick to take away the taste of reality.
Your society is a cattle car, for the mind, and your messages burn the body
when it gets there.
Jun 18, 2011
Jun 18, 2011 at 9:03 PM UTC
I left you on the train tracks and
I’ve been trying to apologise for
years but nothing feels right
You threw rocks back
I never expected anything less
No china shop but you ***********
your way through everything
And I never had the guts to stop you
I kept you in self-inflicted put me downs
And calorie counted sweetness
You still got a hold over me
And now I try to fit you into rhymes
But nothing works
I found you last summer
In empty beer bottles and dead dandelions
I should have known they were signs
Nothing was alive
Not even you
Dec 29, 2013
Dec 29, 2013 at 6:54 PM UTC
I will not brown nose my way
Through this already ******* on life
I will not bow down to anything
Pretending your toes are the altar of god
I will not fight wars not meant to be started
Thinking I'll survive this eventually
I will not suffocate on the fumes of your corruption
Swimming on the hopes for one more breath
You think I'll live on my knees
But I'd rather die hanging from my neck
I will not justify your injustice
Cowarding under the glares of undignified politicians
I'd rather live fighting
Than die beaten
No it's said right
Because I'm not dying till I won
Jul 24, 2013
Jul 24, 2013 at 3:48 AM UTC
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 6:34 PM UTC
it begins with saint piran's flag... well, let's just
say that, there ought to be two "offending"
but classicly marxist, separatists governing bodies
in, what's know as geo-politics...
upper-class retards think that the people
occupying the home county known as essex
are, complete idiots...
well... hello my "fellow" londoner!
nibble on some rat-shit, get a pigeon **** *******
on your top-hat? **** **** off!
the northerners can't claim, that i'm
a southern fairy... in europe there the north / south
and the east / west divide...
the southerners seem to prosper, as do easteners...
and likewise...
essex, and the whole "point" of the south-east...
no... cornwall wan't to be indepedent,
like the basques in spain...
and that flag...
may i make a suggestion to counter the cornwallians?
revert, allow essex to have a teutonic inspired flag
in reverse to yours...
i.e. a black crux on a maiden's "body".
living in essex, i've started to become, irritated
by this county becoming a joke fior the whole nation...
like a bunch of indians saying goa in portuguese...
sure, i know: northern monkeys...
wild antics and bits and bobs...
essex has produced snooker champions...
the other sort of chess-players... the geometricians...
and then the serving geographic is simply quote as:
sun-tan orange "quirky" accent;
and all, from a megapolis that exterminates rats,
but feeds urban pigeons.
in essex? we have woodland pigeons,
and they look like the very-most pristine theologians,
if not priests...
and they're fat...
blooming... and they have the equivalent of
a dog collar... and sure as ****
they won't have one their legs, reduced to a stump
with all the claws removed... like an urban pigeon might,
strutting... well... "strutting"... merely limping.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
AiaiaiAI!
I broke the bads ****
beyond the saddened eyes of a Notorious Funkyman
As if me were you
just to catch an incognito glimpse of you
Oh how I wish that'd stayed a joke in town
haven’t ******* like a bird on my head n convert me to a punk
cannot turn't back
such an irrelevant inconvenient run
was dark dark
dark brown
beyond the thickening curtains shattering gossipers
at hours before the break of dawn
I don't do with tarot cards
my heart longing burning for your mirage
allows me not visualize
truth as is cruel
so I blow a puff
high tigh tight yotabye
n bluff you up
only how I wish was that a dream now but no man
t was no funky man
although with a funkyman
was so bad bad
and I!
after
as bad as you can be in hearts
and still me is so good in dance
nobody could score us! ...Once we have had fans.
Read you thru the minds if not hearts and broke it open now!
saw yours was not true talkin to me
although remains so lovingly
eyes with glittery in memory
as sad as it can be
if you not yourself convert it later on to … jokingly
I say ... like you
keep this a secret itsmak for luck only
then I knew what you meant...
then I saw what you saw...when you looked at me
I looked at him not with fake eyes of you oh love me true
and said Goodbye.
ie rolls a colorful bead - its a gift
with a who knows what future brings
me nodding agreeably
for the phrase only
Nay its neither for you nor ie
future a farewell at most
to include you both
and me
and I promise me
never I break hearts by puffs again
will stick to tarot cards
keep tis a hard learned lesson past
where heart allows
if not minds.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 4:46 AM UTC
Folks gather around
Theres a new sheriff in town
Me the one and only
Yosef coming explosives
As land mines keep eyes on one time
Time to shine like im glo mo
Blastin' guns at the temple's
Of the po pos
It dont matter as long as
I see the blood shatter
Make ya dreams shatter
When im on the mic i taster
The beat
Givin' total disaster
Im an F-5 tornado
Rippin' up **** everything is a target
The bars get
More ruthless
Knockin' out ya dentures
Leave ya toothless
Now ya talkin with a lisp
I burn through souls
Like an eclispe
Its total darkness
Make way for the king of the jungle
Born to rumble
So you critics can talk loud
But all i hear is mumbles
They crumbles
Like cookies at best they just rookie
Rest in peace to tookie
I crip walk and blood walk
Cuz we all one blood no crud in my eye
Cuz i never cry
Or laid down got many in a frown
Blink to fast and there will
Be a pistol to crown
Now let me see you smile fools
Talkin' loud but cant talk
With death in yo face
After the paper chase
Naw forget it i *******
Out the best and still couldnt get admitted
To a studio **** the rhymes and the fore play though
Im tryna reach your conscious so
But most stuck on nonsense
Day dreamin' i got the triple beam and
My guns be tag teamin'
Cuz they dont bust solo
So when ya see me holla bolo
So i can break into a cover
No other
Can lay it down quite like me
Im the really only emcee
Left this is my life and death
And if you got beef
Come with it come get it
But it will go stale
Got ya confined in my cell
Therapy
You cant **** with me
Im ghost
Cuz you know ya cant see me
Biaaaaasastch
Aug 7, 2015
Aug 7, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC
I woke up and started coughing.
