"thowing" poems
There is blood in my mouth,
liquid steel from sharp words that are cut from my teeth and flicked out of my mouth by my tongue.
My throat is literally drowning from words my brain produces
but cannot stop from throwing forth;
my mind producing thoughts like a steam train on a new track.
Clickety, Clack. Clickety, Clack.
And i thought different,
of you.
But my teeth are bruised from speaking to you,
my air pushing from my lungs, to give me breath to speak to you,
is death and rotten, it is done with you,
and, me.
There is blood in my mouth,
it dries around my lips and cracks open
everytime i breathe.
Sometimes i wish you had just hit me with your words,
that the cartilage under my nose had cracked
from the force your words threw at me,
that there was a full outward combustion
and it ran down my face,
dripped off my chin and left the building.
My brain keeps thowing these punches,
left, right, under, left, dive, hook, run,
and i am losing this battle, that began a fight,
that i never began
that i never wanted in the first place,
but there is now blood in my mouth
And i need to mop this **** up
and start again...
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
your pretty as sliver
on a dime
your ways on fire
for that i admire
i would bring you flowers
every hour
for this i might be crazy
but your my dazzy
i would nurse you back to heath
or bury you in my wealth
your aways kind
you blow my mind
your my best fine
your sweeter than wine
your prefect at thowing a dart
into my heart
your last breath
would be my death
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 4:45 PM UTC
The modern slave
We al stand and cheer with every life we see always helping others and making sure love and life comes to all those who wait. Live is life is everything but hope is hard to find while the man walks down a ragged road earning every penny pushing his hands down the dirty pit of life.
A woman walks into the despair of work and sees a life of slavery in every respect working for a poor wage and down by a manager that loves ttheri money and power of sitting and thowing their hands about and mouth opens uttering words of of anger and hate. the woman works her shift and and falls onto a bed of exaustion abd ready for night to end and day to begin another miserable pit of salve at the shop of hell.
A couple walk in to the hell of hope and look around with their gold rings and smile of greed while they look around at the poor souls of despair working for a whip of greed. The couple walks towards their big limousine and thow the odd change at the beggar across the road and inot the car back to their manson of love and money of cold to sit back and laugh at the worlds misfortune of life.
produced and written by wayne mockler
copyright wayne mocker
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 2:33 PM UTC