"zippo" poems - Hello Poetry

"zippo" poems

any hope I ever had left long ago lost in the wind a kite with a broken string the scissors held in the trembling hands of my mother and now she wonders where the child she once loved has gone and I don't have the heart to tell her that she burned the kite with a gas station zippo lighter and the ashes were poured into a glass of merlot.

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May 9, 2013

May 9, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC

any hope I ever had left long ago lost in the wind a kite with a broken string the scissors held in the trembling hands of my mother and now she wonders where the child she once loved has gone and I don't have the heart to tell her that she burned the kite with a gas station zippo lighter and the ashes were poured into a glass of merlot.

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Blue Bacon and Mexican Swiss Cheese with Krusty Jam My name is Bam Da Pam Bam da Pam my name is Dat Bam-da-Pam-I-am Dat Bam-da Pam! I like Dat Bam-da-Pam-I-am Do you like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I like them, Bam da Pam I like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam Would you still like them In or out Would you not like them In a spout I would like them In or out I would like them In a spout. I do like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I do like them, Bam-da-Pam Would you hate them Up or down? Would you hate them All around? I like them Up or down. I like them All around. I like them In or out. I would still like them In a spout. I like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Would you hate them On a platter? Would you hate them with a splatter? On a platter. With a splatter. In or out. With a spout. I would eat them up or down. I would eat them all around. I would eat blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam. I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Would you? Could you? in a bar? Hate them! Hate them! Here they are. I would, I could, in a bar You may hate them. You will see. You may not like them in a bee? I would, I could in a bee. In a bar! You let me be. I do like them on a platter. I do like them with a splatter. I do like them in or out. I do like them in a spout. I do like them up or down. I do like them all around. I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I do like them, Bam-da-pam A train! A train! Could you, would you on a train? “On a train! In a bee! In a bar! Bam da Pam! Let me be!” I would, I could, on a platter. I could, I would, with a splatter. I will eat them with a spout I will eat them in or out. I will eat them up or down. I will eat them all around. I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Bae! Would you, could you, in the dark? I would, I could, in the dark. Would you, could you, in the rain? I would, I could in the rain. In the dark. On a train, In a bar, in a bee. I do like them, Bam da Pam, you see. On a platter. With a splatter. In a spout. In or out. I will eat them up or down. I do like them all around! You do like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam? I do like them, bam-da-pam-I-am. Could you, would you, on a hippo Would you cook it with a zippo I could and would on a hippo I will, I will cook it with a zippo I will eat them in the rain. I will eat them on a train. In the dark! In a tree! In a bar! Please let me be! I do like them on a platter. I do like them with a splatter. I will eat them in a spout. I do like them in or out. I do like them up or down. I do like them ALL AROUND! I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I really like them, Bam-da-Pam You do like them. SO you say. Try them! Try them! And I will walk away Try them and you may I say. Bam-Da-Pam! If you will let me be, I will try them. You will see. Bae! I hate blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam! I do! I hate them, Bam da Pam And I would not eat them on a hippo! And I would not cook them with a zippo... And I will not eat them in the rain. And not in the dark. And not on a train. And not in a bar. And not in a bee. They are so bad, so bad you see! So I will hate them on a platter. And I will not eat them with a splatter. And I will not eat them in a spout. And I will not eat them in or out. And I will not eat them up or down. Say! I will not eat them ALL AROUND! I do, I do, I hate Blue bacon with mexican swiss cheese and krusty jam! I HATE you! I HATE you, BAM DA PAM!

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Nov 3, 2016

Nov 3, 2016 at 10:33 AM UTC

Blue Bacon and Mexican Swiss Cheese with Krusty Jam

Blue Bacon and Mexican Swiss Cheese with Krusty Jam My name is Bam Da Pam Bam da Pam my name is Dat Bam-da-Pam-I-am Dat Bam-da Pam! I like Dat Bam-da-Pam-I-am Do you like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I like them, Bam da Pam I like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam Would you still like them In or out Would you not like them In a spout I would like them In or out I would like them In a spout. I do like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I do like them, Bam-da-Pam Would you hate them Up or down? Would you hate them All around? I like them Up or down. I like them All around. I like them In or out. I would still like them In a spout. I like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Would you hate them On a platter? Would you hate them with a splatter? On a platter. With a splatter. In or out. With a spout. I would eat them up or down. I would eat them all around. I would eat blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam. I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Would you? Could you? in a bar? Hate them! Hate them! Here they are. I would, I could, in a bar You may hate them. You will see. You may not like them in a bee? I would, I could in a bee. In a bar! You let me be. I do like them on a platter. I do like them with a splatter. I do like them in or out. I do like them in a spout. I do like them up or down. I do like them all around. I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I do like them, Bam-da-pam A train! A train! Could you, would you on a train? “On a train! In a bee! In a bar! Bam da Pam! Let me be!” I would, I could, on a platter. I could, I would, with a splatter. I will eat them with a spout I will eat them in or out. I will eat them up or down. I will eat them all around. I do like them, Bam-da-Pam-I-am. Bae! Would you, could you, in the dark? I would, I could, in the dark. Would you, could you, in the rain? I would, I could in the rain. In the dark. On a train, In a bar, in a bee. I do like them, Bam da Pam, you see. On a platter. With a splatter. In a spout. In or out. I will eat them up or down. I do like them all around! You do like Blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam? I do like them, bam-da-pam-I-am. Could you, would you, on a hippo Would you cook it with a zippo I could and would on a hippo I will, I will cook it with a zippo I will eat them in the rain. I will eat them on a train. In the dark! In a tree! In a bar! Please let me be! I do like them on a platter. I do like them with a splatter. I will eat them in a spout. I do like them in or out. I do like them up or down. I do like them ALL AROUND! I do like blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam I really like them, Bam-da-Pam You do like them. SO you say. Try them! Try them! And I will walk away Try them and you may I say. Bam-Da-Pam! If you will let me be, I will try them. You will see. Bae! I hate blue bacon and mexican swiss cheese with krusty jam! I do! I hate them, Bam da Pam And I would not eat them on a hippo! And I would not cook them with a zippo... And I will not eat them in the rain. And not in the dark. And not on a train. And not in a bar. And not in a bee. They are so bad, so bad you see! So I will hate them on a platter. And I will not eat them with a splatter. And I will not eat them in a spout. And I will not eat them in or out. And I will not eat them up or down. Say! I will not eat them ALL AROUND! I do, I do, I hate Blue bacon with mexican swiss cheese and krusty jam! I HATE you! I HATE you, BAM DA PAM!

