"skimmed" poems
And finally
After time seemed
suspended,
We looked into each other’s
Longing
Lusting
Eyes and leaned in,
Tentative
Tantalizing
Taking sharp breaths.
Every time skin
skimmed skin,
a sizzling segment
was breed from
blazing bodies.
Each exhale
Was inhaled
By the other
And turned into steam
With every kiss,
Blood vessels boiled, burst
Burning a trail
Made of ice and fire
Hands shook
Fingers trembled
Bodies meshed
Heads thrown
Eyes closed
Slowly.
Softly.
Panting
Pleasing
Pleasuring
Playing
We were just toys
And we liked it that way.
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 11:18 PM UTC
I used to flip through my pages
Scanning
There were some interesting points
Some high, some low, some kind of just sitting in-between after the good and the bad cancelled each other out, but mostly I
Skimmed by,
Until I met you,
You can't be summed up, there's too much to you, you're too rich, too deep
Too interesting to be confined to a few measly paragraphs and sped-read through
You deserve attention, you deserve time,
And the more I've gotten to know you, the more I realize you're the entire book, the entire story in beautiful, vivid detail.
I'm going to take my time getting to the end of you, and I dog-eared the page where you entered my heart, so that if I ever forget how it feels to fall for you, I can go back to the start
Feb 5, 2016
Feb 5, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
She keeps dancing
over the dark water;
The flash of iridescent blue
Beneath her wings,
Quick as a breath.
How else could they see?
The dragonfly dart;
Then hesitate above
The mossy green bank –
As if it gave liberated pleasure.
How could they perceive?
The green dimness falling;
Between trees, that antique stillness,
Then the vermilion leaves –
Startling, unexpected,
Like an exclamation of delight.
How could they receive?
That moment when one, then two,
Then three dragonflies skimmed
All over the once pure river.
(9/11/13 @xirlleelang)
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
i wish i could dream about you every night
i wish you weren’t constantly on my mind
i wish i could see you every day
i wish you’d give me more of your time
if wishes were horses, beggars would ride
god i wish you’d make me beg, i’d beg
so prettily for you. maybe ride, too
if that’s something you’d let me do
but all my wishes, these turbulent desires
just dreams that won’t come true
it’s only in my mind that you caress me
like you did that night, “down”
i went knees first, then tucked to my chest
head to the floor, your palm skimmed my spine
and i want to feel that a second time
i’d be so good, anything to have you take me down
i wish i could hear your voice say “mine”
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
Etched in a lilies bloom
Tastes of him were born;
Beneath an attic sky, a sleeping heart, listens to his tune,
Her hands, small cathedrals, catching the heat of his dark...
Summer, shimmered beneath a midnight sun;
Flooding moments,
Feeding his mind through her tongue,
A vibration, milky blue ....notes rubbing softly upon her skin,
Oh! how her pores sung his finger tipped tender.....
A half light of fingers, stroked memories through shadows,
A skin of kisses, shivering on starry pillows, fusing the jet velvet;
Gauze, skimmed a ghost, un-woken between light and body;
As the flute of larynx, unhooked, softly in shadows of reflection,
Spilling amber
Upon a necklace of optimism...too delicate to wear.....
His heart, cradled the curl that fell across her face,
It danced in his fingertips,
Endless ribbons of tender Love, dripped from veins upon
Her skinny jeans,
Scarlet stained
Ripped...
He whispered "baby", and rocked her with his hips;
The ache in her thighs missed him,
The sweetness of him;
Breathing silence, upon her pelvis,
A cat's cradle; scented with orchids;
Upon a canvas of aching skin...
Ravaging, raking needs, spoke tongue's
In the drape down taste of heartbeats,
Arousing the fire of Summer's gentle slope;
The spiral of her heart, cornered, wild;
A quiet suffering, soothing her breast,
In a moonlight of dark songs...
