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Thoughtful Aug 2014
The floor is a mess,
clothes and papers scattered about.
No need to look at the rest,
please do not shout.

She's lost what mattered most,
him, her, them, they.
The shine her tousled hair, lost,
and gray clouds are her vision okay?

So please do not judge her inability to leave bed,
or her waist that's shrinking by the day.
Please just think about what you just read,
and fix her the right way.
mar Jun 2016
It's not fair that you only have to spend the morning without me
for I'm trapped in the night
darkness deafening me as I tell myself over and over that this is real
that midnight is only an hour
that I'll be home soon
and I never feel like I'm where I'm supposed to be
transporting myself place to place
continent hopping like a heart murmur
my soul is five hours behind
and when you sleep my whole being longs for your voice
glasses half empty stacked beside me
I remember a time when my hair danced at my hips
when the moon would be full and heat lightning blinded me
constantly praying to a god I didn't believe in that I could fall asleep
but dreams didn't come
and that summer lasted but eight days
when I can feel your heartbeat you are fire
but now that I'm so far away your voice is tired
your laugh is like a wind chime on a day when the air doesn't speak
milk moons have a habit of forcing me to reread your words
making me realize I now posess curses I never thought I'd have to endure
like how when I touch you I am not the girl my father raised
like how when you push me into the wall I hope your mother doesn't weep

We all have promises we wish we never made
I wish I didn't tie myself to you with silk
knotting each of my heartstrings around your fingers
I'm like your puppet
and it's wrenching because I had always been so brimmed with pride
conceived by my parents notion that I'd be doomed to wander alone
or blessed
if you choose to look at my freedom like it's that of a gift
but I don't want it anymore
I refuse to chain myself to my past
my frosted veins melting in your palms
I am not who I thought I was
I am not the lady my matriarch once bore that hot morning
a head full of curls and irises that told two different tales

I'm so lucky that the trees bend north tonight
I contribute secrets as clouds to the noir
unkept stands of chestnut trying to escape
but I don't blame them
and ink is all around me as I further my vices
counting down to paradise as I move a little too quickly from my bed
the other part of me wonders if I go visit him at this time
and I grin at that notion she thinks that's what I want from this hour
there are moments I forget to miss you
guild soaked as I remember love
I wouldn't call this bliss
it doesn't even scrape at happiness
it's emptiness
but not the way I've experienced before
I don't have words for this new feeling
not yet at least
I'll let anything in as an attempt to starve out this self doubt
but no whisper is as warm as your breath
because with you you don't even need to comfort me with diction
instead I swallow your glances like honey
I hope you know this mindset will never evolve
and if it does it is only to grow stronger

Some hearts change with the seasons
mine used to change at every chime of a clock
I'm stagnant now
laying calmly in the eye of the storm
the light hitting my skin the only thing changing each hour

Soon this will be over
No longer damning every firefly and its nerve to glow without purpose
Soon I'll be at your mercy again
Purple thighed and alive
Because right now without you I've never felt so alone
Eyelids like blankets
Terrified of what dreams could await my unconscious soul
But in the deepest hollows of my chest I hear your voice calming me
Saying what you always say when you hear my heart rate jump
"Let me sing you that song about the stars I know you love"
skylar911 Jul 2015
Lying in a casket six feet under
You look so calm and serene
I see the lightning and hear the thunder
Are you in some peaceful dream?
Friends, relatives, everybody cried
Tears wouldn't fall even when I tried
I know you will get up and hold my hand
Because you had promised me a visit to disneyland

You had said "Do your homework, be a good boy,
I'll get you sweets and buy that toy".
I had actually wanted the expensive one
It was costly but was so much fun
I had tried to reach for it but you had caught my hand
And had  said "we are saving money for disneyland"

Pushes turned into shoves in school,
Joe called me poor and said I'm a fool.
You had offered to change school and I denied
But it had left me scared and paranoid.
Changing school would have been grand
But mom we were saving money for disneyland

They were carrying you to a white van
I could hear the shattering of our plan
You were laid on an uncomfortable bed
Your beautiful body was covered in red
They said he brutally stabbed you
Chances of your living were very few
You struggled to reach and cup my face
saying," Sorry, I hope you forgive me Jace"

Night has passed and day has come
Angels have lost and devil has won
I've been sitting here all the night long
Singing to you, your favorite beatles' song
Mommy, you see, it has started to rain
Wake up before I go insane
The loudness of your silence is terrifying
Call me stubborn, call me annoying