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A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough, propositions the ladybug clinging to a flannel pocket, You can always trust a tealight to warm the neglected beetles, that cling to your chest. this Ritual of the staring contest. attention behind the curtain: When You blink at the Rorschach shadows tell me, they are not mailboxes. The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement birch trees weaving baskets from our branches I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles, flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.

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Sep 9, 2018

Sep 9, 2018 at 3:08 AM UTC

A Zippo lighter with a smoker's cough, propositions the ladybug clinging to a flannel pocket, You can always trust a tealight to warm the neglected beetles, that cling to your chest. this Ritual of the staring contest. attention behind the curtain: When You blink at the Rorschach shadows tell me, they are not mailboxes. The spirits linger; we stumble into entanglement birch trees weaving baskets from our branches I'm known to cave on integrity, for the taste of freckles, flickering tealights in the hearthstone, with a smokers cough.

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Anxiety. It's like a big wave that crashes over you. It drowns you almost. It's like being drowned. You can hold your breath at first. You can act like your fine. But then it builds. And builds. And builds. Until you break and you can't breathe. Your gasping for air but you don't get any. You can't hear. Only muffled screams. Telling you to calm down. But you can't. You have no control. None. Zero. Zippo. Zilch. ~m.a

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Jan 1, 2014

Jan 1, 2014 at 3:20 PM UTC

Anxiety. It's like a big wave that crashes over you. It drowns you almost. It's like being drowned. You can hold your breath at first. You can act like your fine. But then it builds. And builds. And builds. Until you break and you can't breathe. Your gasping for air but you don't get any. You can't hear. Only muffled screams. Telling you to calm down. But you can't. You have no control. None. Zero. Zippo. Zilch. ~m.a

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Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis June 13th, 2021 Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds, Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement. We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love. Tizzop GANGSTAPOETS **** 13.8 * MIKEY DA STREETWISE * EAZY LEGS * ADORABLE GREGGIE * MONICA MATADORA * SLY BOOTYGIRL * COLLAPSIN CHAOT * THE LADY REVENANT * BEEN * WOOZY WIZARD * TELLY * CRATERSKATER * CHEYENNE IS STARVIN * CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST GANGSTAPOETS DESERT SAMURAI * PRESTON * ALBOW * SNOWBLADE MUTANT * SAMBA * UNKLE OF DOOM * PLAY * ANTWONE * BOBBY BUTCHAH * TINA * JOEY * DREAM SEEKER * TRANCE DISCIPLE * * MOTH * DR. **** * KOBA COBRATONGUE GANGSTAPOETS SVETLANA * GUNJAHTOOL * LOUIS ORTGIES * MISHU BRAVE BEAR * GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP * DESOCIALIZED KID * WIND DIGGER * SABIÇ * JUAN * DEAL * LUCY TARANTULA * TEXAS HOLD ME * SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN * SHAWN * JAMMED JAY GANGSTAPOETS THCO * TIMMY ROTTEN * PLATIN ZIPPO * WORLDWIDE WAGGING * ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR * BUTCH * KWAME'S LOST SON * TRANCE24/7 * JIMMY * JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE * LAST OPTION PHIL * KIAN * MAX NEWMAN * MAGIC GOON