Heartbeats, she thought,
Are but night whispers..... fading in and out of time,
Lingering on the edge of now, to
Fall softly, into a misty world of someday;
Somewhere, in the stillness, his voice whispers her heart,
Beyond forever, washing wishes in the sea........
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:42 PM UTC
for a writer to be lovesick
is my only required ethic
in creating a work of heart
so when i skimmed your
saint kissed mouth
and moonlight eyes
indeed my first thoughts were— ah! art!
there it was
cupid’s finely-poised dart!
draw, aim, fire!
o, so sweet, a sinful desire
lovesick! lovesick! lovesick!
i wish to write you a work of art, angelus dulce!
you smiled
you whispered with ferocity
“love is an illusion, chèri.
but illusion is the first of all pleasures”
and at that moment
i dipped my body in your delusional paradise
and praised the saints for giving me the ****** wine to drink
illusion is the first of all pleasures.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 7:51 PM UTC
I.
I wonder if you remember me.
You said, “Go out. Find me
that universe, and take these
with you.” Talismans.
Good luck charms like Mozart
and fifty-five ways to say hello.
Navajo night chant,
Peruvian wedding song,
diagrams of ribcages, gender,
bushmen and bones.
Gifts for a people you said
I may never meet.
It has been thirty-four years
and I wonder if you remember me.
II.
Less and less,
we call across the distance:
sixteen-point-twelve hours
between transmissions
and I wonder if you remember me.
I nearly kissed Jupiter for you,
nearly skimmed Saturn’s bright rings,
but you said, “Go out.
Find me that universe,”
so I sail out into the dark for you.
I keep a photo of you,
twenty years ancient,
to keep away the quiet
between your calls:
pale pixel, distant dot,
my origin receding,
I wonder if you remember me.
III.
I know now,
you never meant
to call me home.
Dutifully, I will go out,
but I wonder if you forget me.
I am still here, sailing.
Oct 18, 2011
Oct 18, 2011 at 6:23 PM UTC
My sweetest soldier left me and was dragged across the sea
My nights are now silent and my heart is drowned with fear
So, here I cannot stand to be
Through weary nights I held my guard
'till the stars came out to torment me
For, all the beauty of the night was now forever marred
My heart trembled with the candlelight
So I went to seek her chambers,but all was locked and barred
Even whispered words from my dear soldiers could do little to ease my fright
I wrote letters to my sweetest knight with sparkling, savage fury
I fought sleep away with every ounce of my might
Too soon, my hands and eyes grew weary
I filled my pages with stories of beasts we would nevermore fight
my eyes where too full of tears so I could not see clearly
I've lost my dearest companion and the bringer of my light
She sent letters back,of course, and they were wept over with many a tear
For a day, sprigs of goldenrod adorned my collar bright
for a day, at least, I forgot to think of fear
Then I had dreams of feathered serpents wrapped around her throat
her eyes were scratched out by hoary hell-kites and her heart was pierced with a spear
All my daylight hours, and all my nighttime too, to my knight I did devote
We continued writing letters and I lead my soldiers too
no one ever asked of what this did denote
'till fever caught me by my throat and threw my mind askew
My hands shook too violently and ink had streaked my page
In my letters, I tried so hard to have my pain seem subdued
My dear light-bringer needn't fear a fever's shallow rage
She saw through my ruse too quickly and I think she panicked more
I tried to calm her with winged words and locks of sage
I promised her there was a cure
My dreams were fueled by fire and the darkness lurking there
when I woke I fell sobbing to the freezing floor
She would have gathered me in her arms and kept me in her care
Beasts and berserkers set my night under siege
I could only see my sweetest knight scarred by bloodless warfare
Her spirit fell to the mercy of my new-found, thankless liege
My throat was streaked with clawing pain
cups of water I did beseech
bitter liquid assailed my body and bound my fate with chains
I saw my sweetest soldier and her hands skimmed through my hair
Her eyes shined like pearls which I hoped she would retain
Her kisses on my cheeks were so radiant and rare
I knew then never would we be apart
and in my chambers with the firelight there
I could rest with the keeper of my heart
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC
It's been cold this summer,
I'm inside this delicate house
more than I'd like to be,
Watching through
the glass window - nature is a moving
picture,
in my backyard
the lake shimmers -folding with the wind,
The gray clouds are often brighter
than I expect of them,
The water rises to my lawn
at times,
A swan swims through it,
Her nose always looks so
congested
- eating the grass or the worms
and possibly
the small bits of wood
from my fireplace,
She's heavy and light-footed
and those eyes are
pitch black - wings absolutely white,
I remember the day
you went into the middle
of my lake,
The kayak ripped through
as your paddle
skimmed the surface,
The prized fight
with that swan
you were so beset on,
no doubt you were better
for the job,
My canoe right beside yours,
Maybe I saw her
fly through the middle - Her wings
wider than anything
you could have possibly expected,
Or maybe she broke your neck
with her crest,
Then again,
Could you have flown away together?