Suddenly the reality hit me hard
Blowing away my house of cards
I left graveyard my mind running wild
A boy snickered and called me pathetic orphan child
Sitting in the corner of my room I wept
For the promise that remained unkept .
Sydney Marie Apr 2014
Forget his name, you must forget.
You murmur in your sleep.
Forget his face, try even through closed eyes.
Forget his touch, one that you miss so.
Forget all the times you shared.
Forget the feelings he made you feel.
Forget his words, all those promises still unkept.
Alan Brown Apr 2017
coats of dust & pollen settle
on an unoccupied desk;
clumps of rust sprout
on faded typewriter keys.

marmalade pages with
elaborate strokes & scribbles
shrivel like mango slices
suffocating in tropical heat.

a dozen lolling envelopes
with awe inciting addresses
from San Francisco to Shanghai
each wither like aging flowers.

the room once gleaming in
luminescence now hoards darkness.
brandeis blue curtains drape
the windows, stifling sunlight.

sober emotions linger
in the thick, musty air;
overripe creativity decays
into the unwashed floorboards.
rhyme, rhythm, & reason
of the mind cease to bloom;
curiosity & inspiration fall dormant
in a chilling, thoughtless winter.

the mind of a former poet
is an unkept garden;
an Eden of ideas abandoned
in favor of myopic trivialities.

though unattended, the
garden is never barren;
cultivate your imagination &
you will always harvest beauty.

**it’s never too late to pick up your pen;
water your mind & your garden will grow!
Lilly Tereza Nov 2012
I'm in that desperate mood again
Where me, myself am not my friend
I pull my hair, I scratch my skin,
My feet? Too small. My waist? Not thin.

I want to scream, be someone else.
With softer hair, a nicer face.
I hate this stupid mirror
I wish I could just run away.

But from yourself, you cannot hide.
With my less than perfect body.
With my less than average brain,
My need for makeup, hair that’s knotty.

I know I could be better
Or you never would have left.
There MUST be something wrong with me
Some bad thing left unkept.

Or maybe you did look past my face,
Though ugly as it is.
Maybe I'm just a stupid freak.
With weird ideas. A downright geek.

Times like this I wish I could just cut my wrist.
But I cant. Too many promises.
But I dream about it night and day...
I wish I could just fade away.

Not like anyone would notice,
Or wonder where id been.
Nobody would ever question
Why I was never seen again.
Lysander Gray Mar 2012
We pass neath the arms of shadow,
and autumns gaze turned away.
With the air filled thick a promise of winter
Layed true by the albino commissaries
that float listless abroad.
Ranks in gray/blue/white.

Slow through pass they are revealed!
Marched immeasurable in form-
By pearly hand of Christmas Kings.

Whilst low round the cavern pass
Forked lightning roared all round us!
Forked lightning soared all round us!
Under heat of wastrel march.

And we all flashed out blackened blades!
flanked by ancient everglades!
Defeat! Defeat all cold and shade!
Slit and slash their marching grade!
Impossible was their victory made!

Soon we sprouted victory wreaths,
Of strange and seeming wonderwood.
For silence hath taken
winters pearly rings.
And death hath taken
their princely king.
isabelle saloom Nov 2015
i know of his hazel eyes that are a map to his soul if only you would look deep enough.
i know of his wide smile that could mend a heart that has been shattered into one million tiny pieces.
i know of his brown hair that carelessly lays atop his head, unknowing of how fortunate it is.
i know of the intense sadness that contaminates all of these beautiful things.

i know of the emptiness that engulfs him and the dry blood he conceals beneath cloth.
i know of a side to himself that he keeps locked away, the key buried under a thousand rocks only to be revealed when his barely-breathing heart is completely alone.
i know of the sleepless nights that are filled with memories of unkept promises and the tears that forcefully fall from his frustrated eyes.
i know of the thoughts that overtake his mind, continuously haunting him.
i know of the fear that controls his words and overwhelms his heart.
"no, i don’t know him. i just know of him."
The passage of time, illusory some say,
is noted quite succinctly
by the ticking of the small electric
plastic clock sitting on the coffee table,
in front of the old couch.

Once in a great while, the battery,
tinier than my thumbnail, runs down,
depleted. The arms stop moving,
and the second hand only twitches,
forward and back again each second,
not making any progress.

My cat purring, perched contentedly, his face
near to mine, rests upon my upper torso.
Part of the couch is duct taped,
Where he’s shredded it over the years.

