"stagnate" poems
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Faces of friends, of people i met earlier
are glittering stars on this late evening's
dark blue sky...their smiles are tattooed
in my mind...they're hunched, going
lower by the days...slowed down by years.
it must be hard and painful...the arching,
the drooping of the neck, the curving spine,
they endure all, 'til each day's end...they rise
each new dawn...do what they still can do,
lest they stagnate in their aging ponds,
diminish to a state, where food, pills, or
forgotten information are forced on them,
......like drugs, injected into the veins
........................
these wee hours bring back the years...
they have been good...never mind the
hard times...there were, there are good ones
life is a long, wide stream of changing hues,
flowing on and on....my water bears the
colors each new day brings...gray, at times
with sadness and gloom....other days,
blacked by despair...some summers, red,
roseate with glee, or green with life and
hope...blue, when trust is spilling, and
the tranquil sea and sky overwhelm,
with a promise of stability..........white,
when accepting......the unacceptable...
........................
the amber grains and i, are alike
ripened enough to be plucked
be pulled out from an existence...the
signs are known...shown...yet, i wait
for when it is due to happen...and while
waiting, the stalks sway, play and dance
and enjoy the sun and wind...and i,
while i still can...walk, jump, climb hills
and valleys in this mammoth space
of land and water.............called life
...................
the sounds of my days, i still hear,
i am a lute, a harp, a cello...playing
off-key.....out of tune at times,
my strings are my graying hair,
i still can't stop dying the gray
i still want to highlight the dark,
but, one day, all these will cease...
............
one night, my face will be in one of those
many stars...glittering on a dark blue sky
sending a smile, to my loved ones.
...................
(there is no other way,
but forward
all are headed
towards an end.)
Sally
© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
June 26, 2018
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 11:31 PM UTC
I sit upon an impossible throne,
The world's most comfortable chair.
It's all I'll ever wish to own
Though I forget it's even there.
My chair is ergonomical,
Conforming right to me.
Whatever I find desirable
It suits every want and need.
I feed it everything I have
But it never is enough,
Everyday my fingers bleed
Stuffing it with fluff.
I only see in front of me,
My chair it does not turn.
And as far as I can see
My chair is the whole world.
My chair is all I'll ever know
I seldom choose to leave it.
It scarcely ever lets me go
It's all I can believe in.
I don't know what I'd do without it,
Perhaps get up and get a life.
But instead I'll sit and stagnate,
Dying in my own delight.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
Thomas creek keeps moving
This water gives way to childhood play.
I think this place remembers me.
Old gravel road,
potholes lined in Oregon ferns
The same ones that tickled my knees
when I was as young as three
I think they remember me
Lazy light filters down to green
Earth, mud and skipping rocks
Serve as old novelties and
Time ticking clocks.
The only place left
That remembers me.
vast enough to hold my past.
The only green enough that last
Fountain of youth that makes me sprite
Jump into a past with such delight
Thanks for holding on.
Stagnate nostalgia
Remembering skinned knees
Deep breaths, cold water that calmed dread
youth to living all grown up
some things remain the same...
Do you remember my name?
Do you remember me?
Jun 30, 2015
Jun 30, 2015 at 12:41 AM UTC
Journal Entry #13
I know its been sometime since I've written, but in my defense
I've been a busy girl.
I turn thirty-two in a couple days, and I'll be honest..
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
This year has been nothing but changes for me.
Walked away from a toxic marriage.
Moved away from everyone and everything I know.
Walked away from childhood friendships,
Because they refused to grow...
Depression took over and consumed my life...
Crippling me.
I was alone.
With nothing...
But pain to keep me company.
But...
See...
That's one thing about me...
I've always been about bettering mine.
I may forget how strong I am temporarily.
But I'm not the type to roll over and die just like that.
All those so called people in my life that said they loved me.
Always wanting me to do good, but never better than them.
An ex husband who blinded me with lies and his own misery.
It's sad once you realize these were the kinds of people I let take up so much of my time...
But none of you really knew me at all...
Never thought I'd stand up on my own two feet again..
Get my **** together again.
You thought you knew me.
But that's one thing about me.