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Jul 28, 2021

Jul 28, 2021 at 8:12 AM UTC

Wondaland, a.k.a. The Magic Metropolis June 13th, 2021 Esteemed Readers and Writers, Gangstapoets and Hangarounds, Gangstapoetry proudly declares that CREATION 96 is now the second unit of our Global Movement. We are welcoming our new members. You are now a part of us. Much Love. Tizzop GANGSTAPOETS **** 13.8 * MIKEY DA STREETWISE * EAZY LEGS * ADORABLE GREGGIE * MONICA MATADORA * SLY BOOTYGIRL * COLLAPSIN CHAOT * THE LADY REVENANT * BEEN * WOOZY WIZARD * TELLY * CRATERSKATER * CHEYENNE IS STARVIN * CASPER THE PSYCHOTIC GHOST GANGSTAPOETS DESERT SAMURAI * PRESTON * ALBOW * SNOWBLADE MUTANT * SAMBA * UNKLE OF DOOM * PLAY * ANTWONE * BOBBY BUTCHAH * TINA * JOEY * DREAM SEEKER * TRANCE DISCIPLE * * MOTH * DR. **** * KOBA COBRATONGUE GANGSTAPOETS SVETLANA * GUNJAHTOOL * LOUIS ORTGIES * MISHU BRAVE BEAR * GÖKHAN TATCHOUOP * DESOCIALIZED KID * WIND DIGGER * SABIÇ * JUAN * DEAL * LUCY TARANTULA * TEXAS HOLD ME * SOUTHSIDE DRILL ASSASIN * SHAWN * JAMMED JAY GANGSTAPOETS THCO * TIMMY ROTTEN * PLATIN ZIPPO * WORLDWIDE WAGGING * ZOMBIE NEIGHBOR * BUTCH * KWAME'S LOST SON * TRANCE24/7 * JIMMY * JOSE, FELIPE & CATHERINE * LAST OPTION PHIL * KIAN * MAX NEWMAN * MAGIC GOON

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I remember it so clearly, The dark oak of the table, The smell of her cigarette smoke. We would sit every night and play 500 Rummy. Then she started to get weaker. I would watch in horror As my grandmother’s hands shook With every set she put down. The oak table turned to the Bland plastic of the one in the hospital And her cigarettes were replaced with An IV and an oxygen tank. The next night I sat in the living room, Glaring at the empty table And the unopened pack of cards. They mocked me. I dressed in black today, When everyone tossed dirt I tossed an Ace of Spades And an old Zippo.

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Dec 9, 2015

Dec 9, 2015 at 5:56 PM UTC

I remember it so clearly, The dark oak of the table, The smell of her cigarette smoke. We would sit every night and play 500 Rummy. Then she started to get weaker. I would watch in horror As my grandmother’s hands shook With every set she put down. The oak table turned to the Bland plastic of the one in the hospital And her cigarettes were replaced with An IV and an oxygen tank. The next night I sat in the living room, Glaring at the empty table And the unopened pack of cards. They mocked me. I dressed in black today, When everyone tossed dirt I tossed an Ace of Spades And an old Zippo.

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so i have this lighter, I love the thing more than I love most people It has a place of permanence in my pocket so that I never leave home without it the chrome box glints in varying lights and it makes a cool click when you open it up it's enough to feel like some sort of John Travolta greaser wannabe but it isn't a real zippo, I had a real zippo once which my grandfather gave me it was from WW2 and it was gold but time broke it to **** no now I'm stuck with the fake one just a small sized bic in metal casing any bic would fit not unique but somehow distinguished I think that's why I like it so much

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Apr 19, 2013

Apr 19, 2013 at 9:56 AM UTC

so i have this lighter, I love the thing more than I love most people It has a place of permanence in my pocket so that I never leave home without it the chrome box glints in varying lights and it makes a cool click when you open it up it's enough to feel like some sort of John Travolta greaser wannabe but it isn't a real zippo, I had a real zippo once which my grandfather gave me it was from WW2 and it was gold but time broke it to **** no now I'm stuck with the fake one just a small sized bic in metal casing any bic would fit not unique but somehow distinguished I think that's why I like it so much

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I bury into the memory foam with a Strange boy's finger up my **** Stubby white soldier, Cherry **** Phone off. Lily- pads wind their way towards the bathroom (pizza boxes, six pizza boxes) "skip carefully towards the ****** stash or else you'll sink... they're under the sink ...uh, uhhh, come back and sink your way in" Welcome to the Bad Life Bingo! Every hour is the end of the world, There's nothing to play for and no time to play it in... ...I am shaking off this dry truth with a flannel that has seen better days. My english tan is coming off and nothing works. He tries to light a joint in my bed the zippo strikes three - click - fzzzz click - fzzzz click - fzzzz and you're out .

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Jun 28, 2014

Jun 28, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC

I bury into the memory foam with a Strange boy's finger up my **** Stubby white soldier, Cherry **** Phone off. Lily- pads wind their way towards the bathroom (pizza boxes, six pizza boxes) "skip carefully towards the ****** stash or else you'll sink... they're under the sink ...uh, uhhh, come back and sink your way in" Welcome to the Bad Life Bingo! Every hour is the end of the world, There's nothing to play for and no time to play it in... ...I am shaking off this dry truth with a flannel that has seen better days. My english tan is coming off and nothing works. He tries to light a joint in my bed the zippo strikes three - click - fzzzz click - fzzzz click - fzzzz and you're out .

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Boom! goes the dynamite as we fish for fish No line, net or hook needed Just a few sticks of dynamite and a Zippo Light the stick and toss it in Wait a few seconds and Boom! There’s a dozen fish ready for the *** Try not to use fast burn sticks You’ll end up in heaven or hell And make sure you throw it far You don’t want splash backs Or to sink your boat if afloat I’ve caught sticklebacks and great whales And a U-boat and dozen other types besides Ate my fill in twenty nations While dynamite fishing It’s no good for the reefs But we pay off the officials No permits needed You know how it is cash talks So I’m allowed to fish where I want And am off to France soon Followed by Spain and Italy To do some illegal Boom! fishing...