An emptied coffee cup, lid-half off,
contains a crumpled candy bar wrapper,
which I put in there, most probably,
so the cat would not devour it,
and later throw it up.

There are stacks of half-read books
(The Guns of August, Joan of Arc, Tom Jones, etc.),
an empty candlestick, a crusty dinner place mat.

I’m 45, nearing 46, staying
well, (well, more or less),
wearily waking from a weary nap,
after what was just another day
of so many, many days
of a humble life on earth.

Still, there are a couple hours left of light today.
Outside the big living room windows,
the evening sun shines green,
through the young spring leaves.
Make your time count.
Mortality looms, I tell myself.

So, right now, I will push off my cat,
(he wanders off, not meowing)
get up, dress, stretch,
force myself into the evening air,
before it gets too dark,
and run four miles furthermore.

Be home in time for dinner,
my mother would have said.

What is it, I sometimes wonder,
that keeps me going
through all these days?

I believe, I suppose, that all this ordinary time,
(Le temps quotidien, the French might say)
will eventually lead
to something transcendent, sublime,
forgotten by design,
in the daily crush of work and worries.

I’ve been meaning to fill that candlestick for years,
and finish all those books.
But so far I never have.

And so alone I run away,
inevitably with age,
through the indifferent rhythm
of the seasons passing,
the world, my life, our lives.

And all of us grow more distant
in this passage,
one from another, somehow,
dwindling in each other’s lives,
as each passage narrows, separates,
further away, disappearing, sadly

like the faint and ancient galaxies,
too numerous to name, red-shifted,
infinitely distant,
now scattering their dying stars,
with unkept, dimming memories,
and elapsing towards
oblivion unknown, fading,
their swirling light a mystery,
even to themselves.
Written in Spring 2014, revised 2015-19.
Hannah Mary Jan 2015
your fair words
around my neck.
your love
exists no more.
your promise
no longer stands
you do not
love me like her
you will never
love me like her.
people and love ****
EG Feb 2013
I’m tired of missing you.

I’m tired of waiting.

I’m tired of unkept promises.

I’m tired of the back and forth travelling.

I ‘m tired of school.

I’m tired of thinking about the past.

I’m tired of fighting about the past.

I’m tired of the pressure.

I’m tired of the guilt.

I’m tired of my divided life.

I’m tired of thinking about the future.

I’m tired of owing so much money.

I’m tired of being scared of your private thoughts.

I’m tired of playing pretend.

I’m tired of being so suspicious.

I’m tired of being skeptical.

I’m tired of my self consciousness.
Woody Jun 2018
There were poems who dreamed
they were mandolins and dark bread

and poems that suffocated
like lightning bugs in a bootlegger’s jar

poems I drank from a paper sack
long before coming of age

and those poems that went away
without a word of farewell

some poems that floated up
eyeless on a Monday morning

those poems I buried deep
in a dark secret river levee.
M Lundy Dec 2010
our promised land is mortgaged
waters poisoned
your daughters legs are spread
mass culture ready to eat her out.

she buys it all-
the gossip rags, fake tans, cherry-flavored condoms.
she aches for it and it takes her gladly
leaving behind only a faint scent of perfume.

blood nails and ******* lips and artificial **** carry on.
girls lose their virginity only because it's trendy
and people obsess over the human interest
pieces on the nightly news.

i lash out with coffee breath
and short nails and unkept hair
and no religion
as my mother sits me down and
asks me not to step on any toes.
Copyright 2010 M.E. Lundy
Olivia Greene Oct 2014
we live in a place where the streets are consistently renewed with black tar and the people smell as comfortable as they live.
there are soft clean-cut beds as well unkept lawns
people hardly dare venture into for fear of revelation.
an entirely new sense of being and worth can be
renewed from a walk between the skyscrapers.
life is hardly disrupted unless the upheaval is directed towards a reckless teenager in search of a great thrill.
Mike Hauser Jun 2019
The further in you get
The less you seem to fit
The more that you hate it
Promises unkept

The struggle and the strife
The things that you once liked
Are now the things that bite
Teeth marks to remind

Of the place that you are now
The depth in the fall down
The dreams that have left town
All of them Southbound

The hopelessness in hope
The thought of should have known
The condition of this road
Hand with thumb out all alone

A world without a care
You do but you don't dare
Over time and over years
You find that you are here