As soon as you doubt me,
I'll show you how hard I grind.
Proved all of you wrong, all at the same time.
I can't give no more time to that petty ****
The petty life you chose to live.
You're steady complaining about your life,
but doing nothing to change it.
Drowning in your own misery.
Assuming I'd always be along for the ride.
why'd I tolerate that **** for so long?
But see,
I'm not that same girl you use to know.
And that's one thing you just never saw.
You're not moving,
You're stagnate in your own misery.
You're not growing with me.
Its just time I let you go.
I have no more sympathy to give to you.
Oh, you think I'm heartless.
Well get this...
This is how I see this...
If I can stand up from my own personal hell of...
Loss...
Heartache...
Loneliness...
Misery...
Divorce...
Depression..
Lift my own self up..
Walk out into better days..
All because I made the choice to change things.
Why cant you?
I'll be honest...
I hate that I had to let you go...
I get it you're upset with me..
That's okay I'll let you be.
Yeah, I hear some of you are hatin' me.
I had mad love & respect for you..
But that's the thing about me..
And yea,
I know you say...
I'm selfish...
But...
I cant grow with people in my life who refuse to grow with me.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 5:32 PM UTC
Day by day I lay it down,
“All right men, here’s the plan;
you go on in, and get 7 of them
(because 7’s a holy number)
and we wouldn’t want to offend
any defender of the other inclination.
Our nation would suffer at their loss,
and that would cost too much in terms
of net profit, would disturb a delicate
balance, we wouldn’t transgress
or progress, rather stagnate,
in a backwards state of mind."
You told me you liked my poetry.
But would you really
if you could see what I
see the ladies hooked on
Turkish series and
not enough men
to count fingers on?
Our men left long ago,
got hooked on the same show we were watching,
and it was alarming how it was cut with some
breaking news, something about how Syria was
going to lose another plane, and we felt some pain
and flipped the station, where we were met with
temptation masked as the latest ads only to add
to the list of the things we’ll never have.
So much for bad TV.
Could we please see something real?
And I fear the Kardashian’s aren’t quite enough,
you see, I’ve caught onto the bluff that **** must
be staged. But that’s ok I’ll let it pass, perhaps some
movie to catch my attention. Attention becoming
another word for distraction, and we carry
that emblem all around, hoping for anything
to evolve this frown into laughter whether
humorous, devilish, or maniacal in tone.
If not TV, reach for your phone.
Anything to get to another zone,
another place, just space out because
anywhere is better than here.
Where is the end, be near?
- I want to meet it smiling.
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 9:26 AM UTC
And this place our forefathers made for man!
This is the process of our love and wisdom,
To each poor brother who offends against us—
Most innocent, perhaps—and what if guilty?
Is this the only cure? Merciful God!
Each pore and natural outlet shrivelled up
By Ignorance and parching Poverty,
His energies roll back upon his heart,
And stagnate and corrupt; till changed to poison,
They break out on him, like a loathsome plague-spot;
Then we call in our pampered mountebanks—
And this is their best cure! uncomforted
And friendless solitude, groaning and tears,
And savage faces, at the clanking hour,
Seen through the steam and vapours of his dungeon,
By the lamp’s dismal twilgiht! So he lies
Circled with evil, till his very soul
Unmoulds its essence, hopelessly deformed
By sights of ever more deformity!
With other ministrations thou, O Nature!
Healest thy wandering and distempered child:
Thou pourest on him thy soft influences,
Thy sunny hues, fair forms, and breathing sweets,
Thy melodies of woods, and winds, and waters,
Till he relent, and can no more endure
To be a jarring and a dissonant thing
Amid this general dance and minstrelsy;
But, bursting into tears, wins back his way,
His angry spirit healed and harmonized
By the benignant touch of Love and Beauty.
2.5k
These Great Reviver’s wild reforms
Now sound like all Hot Air,
Narendra Modi’s new India
Still bogged down in despair.
Shinzo Abe’s revised Japan
Still wallows to stagnate
And China’s Xi Jinping’s grand scheme
Continues to deflate.
Collectively they stumble
In their plans to stimulate
Asia’s great economies…..