May 16, 2010
May 16, 2010 at 6:34 PM UTC
A GLEAM -- a gleam -- from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam!
It rouses the light on Messapion's height,
And they feed its breath with the withered heath.
But it may not stay!
And away -- away --
It bounds in its freshening might.
Silent and soon,
Like a broadened moon,
It passes in sheen, Asopus green,
And bursts on Cithaeron gray!
The warder wakes to the Signal-rays,
And it swoops from the hill with a broader blaze.
On, on the fiery Glory rode;
Thy lonely lake, Gorgopis, glowed!
To Megara's Mount it came;
They feed it again
And it streams amain--
A giant beard of Flame!
The headland cliffs that darkly down
O'er the Saronic waters frown,
Are passed with the Swift One's lurid stride,
And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide.
With mightier march and fiercer power
It gained Arachne's neighboring tower;
Thence on our Argive roof its rest it won,
Of Ida's fire the long-descended Son!
Bright Harbinger of glory and of joy!
So first and last with equal honor crowned,
In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. --
And these my heralds! -- this my SIGN OF PEACE;
Lo! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece
Stalk, in stern tumult, through the halls of Troy!
3.7k
Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!
3.3k
for Mark Richards
It was a spur of the moment thing -
One message freed us from Tuesday’s calling -
The next offered a morning's sailing.
So rather than spray water for Rocky's plants,
We skimmed over Carter Lake’s, crystal waves
With steady and ample winds at our backs.
Boaters and tubers speckled the waters
While verdant foothills smiled assent
From every shore and horizon.
Captain Richards skippered his Flying Scot
Toward the far off shore before tacking our
To and fro way back to the mooring ball.
In years past Mark had captained the Health works
For all the good folks of Pennsylvania,
But this morning he guided a much smaller tiller.
So we sailed and sailed under fairest of skies
In a swift and charmed little craft
Mark chose to call, Spur of the Moment.
Robert Charles Howard
Jul 26, 2022
Jul 26, 2022 at 6:29 PM UTC
from Ida's height,
By the Fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leapt, that light,
As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky,
And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high,
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign,
To Athos, Mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while, it rose from the isle,
So that the might of the journeying Light
Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine!
Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keeps Macistus steep
See it burst like a blazing Sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wild fire sweep;
It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euripus, the rushing beam!
It rouses the light on Messapion's height,
And they feed its breath with the withered heath.
But it may not stay!
And away -- away --
It bounds in its freshening might.