Where one time you felt you fit
Now puzzle pieces of regret
Missing spaces left unsaid
In the promises unkept
Catherine Queen May 2015
it's the emptiness
it's the hatred that builds up in the creases of your
smile, of the laughter you hide your disgust with

it's the appointments you tear from your organizer
the holes in your stomach
the sunburn on your shoulders; the redness of your nose

it's your incurable phobias
your cut-up legs
your bleeding nose
your teary eyes
your itchy back
your raw skin

swollen lips
bare nails
unkept hair
ugly voice

why the ****'d you think spring would fix you?
Sarah Valentina Apr 2014
I want to taste your cigarette on my tongue
I want to smell the death on your leather jacket
Push into me hard and hold on tight

Before you know it I'll be gone
You think you're bad?
Honey, I'm the joker in your deck.
You may think you're the king of hearts but you've been dealt wrong

Lick your lips and ******* sweet goodbye
Watch the shadows of footsteps linger
A reminder of the promises unkept

Take those Marlboro reds with you
They're the closest you'll ever be
To my soft velvet lips
Without touching
written on December 6th, 2013 12:18 a.m.
JJ Hutton Dec 2010
I eyed you from across the room,
Tim was yak-yakking about some drop D heavy metal band
he was drumming in,
But I was tired of socializing,
I had only come to drink,
yet I was overtaken by you.
I'd seen you prettier, livelier.
You looked so blue
decked all in red,
in your worn out ****-me-shoes.

I think my mouth was still agape,
when your gaze turned my way.
We both were locked.
Getting headsick from the smoke,
waiting for the flame to catch up.

You'd never seen me so unkept.
I hadn't shaved in a couple months,
my hair was to my shoulders, and
my body was drowing in wrinkled,
secondhand, early 2000s high fashion.

I walked over. Leaving Tim talking about
fusing dubstep with his metal ****.

You were working at a bank,
making three bucks more than minimum.
You changed your major.
Your relations got too public,
so you're shooting for journalism.
Haha me too, or something like that,
is what I said.
Your smile became parasitic to my clumsy words.
You said we should hang out for old time's sake.
"I won't take no for an answer."

"I'm too sober for this."
I walked off, grabbed the flask from Tim,
spent the night strolling under streetlights,
and hoping to have a revelation.
But all I had was a dwindling buzz,
and a divine gravity pulling me
away from remaking the same
Copyright 2010 by J.J. Hutton
Brigette Beck Apr 2016
I walk a lonely path
All on my own
Healing from my demons' wrath
Desperate and alone.
No end is in sight
No relief draws near
Hope has died in the dead of night
This road I walk is fear.
This path built on vows
Broken and unkept
Leaves me to ponder the whys and hows
Of every tear I have wept.
On this dark and painful road
That's brought me to the edge of despair
I walk lonely with my heavy load
Wandering through an endless nightmare.
I don't know how this one turned out, but I hope whoever reads this has a good day or night or whatever time it is when you read this.
- K T P - Apr 2013
Quick metallic stings swayed your path.
Unkept morals led to misplaced wrath.
Intruded life saving soul, savagely subdued.
Nuetralic coexistence henceforth removed.
Notable soul's transition painstakingly ensued.

Relinquish the angered regret your soul may churn.
Instead focus on those who's hearts passionately burn.
Place your soul with those who now lovingly wait their turn.
I wrote this poem for a grammar/high school classmate of mine who was killed from a shooting in Oakland, CA on 04 April 2013, as he was driving home from visiting his sick father.  Poet aside, I left him my own personal message, look at the first letter of each line, and you will see my personal note to my friend. "Quinn, RIP".    I am hoping we can use this poem, and our comments to help those he left behind.  You can see his story at...
Charlie Prince Jul 2012
I am wading out knee deep into the evening's drinks.
I let my eyeballs take a dip as my wallet plays the breaker.
You'd think the woman had tourettes the way she tries to wink.
She flirts no better than the sisters who oft walk god's acre.

Maestro, another!

A black suit hammers ritzy tusks somewhere across the bar.
The waves upon the wires lap across my eardrum's shore.
My lonely, daydream doll is finally called off from afar.
I'm far too low and far too blitzed to enjoy another bore.

Maestro, another!

When I recall how we met, I transubstantiate my veins
with hopes to find a fertile mound to plough to rude degrees.
Too many furrows to recall, but still your name remains.
So, still I hunt for lonely moths who dance beneath marquees.

Maestro, another!