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Dec 10, 2019

Dec 10, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC

Fishing with Dynamite

Boom! goes the dynamite as we fish for fish No line, net or hook needed Just a few sticks of dynamite and a Zippo Light the stick and toss it in Wait a few seconds and Boom! There’s a dozen fish ready for the *** Try not to use fast burn sticks You’ll end up in heaven or hell And make sure you throw it far You don’t want splash backs Or to sink your boat if afloat I’ve caught sticklebacks and great whales And a U-boat and dozen other types besides Ate my fill in twenty nations While dynamite fishing It’s no good for the reefs But we pay off the officials No permits needed You know how it is cash talks So I’m allowed to fish where I want And am off to France soon Followed by Spain and Italy To do some illegal Boom! fishing...

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Hit too hot hit too hot Now my throat burns Watching Workaholics I'd say Blake is my favorite His hair is cute I like his face Wild red hair creating umbrella space Flick the engraved Zippo the gift from wifey Blunt in the bowl smoking Spent ten on a three My other lover might sit with us soon Three in a room sharing hands Possibly kisses, massive attack Playing mezzanine we'll either touch Each others' skin or carry conversation As it turns out I've found peace with Either outcome or any other potentiality While it's pleasing to be receiving I'll be Lying if I tell you I don't appreciate the fine Details in simply spoken word between us

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Apr 4, 2017

Apr 4, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC

Dead Queers: "A Cassette Scratches the Air Behind"

Hit too hot hit too hot Now my throat burns Watching Workaholics I'd say Blake is my favorite His hair is cute I like his face Wild red hair creating umbrella space Flick the engraved Zippo the gift from wifey Blunt in the bowl smoking Spent ten on a three My other lover might sit with us soon Three in a room sharing hands Possibly kisses, massive attack Playing mezzanine we'll either touch Each others' skin or carry conversation As it turns out I've found peace with Either outcome or any other potentiality While it's pleasing to be receiving I'll be Lying if I tell you I don't appreciate the fine Details in simply spoken word between us

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I read something from a long time ago. And it made me cry. The thunder outside told me to shut up. And then I realized it was raining. But I stopped crying. Because I'm not supposed to, cry, I mean. And I grabbed a cigarette. And my zippo that says lucky on it. Made of '04. I love that lighter. I went outside and lit it. But I didn't want my mom to come out. And see how I was. So I started walking in the rain. I didn't want my cigarette to get hit by the rain. So I stuck it underneath my shirt. And then I walked. And while I was walking, I tripped. I accidentally burned my belly button. How the **** did I manage that. I'm so stupid So I walked to the side of the house. There is a little porch big enough for one. I finished my cigarette with my eyes closed. Just listening to the rain. When it was done, I walked up to the steps. And I sat down, still getting pelted with water. I realized I couldn't keep sitting, I was shaking. So I got up and started walking towards the back of the house. I walked to the very back, towards the alleyway. Making sure to drag my feet in the puddles, soaking my pajama pants. I got to the back gate. And I started crying again. You are hopeless, this is hopeless, what are you even doing here? The thunder told me to shut up again. You are wasteless I saw my old trampoline and started jumping on it. When I was little, I used to sing to the rain. I would sing good songs, to try and soothe it. Never sing 'rain rain go away'. That's makes the rain upset. And the thunder says to stop. So I jumped. And I sang a little bit. Then I laid down and closed my eyes. Just got completely soaked, y'know. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. Just felt the pitter patter of rain drops on me. Tried to bury my zippo in my clothes so it wouldn't get wet. Then I got up, cried a little more. And I walked back. I walked back towards the front of the house slowly. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. Dragging my feet in puddles. I miss you Grant, I hate you Sam, and I love you..Well, you know who you are. Just getting completely soaked. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. And I went inside, smiled at my mom. Went downstairs. And changed my clothes. Began getting ready for work. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. You are not okay, everything is not going to be okay.