But have failed to shut the gate
On the Shadow Banking industry,
Their vague structural reform
And the fossilized grey politics
Which resemble, now, the norm.
Rhetoric is their keynote here
Real action’s in decline
With their mandate clearly squandered
There’s A BIG CRASH DOWN THE LINE!
M.
Auckland
23 August 2014
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 8:24 PM UTC
The soft edges of femininity,
Round, ******* complements,
Heels, ***** of the feet, sockets,
Soft eyes, soft hearts, soft hands
Tinkering, thanking, crossing, legs.
Girlhood is enclosed in a silver box
With mute pastels and a heavy soundtrack of strings,
Strings which bifurcate, dissect, divulge,
Horrors, bells, instruments and lush melodies.
Girlhood smells of iron, hot animals, heaving,
Converging, pin ****** the sharp alacrity of Knowing.
Eyes are wet, armpits go black , round edges
Protrude into a potbelly, grow and stagnate,
expand and collapse.
Jul 9, 2021
Jul 9, 2021 at 3:06 PM UTC
We can never completely wipe the slate. There will always be things that are left to fester and stagnate.
All we can do is turn to the next page while waiting for our memories to degrade as we inevitably progress further into old age.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
your pale smooth skin
slides under me
as we are more sweat
than bone
i suckle
your pink taut areolas
you clutch my hair
and my fingers spread
everywhere
you close your eyes
bite down your lips
shudder slightly
gasp
a low heavy breath
and it’s like
some shade in an inferno
opened a cobwebbed window
from the blackest molten bowels
to release the compressed
stagnate humid air
from your deepest self.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:57 PM UTC
The cosmic river of placidity our spiritual
Graveyard, laden illuminating the resevoirs
Of the sun serpents mineral kingdoms created
As the desecrated flowers of the
Universe decay,
The barren Earths machinery immortally
Combative rebirthing deaths plague.
Akashas victorious joy reflecting the
Sillohettes of times ardititious travellings
Fleeting, the strength of withered spirits
Collective daydreams upon solacses fallen
Fields of despair, redeeming justices
Patience provocating abeyance.
The irredescent golden amber of an iron
Roses kindling flame; katabolisms landscape
Transcending sunsets incarnate pharisaical
Clouds defying agonising temptations rising
On the wind of sanctimonious whispers
Working the stagnate temper of
Choas' repining heart.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jan 13, 2012
Jan 13, 2012 at 10:59 AM UTC
Your eyes are sockets of disapproval
My eyes are sunk in their reticence
Would I be the flustering morning sun?
No I'm not, I only break the dawn
When, creeping from my slothing insolence
I enter the world afresh to some harried call
A new day stretching my body from contortion
To a slumbered, slouched hunch
With bags afrenzy under these eyes that stare back
Are portals to my soul, which is also empty
Reflections of woeful, haggard dejection
Which, in my mind's eye, which is yours,
Give me call to curl back to my hibernation
To recede like my own vacant eyes do,
To my seat of morose repose
Senseless, as I stare thickly into space
Beholding my dreams strewn before me
As I curl away from them, and they seem ever reachable
Moments ago, I used to speak to myself
A mutterance for the day's outlook
Something to find a more suitable reflection
Waiting for me at the day's end
A worldly philosophy, or mind set proposal
But a strange shame spoke back at me,
As I perceived my speaking of these words
That with each day's turn only mildly echoed
As I turned from monotony with each night
To mediocrity of passionless habit
With a pinch of thought each glance conjures
I look upon myself in years,
My futile vision, my rampant egoism
With which the twinkling eye discerns me
At my now stage, and with
Reassuring confidence tells me not to change
As with time's growth will I become you
But blink and I return to forever
For without vigor and drive will this image
Imprint and stagnate its glare upon this glass
My eternal face, my motiveless eyes
Which so piteously transfix themselves on wonder
But turn up only rubble and soil
Now, I turn in disgust, relinquishing my desires
And, turning to the hour, feel slowly
The weight of each second's thunder
Crash upon my shoulders as it is snatched from me
And now I must not lounge through this new morn
I must not lessen with the tide
What I have stored up in greatness
But instead find the key to my ghostly heart
Bring myself back,
Forward into each new life
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 11:09 AM UTC
Forget what they tell you
About being a masterpiece
You are not art
You are not stagnate beauty,
Nor were you created for the pleasure of others
You were not meant to be marveled at
by the simple minded
Or ridiculed for your every flaw
You are not art
You are wind
Sending chills through the bones
of those in your presence
You are fire
Spitting embers with a coal-coated tongue
You are water
A bubbling stream of euphoric laughter
No, you are not art
You are so much more
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
jack casual was a hard workin' man,
put bread on the table,
kept the roof over our heads,
and kept that dog, nellie, from gettin' 'er sorry be-hind run over.