Why does every truth align with all the stars at night
only to scatter just as broken glass when morning breaks?
Every wholesome oath I swear to cherish all my life
melts with every dewdrop my lawn's unkept blades shake.
As Eve was crafted from Adam's ribs, she fell into temptation of the sight of the red apple, a serpent at the side. I am a woman that only begs for the single touch.
I crave for the contact of your fingers that delve above my skin, marking its territory in places that you can imagine. I was to feel your fingers wander along my collarbone, following to my chest. I want to feel your muscles flex against my thigh that quivers in excitement, to feel your fingers behold over the dampness that you could only see. Your lips are the temptation that my fingers wish to touch.
My body writhes under the thought of seduction that only I could muster in a dream. Day by day, I seek for it to happen.
M G Hsieh Jul 2019
What no ears have heard nor eyes have seen

Peppermills and pancakes
like no other poetry
to perceive
the beauty
in life
in pain
in darkness
in sin

What no mind can see nor hearts can hear

The secret 
byways and highways 

In allways 

I've not met you
I've not known

in noways and nothing is everything in you.
G Reaper Apr 2015
Aged and unkept a cabin remains
Concealed in the woods
A family arrives on a voyage
That may never come to an end

A young girl finds a statue
But a statue is it really
For untold forces come
And in one lies great evil

Of the truth the girl knew not
For her life was just beginning
An adventure she shall take
Without knowing it's ending

Inside the girl lies another
A soul no longer at rest
Try as she might
The girl cannot resist

She loses control of her body
And starts to fade away
But her desire to live
Overcomes the desire of revenge

It was her body once more
Hers alone it shall be
She set out once again
With her spirits high

Her life turned around
For she felt alive
An adventure that began
With the trip to a cabin
Lucrezia M N May 2016
Once thin skinned like orchid petals all
frustration was mistaken for tears.
Then resilience took over so to cry
only having the feeling of no amend.

So far bones resounded metal cold,
lack of nearness is not about fears
but to save weeping for better times,
trying to roll over any sign of dead-end.

Whether eyes or not drops come from
They're salty stories and may reveal
promises made to oneself but unkept in life
like the notion tears fall not at our command.
A breaf personal story of tears and considerations upon them
This is no poem.
They are my thoughts and views.

Nobody wants to give service but everybody wants to enjoy service.
Politicians would misuse national assets and wealth, deny citizens of the deserved services but chase them for taxes.

Citizens lazy around their work, avoid tax, act irresponsibly when using national assets but are first to cry out for what they deserve from the nation.

Certain pastors would not spend time to prepare a good sermon but would be expecting all church members to be all punctual and giving off their best in might and wealth for the church.
There also are church members who would go to church late, sit, sing and leave early but still complain bitterly about how things are not going right in the church. They easily see how unkept the church premises is and would do nothing about it but seriously expect something to be done about it.

Husbands want to be loved but are the last to show love to wives. The same it is with certain wives as well.
Fathers want respect from children but act all irresponsibly and shirk their responsibilities.
Children want care, love, protection and provision from parents but would not respect and obey parents.

So everyone wants something but wants to give nothing.

When we **** that selfish attitude in our views of life, relationships would at least improve a bit and peace would find feet.
please this is in no wise a poem by my standards
Teresa Magaña Feb 2012
Through my veins
Traced in my blood
Elements, Remnants
Of beautiful, strong, dark eyed, dark skinned people, women
Skin touched by the sun, leaving a golden tint that glows and flickers under the light of the moon

Eyes and heart moonlit
Glowing even when eyelids are closed
And the soul leaps from the heart to travel those mystical realms
Realms believed and made so real by a people old and lost
People beautiful and horrific all at the same time
So great and tall

And all that’s left is the blood stained heights of pyramids
Unkept and untouched but standing for so long
All along
Stains that raise not the heights of where my people reached
But stains of an obliteration
The grounds they shed and bled over, buried now so deep

I have gazed and pierced through mirrors delving into the deepest darkest part of my eyes
Ojos Tapatios
Ojos desde alla
Darkest, deepest brown mud that seals and protects this ancient blood
Ancient beauty
Ancient woman

Sun touched and moonlit
Here, now, today
A bright, strong leaping soul that lives and breathes remnants of ancient worlds
But speaks words of truths that have no age
And feels love, of herself, her skin, her blood
And even the men, the souls that follow her through the realms

Through my veins
Yo soy Reyna
Yo soy Princesa
Yo soy hija de mi gente
To every end
To every beginning
In every new breath of life I take
And every breath of life there after
Mi gente I emanate
she’ll be lost one day
words on the back
of a tear-stained postcard

forced to smile at everyone
she’ll remember
what it was like to be small

to have the world at her fingertips
letters written all backwards
beautiful in her own right

one day the feeling will be gone
no longer free to roam,
she’ll have to settle down

it’s what we expected all along
but the tears form canyons on her cheeks

what used to be a halo of curls
now an unkept mess of stick straight hair
sticking to her wet cheeks and damp neck

she’ll write to me
“what’s the answer?”
but just like now,
even then I won’t know

I’ll be just as lost as she
in a world where nothing is ever the same
and just like now,
then I will tell her,

“Laugh all night long
find the one you can give yourself to
heart and soul let it be theirs
because then you know
you’ve got something to live for.