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Mar 30, 2013

Mar 30, 2013 at 8:31 AM UTC

I read something from a long time ago. And it made me cry. The thunder outside told me to shut up. And then I realized it was raining. But I stopped crying. Because I'm not supposed to, cry, I mean. And I grabbed a cigarette. And my zippo that says lucky on it. Made of '04. I love that lighter. I went outside and lit it. But I didn't want my mom to come out. And see how I was. So I started walking in the rain. I didn't want my cigarette to get hit by the rain. So I stuck it underneath my shirt. And then I walked. And while I was walking, I tripped. I accidentally burned my belly button. How the **** did I manage that. I'm so stupid So I walked to the side of the house. There is a little porch big enough for one. I finished my cigarette with my eyes closed. Just listening to the rain. When it was done, I walked up to the steps. And I sat down, still getting pelted with water. I realized I couldn't keep sitting, I was shaking. So I got up and started walking towards the back of the house. I walked to the very back, towards the alleyway. Making sure to drag my feet in the puddles, soaking my pajama pants. I got to the back gate. And I started crying again. You are hopeless, this is hopeless, what are you even doing here? The thunder told me to shut up again. You are wasteless I saw my old trampoline and started jumping on it. When I was little, I used to sing to the rain. I would sing good songs, to try and soothe it. Never sing 'rain rain go away'. That's makes the rain upset. And the thunder says to stop. So I jumped. And I sang a little bit. Then I laid down and closed my eyes. Just got completely soaked, y'know. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. Just felt the pitter patter of rain drops on me. Tried to bury my zippo in my clothes so it wouldn't get wet. Then I got up, cried a little more. And I walked back. I walked back towards the front of the house slowly. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. Dragging my feet in puddles. I miss you Grant, I hate you Sam, and I love you..Well, you know who you are. Just getting completely soaked. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. And I went inside, smiled at my mom. Went downstairs. And changed my clothes. Began getting ready for work. You are going to be okay, everything is okay. You are not okay, everything is not going to be okay.

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Clink! Zip ...zip..zipp No matter how many times you try to ignite the fire, the flame will not kindle without a spark to the fuel. A gas as thin as air, and as invisible as emotions. A spark to arouse the very atom of the fire a spark at the right time, at the right spot. a spark such as the one we felt when our eyes met for the very first time.

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Nov 22, 2014

Nov 22, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC

eli-seth-salazar

Clink! Zip ...zip..zipp No matter how many times you try to ignite the fire, the flame will not kindle without a spark to the fuel. A gas as thin as air, and as invisible as emotions. A spark to arouse the very atom of the fire a spark at the right time, at the right spot. a spark such as the one we felt when our eyes met for the very first time.

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Sundown in the Paris of the prairies Wheat kings have all treasures buried And all you hear are rusty breezes Pushing the weathervane Jesus In his Zippo lighter he sees the killer's face Maybe it's someone in the killers' place Twenty years for nothing, well, that's nothing new Besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings There's a dream he dreams where his high school's dead and stark It's a museum where we are locked in it after dark Where the the halls are all lined all yellow, grey and sinister Hung with pictures of our parent's Prime Ministers Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Late breaking story on the CBC A nation whispers, "We always knew he'd go free" They add "You can't be fond of living in the past" 'Cause if you are then no way you're going to last" Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Gord Downie

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May 25, 2016

May 25, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC

irving-macpherson

Sundown in the Paris of the prairies Wheat kings have all treasures buried And all you hear are rusty breezes Pushing the weathervane Jesus In his Zippo lighter he sees the killer's face Maybe it's someone in the killers' place Twenty years for nothing, well, that's nothing new Besides, no one's interested in something you didn't do Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings There's a dream he dreams where his high school's dead and stark It's a museum where we are locked in it after dark Where the the halls are all lined all yellow, grey and sinister Hung with pictures of our parent's Prime Ministers Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Late breaking story on the CBC A nation whispers, "We always knew he'd go free" They add "You can't be fond of living in the past" 'Cause if you are then no way you're going to last" Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Wheat kings and pretty things Let's just see what the morning brings Gord Downie

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West bound kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I stand at the door of an old Santa Fe car, snow falls silent, dusting everything in visual sense, the better January air bites my cheeks ,as two hundred tons of steel push through the night. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! One by one. The orange glow slumbering towns, passes by A Hudson rambles ,down the blacktop towards the crossings kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I retrieve my zippo ,and light my cigar and melancholy ,takes over The sun peeks over the horizon ,reflecting like a billion diamonds nestled in the snowy Fields. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I daydream of a diner with black coffee, cold marble counters eggs and bacon. I daydream of a cheap room ,with a soft bed to rest my aching mind A gleeful sleep. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! The whistle blows Kroooaaooo ,leaving the sole evidence that we were there we push down the steel trail ,into the pale dawn with Miles. Kroooaaooo! Miles and miles with no sleep, I miss Octobers copper air, Old honest me, I seek to find. A full October moon, A warm wind, autumn leaves, The sound of silence ,in All its distractions. kroooaaooo!

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Jul 25, 2018

Jul 25, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC

West bound kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I stand at the door of an old Santa Fe car, snow falls silent, dusting everything in visual sense, the better January air bites my cheeks ,as two hundred tons of steel push through the night. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! One by one. The orange glow slumbering towns, passes by A Hudson rambles ,down the blacktop towards the crossings kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I retrieve my zippo ,and light my cigar and melancholy ,takes over The sun peeks over the horizon ,reflecting like a billion diamonds nestled in the snowy Fields. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! I daydream of a diner with black coffee, cold marble counters eggs and bacon. I daydream of a cheap room ,with a soft bed to rest my aching mind A gleeful sleep. kroooaaooo kroooaaooo! The whistle blows Kroooaaooo ,leaving the sole evidence that we were there we push down the steel trail ,into the pale dawn with Miles. Kroooaaooo! Miles and miles with no sleep, I miss Octobers copper air, Old honest me, I seek to find. A full October moon, A warm wind, autumn leaves, The sound of silence ,in All its distractions. kroooaaooo!