I coughed up the taste of you from the dream I had.
I coughed brown phlegm into the sink basin.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until sour spit filled my mouth
and I puked all over my socks.
I coughed until my ***** throbbed
and I ******* myself.
I coughed until tunnels threatened to
make me black-out.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until I choked,
my heart was stuck in my throat.
I coughed until I spat it out,
still beating, onto my coat.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until I was lying face-up
in a... casket?
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 9:06 PM UTC
*choc bulimic in Edinburgh; the Welsh index and middle finger tactic,
that way a dozen models were ******* out to mind an economy.*
the next cards you'll pull from the packet
are all jokers - i.e. wild-cards -
western society begot laziness
that begot psychiatry that begot
war on terror - that somehow begot
war on terror, that didn't begot
philosophy, but it did begot crosswords -
as a Frau will testify, aged 91,
prompted-by-excuse-by-her-age:
doing the pensioner's bit: a Koepcke (1928 - 1977)
(i bet you wish it was K'oh eh pck'e'; ya?!
oder Andreas Köpke? nicht wie?),
VANDAL GRAND-GRANNY COMPLETES
A CROSSWORD - a thousand chandeliers
with a a hundred grand pianos crashed with Newton's
apple that day - the day was advertised state memorandum -
Hanzel and Gretyl came along for the sweets parade
expecting salutes in Swedish - contra beetroot -
some said agitations from the blues, some said
agitations from the beets - or so rooted -
agriculturally purple blooded, minor urban dwellers
sniffed out the cabbage-heads -
major urban dwellers sniffed their own **** out -
beginning with St. Petersburg and Cairo -
contra former violence? *sprechen zungefeinde,
zumal falschsprechen*.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
My *** Walt Whitman & Ginsberg inc.
I didnt **** off!
I didnt eye tea black boys
Tonite my *** Yes da one
And ubiflated cabage cloud
Hipped out like blue
Trowsetes
Died acidiniated
Lying greenish like salmon
Pink milk
***** sweat pull
Blacked
With satin smooth fantasy
I rotted likeke pecked tomatoes.
******* and left acient in prune meat.
By pass products of crates bigger
Like patatoe famine
Off of grain
Feeding stock bull fabrics.
Letrexaxing condense
As is strangers mated publicly.
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 5:32 AM UTC
Dante? Dante?! ha ha... we're writing tabloids for the infirmary! we are, given there's so many of us!
writers tend to note something said as being memorable...
esp. by someone else - it hardly ever is -
a tombstone insignia of born 1972 died 2021 is more memorable,
but even graves aren't exactly oaks;
you might have had a memorable lunch,
a memorable one-night-stand, a memory of the world cup -
sounds aren't memorable, esp. in
maxim form - you can whistle me a piece of a Mozart
symphony - but you'd expect all poets to treat
all their poems like butterflies,
two weeks in... dead. the miscarriage of poetry
is to give it hope of immortality -
rather than give it a mortality -
but with democracy you'd get too many poets,
and given poetry, democracy is already
a gangrene wound for the medium to express itself -
because some would say that it: over-expresses itself;
and it does, it does, so many of us were kept
in the dark concerning learning of the phonetic encoding
that we warred in the first and second and at Hastings...
now speaking from encoded script was Vogue in
the 20th century, the 20th century, in the 21st?
it doesn't really matter! poetry ought to be the art
of forgetfulness, of tattooing - it ought to be
the steak ate, protein incubated in bicep and all
the criticism ******* out worthy of investigating poetry
further... as, quiet frankly, the secondary throne
of kings, in the Louvratory, never seen a bigger smile
from Mona than as i sat anticipating an aardvark
vacuum nose up my **** giving me the tickle-winkle.
Jul 6, 2016
Jul 6, 2016 at 9:35 PM UTC
I woke up and started coughing.
I coughed up the taste of you from the dream I had.
I coughed brown phlegm into the sink basin.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until sour spit filled my mouth
and I puked all over my socks.
I coughed until my ***** throbbed
and I ******* myself.
I coughed until tunnels threatened to
make me black-out.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until I choked,
my heart was stuck in my throat.
I coughed until I spat it out,
still beating, onto my coat.
I coughed and coughed and coughed.
I coughed until I was lying face-up
in a... casket?
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
i had words on my tongue and they were pretty enough to be let off their leash
but **** it, i have no energy for beauty and delicacy and heartbreak wrapped in gilded paper
i have hurt, though, and she's scratching at the roof of my mouth
hoping that her claws can be her deliverance
deliver us from evil...
...and forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those who trespass against us
the lord's prayer is on repeat, a broken record in my head
what goes around comes around,
except i keep getting ******* on
but i put my heart out and give love and hope it'll come back for me
i forgive
but don't get me wrong: i do not forget
every wrong done against me has burrowed down in my mind
hibernating and waiting for winter to end
so they can come out with a fury
i forgive-but-don't-forget every time i was kissed and made to feel special,
then left aside waiting like laundry that's clean but not yet folded
but all the hurt
the dried up sadness caked and cracked like an old mud puddle
the wiped away tears only my shower walls have seen
the thudding breaking
sticks on my desk, a reminder,
that even if things are bad
i am not.
i give kisses and receive receding backs, because
...deliver us from evil...
the tables will turn soon
they always do
and i'm willing to wait for it
Aug 24, 2017
Aug 24, 2017 at 3:26 PM UTC