Do the things that make you happy
expectations of others aren’t yours to fulfill
step lightly always, like you do now
and look at the world with fresh eyes.

people can’t taint how you feel about life,
but when you find that your beautiful out-look
is changing to blood tinted pictures,
close your eyes and remember.

Remember the small things
remember the love
remember the warm glow
and your cold feet

then you’ll see,
the pictures will change
to be just as beautiful
as the one you see
on the other side of this postcard.”

my drawing will be
like it always has been.
ball point pen meticulously sketching
three tiny figures
dark curly hair
smiles from ear to ear
swirled sunshine overhead
flowers towering above

at the bottom, barely legible
“love always, forever -

In this cruel world
Full of scorn, hatred and unkept vows
There will always be lights
Smaller or hugenormous
They are the heroes, managing struggles while keeping sanity, not giving up
Hope is a paradox
The force that keeps them moving, alongside family, relationships, goals and the will to fight
Unwavering and strong
One, two, three and I say these
I will fight til the end
Everyone, lets fight until we redeem ourselves
To make this world better and lovely
To feel better and have higher self-esteem
To make progress and to make our lives worth living
In this cruel world, where paranoia, hatred, homophobia, indifference, kitsch, low self-esteem and hidden survellaince are in bloom
In this cruel world, love can make changes of huge importance
Baby steps we should make.
To make this world a better home and a lovely place!
Nessie Jan 2011
sun rising fast

orange light gives  public transportation a peculiar  look

pink sky is my favorite

my short skirt

and black lipstick

his long unkept hair

and Iron Maiden tee

its nice to see another misfit on the bus

mr. metal flashes me a smile

I pretend to be occupied  with my cell phone

I got a boyfriend


i'm not used to flattery

mr. metal is silly

he's drumming the seats with his fingers

I pinch a  black smile

don't laugh, be sensible

putting on my librarian face

glasses on the edge of my nose

sweep back stray hairs against my sensible bun

mr. metal is staring holes into me

he is amused

now I'm sulky

go back into Gatsby and Daisy

this is a bit coincidental

we are way too funny



next stop

mr.metal clashes into my world

books fly

headphones  are yanked

automatic door

next thing I know

i'm flailing off a bus


mr. metal is sorry

I dont know I'm laughing

til my sides start to hurt

grouchy morning bystanders are looking with interest

and the bus driver is surpressing a deep belly laugh

I remind him of his clumsy wife, sister, girlfriend, or daughter.

mr. metal is headbanging to my black sabbath

and picking up my books

suddenly I know

he has a very tired understanding mother

he helps me up

we're both wearing black nail polish

dont ask me why this is so hilarious

i'm stood up, brushed off, and looked at

he looks at me like an ex

he smells good

I blush far too easily

thanks are muttered

and we turn around to walk off

like a graceful plot

of some movie I've never seen

I get a text from baby

he takes such good care of me.

mr. metal will meet a cute girl he can pit with

at some heavy concert

and maybe when she's cold

he'll give her that leather jacket

and he'll ride the bus with her

all night long

thats what i'd like to think

either way

life is good.
Girth Vader Jan 2016
Stan Stan Stan,
Pack up the moving van
From St Lou to L.A.
Always with your **** in your hand
Shave that ***** stache
You unkept goofy chap
Oh and give yourself a flush
You giant piece of crap
Lies a flying out your mouth like a nasty shart
The only time you're speaking truth is when you rip a ****
I will hold no grudge, when I'm in L.A. I'll buy you a Coke
Unless of course you pass away from Goodells *** you've choked
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2017
Crow in the sun so black,
You are blue, a dark shining
On the green innocent lawn.

Crow in the sun creeping,
On land you are awkward,
In the sky you are blotting.

Crow in the laze of the day,
Your eyes are unbalancing
In the gardens overgrown.

Crow in the sun so black,
You are shimmering dread,
On the green unkept lawns.

— The End —