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of straight jackets... different color for each purpose dancing shoes to match polished and ready for me to skateboard with someone rob me... i want someone to hurt me... i'm disintegration on the inside collapsed lungs choking bleeding while i ***** my vital organs all over the gravel my face forwards into i turn around and look at the sky as i reach for a cigarette out my front left pocket i keep my phone in the right one... no one ever calls though... so i take out the zippo she got me on our anniversary and as i inhale and death fills my lungs i wonder... would anyone stop me if i were to be jumping off of a cliff in this straight jacket... sideways... all i see are different shoes scurrying past my face and i wonder... is my closet too full? maybe it is time i got a new wardrobe or maybe it is time i put myself in one of those shiny closets you know... the ones that you wear your clothes in. they make you wear a fancy straight jacket black with silver lines... and a noose around your neck designer most likely you know its the one from that riddle... "who makes it but doesn't use it... who uses it but doesn't enjoy it" i fail to remember, it goes something like that... anyways, it's the best you'll ever look in your life... i've never understood that... who's going to be looking at you when its closed?

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Oct 12, 2011

Oct 12, 2011 at 6:14 PM UTC

of straight jackets... different color for each purpose dancing shoes to match polished and ready for me to skateboard with someone rob me... i want someone to hurt me... i'm disintegration on the inside collapsed lungs choking bleeding while i ***** my vital organs all over the gravel my face forwards into i turn around and look at the sky as i reach for a cigarette out my front left pocket i keep my phone in the right one... no one ever calls though... so i take out the zippo she got me on our anniversary and as i inhale and death fills my lungs i wonder... would anyone stop me if i were to be jumping off of a cliff in this straight jacket... sideways... all i see are different shoes scurrying past my face and i wonder... is my closet too full? maybe it is time i got a new wardrobe or maybe it is time i put myself in one of those shiny closets you know... the ones that you wear your clothes in. they make you wear a fancy straight jacket black with silver lines... and a noose around your neck designer most likely you know its the one from that riddle... "who makes it but doesn't use it... who uses it but doesn't enjoy it" i fail to remember, it goes something like that... anyways, it's the best you'll ever look in your life... i've never understood that... who's going to be looking at you when its closed?

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You need to know this. Whatever this is supposed to be. You know what I mean when I say this. If I look at a star, a bud of a new flower to be blooming next week The scars on the arms of the man waiting Sitting right next to me Of I grab a zippo that's been in the sun The burns make my hands drop it The world around leaves me spun I stare at a fire I built Amazed at what I have done But still the world leaves me at zero to one I stare at the sky, and the plant, and the man Wondering how much longer on my legs I can stand Because everything I look at my eyes stick to like glue Everything, anything, brings me right back to you. As if every single element, atom and nucleus groans At the day I was forced to remember with such darkened tone That I have always and remain standing alone. Now, this time, I mean this moment, the present Had allowed me to see what is quite not and quite relevant If you little by little continue loosening grasp on the covenant Than I shall rip off my skin for the evidence Of ever having painfully been welded against it My due penance. Remnants. If I am forgotten, do not lift a mind's memory's frame to remember Do not look for me, for my picture will have been completely dismembered For my own real-life self's internal tremor, I will have to rip every photograph so as to never remember. Someone said forever. Forgotten means never. If you take a moment to focus your mind On the countless theme songs, and background noise of my life Be it through the love and the pain and the might And maybe one day I'll get word you decide To leave me at the riverbank where I had taken root Mark that day on a calendar closest to you. On that day, that hour, that millisecond in time I will spread my arms and rip my roots and the vines Off in search of another place unconfined. But if--every single **** day, Every counted passing hour. You feel you really are that future-blooming flower With your vines crawl up towards that sunlight that is me Use your lips to find mine and I'll cut you from your tree And in my heart's vase you'll be free. All that fire will be revived, relived, remembered. Nothing is extinguished or forgotten. Deep down I know I will not allow myself to grow putrid and rotten. My love feeds on your love, my lovely beloved. As long as you're alive, it will be in your hands. Without leaving a vine wrapped around my legs. This life is our land. Calling it ours, one day hand in hand.

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Nov 19, 2013

Nov 19, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC

If and When You Can No Longer Recall

You need to know this. Whatever this is supposed to be. You know what I mean when I say this. If I look at a star, a bud of a new flower to be blooming next week The scars on the arms of the man waiting Sitting right next to me Of I grab a zippo that's been in the sun The burns make my hands drop it The world around leaves me spun I stare at a fire I built Amazed at what I have done But still the world leaves me at zero to one I stare at the sky, and the plant, and the man Wondering how much longer on my legs I can stand Because everything I look at my eyes stick to like glue Everything, anything, brings me right back to you. As if every single element, atom and nucleus groans At the day I was forced to remember with such darkened tone That I have always and remain standing alone. Now, this time, I mean this moment, the present Had allowed me to see what is quite not and quite relevant If you little by little continue loosening grasp on the covenant Than I shall rip off my skin for the evidence Of ever having painfully been welded against it My due penance. Remnants. If I am forgotten, do not lift a mind's memory's frame to remember Do not look for me, for my picture will have been completely dismembered For my own real-life self's internal tremor, I will have to rip every photograph so as to never remember. Someone said forever. Forgotten means never. If you take a moment to focus your mind On the countless theme songs, and background noise of my life Be it through the love and the pain and the might And maybe one day I'll get word you decide To leave me at the riverbank where I had taken root Mark that day on a calendar closest to you. On that day, that hour, that millisecond in time I will spread my arms and rip my roots and the vines Off in search of another place unconfined. But if--every single **** day, Every counted passing hour. You feel you really are that future-blooming flower With your vines crawl up towards that sunlight that is me Use your lips to find mine and I'll cut you from your tree And in my heart's vase you'll be free. All that fire will be revived, relived, remembered. Nothing is extinguished or forgotten. Deep down I know I will not allow myself to grow putrid and rotten. My love feeds on your love, my lovely beloved. As long as you're alive, it will be in your hands. Without leaving a vine wrapped around my legs. This life is our land. Calling it ours, one day hand in hand.