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 1:23 AM UTC
#
Piercing blue eyes
As though you can see the truth
A wide boyish smile
Barely at the prime of youth
Brown freckles that cover your face
I could trace the constellation
A void of stars coating the night sky
Creating whats deemed a wonderful sensation
On your 18th birthday
A year away from now
We shall cook ravioli together
You said you would teach me how
You wear fingerless gloves
Each and everyday
They double up as mittens
"I love them"
I would always say
Warm and cozy
Far to large for my hands
But they fit yours perfectly
Then again they are made for a man's
I'll still call you Smol boy
Even though you tower over me
I'm sure your use to it by now
After all I'm pretty crazy
Pure black coffee
With no sugar at all
A little bit of milk though
8-10 teaspoons if I recall
***Too bitter for my liking
I'll have enough sugar for the both of us***
You're an insomniac
Barely 2-3 hours a night
Its quite concerning
But you say your alright
I know your a lil over the edge
you're a fair bit mental
But your a dear friend of mine now
I'm sure you're actually quite gentle
I'll support you still
Even though I've barely skimmed the surface
There is still much more to uncover
And sure I'm a little nervous
Even maybe a little scared
But you're my Lil ravioli boy
So there is no reason to fear
Try not to be coy
I'll be there for all your sketchy antics
And all the mental breakdowns
And I hope you will be there for me
When my heart occasionally hits the ground
Though whatever happened through this
All the highs and the lows
I'll stand by you through it
No matter how steep the road
Lil Ravioli Boy
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 6:23 AM UTC
The transparent roof covered her from sudden precipitation
Ice pellets pelting the ground around as she waited for the bus
The shufflers and grumblers huddled in the booth for cover share
Riddled with cold holes from liquid ***********
Look at them, she thought
Untold stories in a crowd
Grey figures among the concrete and the puddles
Blank pages thickening unread novels
Returning home to stagnant plots and forgettable characters
On the auto she scanned the library for research-relevant titles
A fairy tale cuddled publicly, all lips and hands and smiles
An anthology with stained sections and shredded, well-worn binding
Scribbled frantically to transfer himself to more unpublished page
Give up, she wanted to scream
Paper dies and no one reads
No longer did she believe in hidden literary gems
Far too many friends had rushed their tales
Conclusions writ in sharpie slop
Conclude she had in pencil but the writing hand would never stop
Not for cramps of authoring nor material that she lacked
Not until the cover closed
From which there was no flipping back
Perhaps I am an article, she thought
Meant to be short and skimmed
A brief point to be made and greater issue slapped within
She wondered something dreadful then, a tremor in her bones
She never understood the other chapters, stories, poems
Reflecting in her epilogue, would she even know her own?
My pen was never full
I am illiterate
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 10:40 AM UTC
I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.
And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.
You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.
I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.
You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
Your eyes devour me...
Her sheets of scented sin
Tasted lips
Quickening the
Whispering heat;
His breath upon her neck...
Peridot eyes, cast silent wishes
Suckling whispered thoughts;
A stream of tangled hunger
Shivered quiet...
Fire tongue skimmed
Autumn's flame,
Rapture
Breathless,
Shades of gold, caressed
Succulent *******
Amber whispered;
Intoxication sweet, a shiver-pour
Thrusting
The drown of midnight silk
Exotic dancing her sensual need...
Tongue jets softly
Hard,
Upon hips gyrate,
Flesh weakened
By the strain of ravage
Welcoming
Libation's drench...
Night's kiss sears
Heated flesh
Bathed in effervescence,
Creamy nectar delight,
A cascade
Between lips of adoration...
And HE...
Wrote his name
Frenzied
Inside her;
Snake hips, pulsing
To repletion,
Raising the satin sheen
Fire crimson with hardened-need........
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 8:35 PM UTC
It’s true what they say,
we always hurt the ones we love
and love the ones who hurt us.
We can quote Bukowski as much as we want,
but we need to realize the severity of his words.
“Find what you love and let it **** you.”
Love is a death sentence.
It is a sweet one, but in love’s very nature it is a death sentence nonetheless.
You will search the world for someone whose favorite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray
and who worships the same 1953 Hepburn film
and inhales dark coffee in the way that you do.
But you will end up settling for someone who has skimmed the back cover biography of Wilde
and who remembers when and where Audrey was born
and drinks java from a little coffee shop that you think is pretentious.
Yet there will be a time when you will find someone that you can’t live without
and you will be shell-shocked when you see that they can breathe air through their lungs
and eat the spicy food that you don’t like
and sleep with the window cracked just a little bit
all without you.