yep, ol' jack was worth his salt.
he used to play his acoustic for us
when we were tikes,
back when we had an air conditioner.
when it broke down,
ol' gran-pappy,
jack's dad,
had him run out to the store to buy a window unit
and a slurpie.
then pappy would stagnate all day
in the back room while we sweltered,
and he'd send me on errands on my bike,
and read week-old newspapers,
and yell at jack to
"pay the god **** bills"
at four in the morning.
jack wanted to send him to a "home",
but mama never did like them.
she said they were "unsafe",
"unsanitareh",
and "unhospitible".
so gran-pappy stayed.
yes sir-ee, gran-pappy stayed
for three long years
with his banjo
and the growin' pile of slurpie cups in the corner
of that back room where it was cool.
until that one night
when gran-pappy called mama
a name the dog had done learned to respond to,
and mama said,
"jack,
just put him in the home!
a lady shouldn't be treated upon
in this mannuh."
that was the last i ever did see
of ol' gran-pappy,
but i still remember the last words he said to us:
"...and bring me back a slurpie,
it's one hot son of a ***** up in here
and i need somethin'
to cool me off a spell!"
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 3:29 PM UTC
What dream are you dreaming?
What are you missing, seams tearing
Bearing the weight, hungry children haven’t ate
Picket fence, just a gate
Locking you in, a stagnate state
American dream, American dream
Seams tearing, weight bearing
Tick tock alarm clock blaring
Swearing up and down
That you will be more
more than what you are around
But equality is only ideology
Reality is brutality
Suburbia only exists
On top of working class fists, stress
Test, testing schools underfunded
Mothers gone, and fathers drunk loving
Lies, corruption
Deceived by our own government
Monsanto’s sits on the top of the hill
Selling people food, that only kills
Pharmaceutical companies with overpriced pills
Poverty at a rate
That is sending chills
What dream are we dreaming?
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 12:40 AM UTC
#The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate
this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate
two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate
this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate
with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state
it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
till the glass ***B E K
R A S.***#
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 10:09 AM UTC
Intricate matrixes of words
Strung delicately one after another,
Flowing from unseen fountain,
Flowing beneath a cryptic mountain
Melding Into one another, so far as I can see it
Nothing absolute can be created from the puddle
That’s collected all my muddled thoughts,
Stagnate, is indignant to the fact that life survives in motion,
Lost to the notion that change is not bearable
But instead it is, it is inevitable.
Tell that to the cryptic mountain resisting the change
Holding on so desperately to every spec of dirt,
Until in turn gravity tears it from its grip.
Yes the mountain is grounded
But is it equipped? Water is quick.
But it just moves dirt and mountains that spent
An eternity building up , and what kind of
Grounding is earth hurdling back toward earth?
Astounding yes, resounding in your heart and head
Your aspirations bounding? Remaining unchanged,
Except a small tilt in your perception so insignificant
You don’t know that gravity just stole a spec of your dirt.
You have on a micro level come unearth
But regardless of your element you will be
Subjected to the erosion until you are a flat plain,
Or a calm stream or eventually a stagnate puddle.
But you would never know
That you are the highest humbled,
The grandest grounded, and if you can puddle
Without being stagnate you are the ocean
Until you were there you wouldn’t know it would you?
Well unless you read I said it, then maybe then,
But again I doubt it.