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We were up all thru out the terrible night sniffling like ******* addicts like sick little youth 1930's depression oh the Great our fat lips hung like dying mosquitoes in the coming brothel of winter and her long scorched dress that I inflamed with my Vietnam stolen lover zippo of gasoline in a Sober frenzy of jealousy now her Glare is angled narrowly at lust tobacco coughing up and down side ways in dreams as if I were a butterfly addicted to cigars we were up all thru out the night counting our skin cells watching the television laugh at our faces He sobbed “how the orange metallic streets bent to our theatrical emotions on 12th street” oh the glory of our thoughts and touch was ransom was devil was god was god watching in his leather seat? Wearing his glasses reading the Bible? Or does he read Russian Literature or does he only read Latin I and I were up all last night guessing Morphine using the Sister's pay-phone copper to connect with silly 3 eyed hipster hookers their eyes wide and green with white salt like a ***** lake that you stumble upon drunkardly with a laughing Angel High on Cough Syrup and mortality amused exhilarated passion-ated by this new opportunity for Adventure's drawback which is death or Boredom MY innocents is deteriorating with Age like the alcoholic richness of 100 year old Wine sadly money monday didn't go to church hope that lady with wisdom in her hands forgives me then I ate now I starve clutching at the windows painting a boy staring at me wondering if I were real As I wonder if his thoughts are my own We were up all night translating the moon's shadows and hiccups into finger paintings and strep throat.

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Mar 17, 2014

Mar 17, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC

We were up all thru out the terrible night sniffling like ******* addicts like sick little youth 1930's depression oh the Great our fat lips hung like dying mosquitoes in the coming brothel of winter and her long scorched dress that I inflamed with my Vietnam stolen lover zippo of gasoline in a Sober frenzy of jealousy now her Glare is angled narrowly at lust tobacco coughing up and down side ways in dreams as if I were a butterfly addicted to cigars we were up all thru out the night counting our skin cells watching the television laugh at our faces He sobbed “how the orange metallic streets bent to our theatrical emotions on 12th street” oh the glory of our thoughts and touch was ransom was devil was god was god watching in his leather seat? Wearing his glasses reading the Bible? Or does he read Russian Literature or does he only read Latin I and I were up all last night guessing Morphine using the Sister's pay-phone copper to connect with silly 3 eyed hipster hookers their eyes wide and green with white salt like a ***** lake that you stumble upon drunkardly with a laughing Angel High on Cough Syrup and mortality amused exhilarated passion-ated by this new opportunity for Adventure's drawback which is death or Boredom MY innocents is deteriorating with Age like the alcoholic richness of 100 year old Wine sadly money monday didn't go to church hope that lady with wisdom in her hands forgives me then I ate now I starve clutching at the windows painting a boy staring at me wondering if I were real As I wonder if his thoughts are my own We were up all night translating the moon's shadows and hiccups into finger paintings and strep throat.

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Habit defeats, ripping wounds appear in my mind in the form of ash; Tucked between my lips. They swim around me. It's not what I wanted, it's not the way it was supposed to be. A life barely lived. "They all quit you," the voice says. Tradition over the mind. One long hit; a raw, beautiful pain in my throat. Winners never quit, or another of thousand cliches. The zippo ignites. ...don't worry, it won't hurt...

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Jun 15, 2015

Jun 15, 2015 at 6:30 PM UTC

Habit defeats, ripping wounds appear in my mind in the form of ash; Tucked between my lips. They swim around me. It's not what I wanted, it's not the way it was supposed to be. A life barely lived. "They all quit you," the voice says. Tradition over the mind. One long hit; a raw, beautiful pain in my throat. Winners never quit, or another of thousand cliches. The zippo ignites. ...don't worry, it won't hurt...