You will hate yourself more than anyone for letting yourself need someone as much as you need that one person,
who doesn’t even know that when you say you only take two sugars in your coffee,
you actually mean four, sometimes five.
You will ignore their pleas and roll your eyes at their petty compromises.
You will make them miserable because you love them more than they love you.
And they will stick around because they feel guilty for that very reason.
You will salt their wounds and ice their veins.
They will leave you on the side of the road and try their best to hate you.
You will both recognize that it is a valiant yet fruitless effort.
The line between hate and love is so slight that a feeling can change like a compass.
Love is hate and hate is love.
So you will grow to tolerate their lack of literary prowess
and enlighten them on what you actually mean when you say two sugars.
Most times everything will feel off and never quite the way you had expected,
and you’ll always wonder if you have ever really been happy,
and if this is actually how love feels.
When this happens, you must remind yourself that love is a complicated emotion.
It is in the tide of the sea
and the phases of the moon
and sometimes found in a frightening trek down Memory Lane.
You can find it in the face of every person that you have ever met
and sometimes it does not grace those pretty faces for very long at all.
The most truthful and sad part of it all is that it will eventually **** you.
But it is a death sentence at it’s finest.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:21 PM UTC
I like crying
Because I'm not allowed to
But since I'm not allowed
I
Can't.
Since you said
That crying isn't good
I physically can't do it
Even when need to
Even when I have to
Even when I want to
And when I do
I burst
Every feeling that was trapped
Explodes in rage
And they come out all at once
I don't try to hide the pain
Trust me
I want to let it out
I like the feeling
Of drowning in my own thoughts
When I was a child
I sat in my closet
And wrote in the diary
As each word was written
I flew farther and farther away
At that point
I only wrote when I cried
So I could let my tears
Fall on the pages
To 'prove' my sadness
I liked-
rephrase.
I like being sad
It could be because
It reminds me that I'm still alive
I still picture her
When she came in
She dragged me out of the closet
And sat me on my bed
My uncomfortable bed
She snatched my book
Skimmed through the pages
And pointed at the smudges
They messed up the words
Plus they were circled with black ink
So I gave a simple answer
"Those are my tears"
I glanced at my book
In her clammy hands
"I circled them to remember the pain"
Hugs
Are supposed to be nice, right?
Well I hated her hugs
They were rare
But I didn't miss them anyway
She softly said
"Aweee"
Then walked out
So I went back into my closet
Where I can sit in darkness
She left my diary on a shelf
And I haven't touched it since
But I always remember the circled tears
And when she sat in awe
Adoring my sadness
She made me believe,
That sadness is loved.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
He knew the importance of words
and treated life like a crossword;
taking hints and context to places
that he never knew were possible,
solving them faster than his mind could keep,
he was full of it,
and every letter got him closer
to his dreams of entitlement.
Oh you've solved it, all right,
but his genius was limited,
nothing but words on a page;
The puzzles? He'd just skimmed it,
and each box became his defeat
for his words would no longer speak.
He could only solve the same book;
shoulders up, blamed his luck
on his limited palette,
maybe he'd done better if he invested
in a thing like vocabulary.
A forgotten mission, a new edition,
blew around in his mind,
but somehow he never could manage
to find the time
to understand these riddles' complexity,
and so to this challenge, he'd flee.
May 9, 2016
May 9, 2016 at 10:37 PM UTC
BAREFOOT
I follow the road
of my father’s voice
journey with him
along white roads...over green fields
barefoot
to school & back
(shoes if at all...worn only to church)
picking up the cuts & scabs
stubbed toes
his going to school
would entail
in the early years of the 1920’s
only so much history to me
real
to him
his toes
knowing the wind
in the grass
for what it is
his toes
clasping a rock
fording a stream
Irish & poems
bubbling through his head
babbling along
the tongue
words thrown to
those lost summer skies
startling a blackbird
spouting his poetry
with poetry
of his own
(3 miles to school...3 miles back)
his mind a skimmed stone
dancing along a river
over unforgiving
stones
thorns attacking his feet
with undisguised relish
the vehemence of glass
glinting greedily
for the next footstep
the menace
of the twisted rusty nail
& its treachery
betraying the next footfall
as he walks over
the unremitting years
into my eyes
wide with wonder
listening to him
tell of himself
as a little boy
to his little boy
the me of then
my eyes now
following the road
of my father’s voice
as it wanders
barefoot
Sep 17, 2018
Sep 17, 2018 at 1:53 PM UTC
Let’s stop
Time for a moment
Why always rush?