Apr 24, 2012
Apr 24, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
dreamt in strange shifting blocks, interwoven and with startled faces, sentencings spoken wordless. woke up to the blurry thought:
sometimes in talk, i am confronted with ideas that in no way reconcile with my own structures. in response, i often choose to not say anything, or let it uncomfortably sit in my gut. in cases where the opposing point won't be heard, i suppose this is alright. but, when my own rooted beliefs are challenged in a valid manner, it is more akin to the silence of shame than of dignification. is this symbolic of the internalisation of a more sound philosophy, or inability to process it against the grain of my own?
avoiding argumentation where it is of little purpose is one of my prime conversational aspects, and in an overarching paradigm avoiding unnecessary speech in general. but what internally portrays as tact can come off as indignant coolness, or bitter indifference. so, do i continue to speak in only the meaningful outer lashes, or let down the floodgates to some degree?
human interaction doesn't need necessitate grave importance at all junctions, and sometimes the most comforting talk can be of nothings (which i still find myself often party to, despite my self-portrait of filtered short-spokenness).
how do i open myself more to accepting or understanding when points are more sensible than my own, and integrating them into my consciousness? for, surely, if i disavow myself from giving up dated sentiments, i shall truly stagnate.
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 8:31 PM UTC
Your subjectless Objects of capital, the agency bereft GDP drones, O! America,
They are spilled on the pavement, an upturned ice cream cone of discontent
puddled and lackadaisical, they fester beside the hydrant.
Your news agencies and malls, the damp dishrags of industry,
snagged on the nail of defenselessness and exploitation, only infect the wound.
Each mess of a person, walks through the sugary malaise of your suffering
dragging it on to the next in communal forbearing; its contagion, its disease
is so many cysts on the mind of those syrupy vacuoles for capital; the private,
malignant caverns of dewy-eyed trust in humanity, insipidly drawing the rancor to a boil,
without understanding a thing.
You pride yourself on much, without eyes for the condition of your people,
O! America.
People, shackled in your jails, are so many ideas bubbling as to the cruelty of your nature
punctured by the ignorance outside.
Draped in your obnoxious flag, the cites are as malicious as the countryside, toward life, toward knowledge.
You prop-up the price of their crops, the know-not-whys, who plunder the earth to prolong population growth and consciousness-decline.
America, you eradicate discontent with cattle cars, filled with questioning life forms, gasing our minds and burning our bodies with your arrogance.
Like a popcorn bag steaming in the microwave; you have been left alone too long, and have developed a flame-- an inextinguishable flame of reason.
You have been disavowed too LITTLE.
You must not be allowed to expand any further, lest the impoverished bag of flesh which is mankind will burst.
But still you stagnate, until your violence curdles with drones and bombs patrolling our synapses.
Our brains digest your violence against us and **** it out with an abused dialect of greed and hate.
Then you ask us only that we eat from your refuse heap of burnt kernels from the “truth” of market economy.
You taste like cancer. You rot the mouth of competent men, and satiate the anxieties of those who would turn against you-- with a refreshing ice cream cone of absentmindedness
dropped on the ground and melting.
But the stains you made will always taint the sidewalk of man.
Jun 20, 2011
Jun 20, 2011 at 12:26 AM UTC
In the night of birds silence, and in the winds that forget to show.
I enter into my chamber, awaiting for blood snow.
I breathe with not of life, but stagnate broken love.
And plead for the path to end, to take me straight above.
You see I am a bullet; a bullet within a gun.
And I'm silently waiting for the world to have some fun.
Fully loaded I am; and sadly I've become unstable.
For when the trigger is released, my shan't be enabled.
Under stress of lost life, but the weight is soon to leave.
I ask you once, to run away... Please.
Don't be caught within the firing line; don't be trapped within my fury.
Leave, stay safe; be the one to stand next to the jury.
I'm a bullet within a gun; awaiting for my release.
Waiting for the trigger to be pulled, and for the pin to **** peace.
I can not be saved my love, so run run before it's too late.
I can not be saved my love, so please don't let me become your fate...