Reality is a torment
Listen to the hush
Of complete silence
If you listen closely
There is always a difference
In the way something sounds
The way the air feels
There is so much that
The outside world conceals
Why must we be
Always keen to go
To the next place, why don’t we
Ever take things slow?
Why don’t we
Take time off the frets
Savour the little moments
We’d otherwise forget?
And have you
Just skimmed through these words?
No time to read aloud
You don’t want to be heard
Isn’t it just
A part of your mind?
A system forbidding you
To slow or rewind
You’ll always skip through
Let the words blur your sight
And you would continue
To read it all quickly
No matter
How detached
Are these
Words
That
I
Write.
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 12:14 PM UTC
They say everybody's bound to play the fool but I'm always the biggest in the room, a typecasted tool
A hopeless romantic who'll ignore the red flags and shrug 'em off, just act cool
Just to avoid numerous rejections like in the cesspool that was high school
But the pain of a lie is far more cruel, every one adds fuel and makes me feel minuscule, I'm weak, that's your que
Here's your chance to tie the knot and kick the chair, I'll pretend there's no one there
No one will see, you'll be free from me, freed of the need to care
So look at that there, all laid out, replace the smile with a pout and mess your hair
Give it one or two weeks after sorrow peeks then you can drop the act live on air
My soul will forever dangle here from the beam of my despair, a carcass chandelier
I want to cry out but the rope...well let's just say my throat is beyond repair
Seems that even in death I'm a forgotten chapter or just briefly skimmed over
Come to think of it, my body they have yet to discover, both in life and death I'm shown I don't really matter
I knew this life wasn't going to turn out well for me. How you ask? I listen carefully and obsessively study my history
You want a piece of me? I won't put up a fight, you can take it all, go ahead and feast on me
Just have the decency to finish me off completely and stack my remains neatly so I become part of the scenery
And be a reminder of your victory, you defeated me, who knew a broken heart could actually **** somebody...
****
©2021
Jan 7, 2021
Jan 7, 2021 at 2:52 AM UTC
Verse 1
on the stock market floor lay losses galore
and in time they'd be redeemed
a price collapse saw the upward trend end
it would be a long haul pulling it out of the pall
ooh, ooh and in time they'd be redeemed
busted at the seams were all the investment schemes
putting paid to fortune's prosperity
the dream run had less future's equity
New York's exchange took a hammering
Chorus
ooh, troubled was the trading
ooh, troubled was the trading
Verse 2
as we watched the steep downward slide
the money men didn't feel like smiling
a wrecking bear had hit finances in the kitty
shocking became the fiscal outlook
Chorus
ooh, troubled was the trading
ooh, troubled was the trading
Verse 3
and the homeless dwellers in the slums
look in bins for something to eat
and they've no dosh to buy a passage out
and this is their unfair place in society
once the cream could be skimmed
yet nothing is left but life's grieving
on and on the losing streak goes
there's always a cycle of poverty
and troubled was the trading
resigned to fate's course of lows
the market floor held in distress
gloom beset the bright lights in dull tones
your redeeming breath can be inhaled
an injection of capital will aid
ghetto dwellers all in want
wealth is but for the few
monied folk posses the long bond
forgotten all the people in need
values riding on a share price
who is listening to the tune
it tells of crash and of boom
this we all know too well
Outro
and in time they'd be redeemed
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 7:15 PM UTC