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 10:00 PM UTC
Light upon the statue of
retreat,
"Get away from me!"
stupid mother,
for I, myself, lie
within a lie
and cards dealt do
fly, I
hesitate to say I wish I could
cry, but
the disgrace would
hit me in the face
Crush the ****** ants
crush them all
roll them over
call it up
ring it back
**** it in
blow it out,
left dead
no longer wandering
about
Leave me this way
with my false laughter,
stagnating mind,
it is true, I try to be kind,
But all for not
I cannot blot,
Make me blind
hurt me
justify my doubled
contempt,
it makes no sense
that at one time
I rhymed
and dreamed
A destructive force
is strong,
A reconstructive force
is too late,
a world of isolation
wouldn't that be great!?
Unable to retreat
for only fools avoid thought
and the universal mind,
without a translator,
is a love me not
In what I say none shall see,
I sting,
I stung,
just like an assimilated ant-bee.
Listen! What do you
see?
See! What do you
hear?
Uncensored, What do you
feel?
Tasteless human hell
Heavenly human smell,
oh...
do tell.
All combined by the link
brake the ****** chain,
disconnect
local bus,
electrical circuit drain:
If a tree falls in the forest... cliche.
If information is lost on the super-highway... cliche.
I refuse
to lose,
now amused,
at the fun-filled mind
so depressed, lifting up all but itself,
just put them on the shelf
free time for yourself
Lyrics to rise:
Curs' ed female
emotional warfare
Damn' ed males
physical,
unemotional warfare
The battle of a single mind
Destroying the thing we wind
Will we fall behind?
Look backwards,
at the passing of time,
LOOK! AHEAD!
Fix what was wrong...
and live really long
Lyrics to sing to a
retreating statue:
"Come here I care!"
loving mom
For a lie is just a
defense against
closeness,
a decent hand to
hold on to
I wish I could lie
and deny,
but truth always unfolds
don't die
Long live the ants
live long to them all
blow the hate out,
is that what I was
wondering about?
Be By Me
Not Too Close,
Stagnate Laughter
is soon repulsed,
I care, perhaps too much,
for ones unknown and known
my only request:
return the zest,
Return my dreams
or the balance of force
I have retreated in the
solace of universally translated hope;
I solidify and take shape,
running in many directions.
Jul 18, 2010
Jul 18, 2010 at 8:56 AM UTC
There's no people around now, just us
no hustle or bustle
no rushing feet of frantic commuters
just us down here, the clean up crews
All the escalators are turned off
so we have to walk all the way down
the lights are always kept on
down here in the underground
No trains now are shooting by
not on the early morning night shift
just me and the morning crews
cleaning up the tunnels and tracks
It get's pretty eerie down here
sometimes you think you hear voices
but usually it's just the rats down here
fighting mating or just squeaking
The air in the tunnels is rather stagnate and stale
in some parts water seeps in for a little while
and what you find on the tracks can be a bizarre list
you never know what you will come across on the night shift
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 3:34 PM UTC
Lying in wait
Prone to stagnate
Unfulfilled dreams
It's never too late
I sleep not
For I am awake
Immersed in frustration
Time to create
Not procrastinate
With eyes open
Feeling deflated
Hardly elated
Don't hesitate
To Reevaluate
Rise up from bed
Set the engine to rev
Idle instead?
It's all in your head
Lying in wait
To Regurgitate
The ideas in your brain
Manifest to inflate
The cognitive state
Invent a gimmick, solution, or trait
Should I reiterate
For the duration
Due to inflation?
Remember this date
No time to debate
Today is a gift
Isn't that great?
Not a moment too soon
Must have been fate.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
Your lips were
at the bottom
of the shot glass
in that dim
blue bar.
Disembodied.
Bluish pink,
and swimming as I swished
around the last
of my drink.
Usually when I drink
I try not to think about girls,
because I get depressed
easily.
You rub my body
in moving beads
and your lips
and the bluelight
are usually the last thing I remember.
Maybe if I
take a girl in the bathroom
and ********** her
on the sink
as the oil in her hair
greases the mirror
and the flies watch,
maybe I'll be able
to blur myself out,
and not even go back
to you
as you stagnate
in a blue glass
full of
blue fluid.
Dec 4, 2011
Dec 4, 2011 at 10:47 PM UTC