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I saw it a few days ago I chanced a glance into the void The place in which all emotions fall and seclude themselves The place where there are no stars and there is nothing but loud space She'd just tore away from me A small tear in the muslin But she pulled and pulled Until the void was exposed in my shredded star chart That subtle darkness in the undertones undulating thickly Turbulent waves beneath the glorified surface thinness And behind the closed door it- It was just a second really And the hopeless scientist behind me The dark and big and pragmatic and meek He didn't see But he knew And he wanted it back And again She left me frayed In another winter Before I could look to the skies and find meaning When our world was lit only by the fires of forthcoming fears and futile flickers What clouded the far-off pinpricks, the soft pinching of reality knocking at my door? It was her straight-edge fragility And her straight-edge solution Now her world is lit by a different kind of fire A fire that numbs So she said A fire that heals So she claims A flickering flame that destroys every membrane of my being And binds my hands to my feet And shoots wildly across the sky So I cry And I weep And I, a universe of atoms feel like a lost atom in her universe I safely encased in my crinkled paper, but Hot holes slowly eat their way through No maps or constellations face any competition before her But all she sees is a world of comets and fire My short fuse is wilted So she unzips her skin with a zippo And she freezes time And she runs across my horizon Bright, beautiful, blazing She is forever above my hands Her path unseen and unforseeable A spectators daydream The astrologists' nightmare

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Aug 12, 2013

Aug 12, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC

The Astrologist's Nightmare

I saw it a few days ago I chanced a glance into the void The place in which all emotions fall and seclude themselves The place where there are no stars and there is nothing but loud space She'd just tore away from me A small tear in the muslin But she pulled and pulled Until the void was exposed in my shredded star chart That subtle darkness in the undertones undulating thickly Turbulent waves beneath the glorified surface thinness And behind the closed door it- It was just a second really And the hopeless scientist behind me The dark and big and pragmatic and meek He didn't see But he knew And he wanted it back And again She left me frayed In another winter Before I could look to the skies and find meaning When our world was lit only by the fires of forthcoming fears and futile flickers What clouded the far-off pinpricks, the soft pinching of reality knocking at my door? It was her straight-edge fragility And her straight-edge solution Now her world is lit by a different kind of fire A fire that numbs So she said A fire that heals So she claims A flickering flame that destroys every membrane of my being And binds my hands to my feet And shoots wildly across the sky So I cry And I weep And I, a universe of atoms feel like a lost atom in her universe I safely encased in my crinkled paper, but Hot holes slowly eat their way through No maps or constellations face any competition before her But all she sees is a world of comets and fire My short fuse is wilted So she unzips her skin with a zippo And she freezes time And she runs across my horizon Bright, beautiful, blazing She is forever above my hands Her path unseen and unforseeable A spectators daydream The astrologists' nightmare

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Different places seem the same And once your down you can't quite explain it, like a fading dream You're in and then out to preach To muddle through an imperial speech Walk unashamed You play the game Until the castles breeched Soldiering on through the blind war with all weather shades and a score to settle. The air tastes funny yet I ain't laughing Incensed What shakes you, resonance What makes you, persistence Rainbows but not a drop of rain there she goes again and again Case it and flash a zippo at your homework inscribed with S.T.U Time and again the disposable friends recycle themselves degrade You shook me all night long and as I begin to shake back Your dust drops I'm unemployable Unmistakable Unthinkable Undeniable Untenable And often incredible But impossibly unlovable Love For no other reason Like a movement By the hand Of a spectacular Like you did Cos you could And you meant it. Stay away it's just a game we play Holding you to ransom trying to take a swipe At fame. Heavy heads drag heavy legs slowly scraping by Propped up by the magical The illusive Dollar sign. Holy **** I knew it something's very very wrong. No matter what we cannot simply play along. Changing shape from place to place On the edge of something real Slowly realising you're running on a wheel.

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Feb 13, 2015

Feb 13, 2015 at 1:54 PM UTC

Different places seem the same And once your down you can't quite explain it, like a fading dream You're in and then out to preach To muddle through an imperial speech Walk unashamed You play the game Until the castles breeched Soldiering on through the blind war with all weather shades and a score to settle. The air tastes funny yet I ain't laughing Incensed What shakes you, resonance What makes you, persistence Rainbows but not a drop of rain there she goes again and again Case it and flash a zippo at your homework inscribed with S.T.U Time and again the disposable friends recycle themselves degrade You shook me all night long and as I begin to shake back Your dust drops I'm unemployable Unmistakable Unthinkable Undeniable Untenable And often incredible But impossibly unlovable Love For no other reason Like a movement By the hand Of a spectacular Like you did Cos you could And you meant it. Stay away it's just a game we play Holding you to ransom trying to take a swipe At fame. Heavy heads drag heavy legs slowly scraping by Propped up by the magical The illusive Dollar sign. Holy **** I knew it something's very very wrong. No matter what we cannot simply play along. Changing shape from place to place On the edge of something real Slowly realising you're running on a wheel.

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Inspired by “The Burning Giraffe” by Salvador Dali I am defined by what clutters my drawers: • Aortic—a tattered matchbook with a phone number I never called scrawled to the inside cover as an inscription to everything I never wanted. A half-empty can of butane with a missing cap alongside a dollar’s worth of pennies that weight a scrap torn from a newspaper tragedy: four killed, faulty smoke detectors to blame. • Ankle—a charred picture, curled in upon itself and kept as a reminder of what I could become; a blackened nest as an omen of losing all I’ve ever known and an ointment tube, squeezed in the middle as a talisman against blistering tempers. • Thigh—an empty Zippo with a scarred case, dull and pointless; a coiled stove element with an ashen haze that could testify that water doesn’t douse all flames; and an oily fuse, plucked from the top of my head to serve as a yardstick of minutes, seconds, then nothing. • Knee—a fine layer of charcoal dust and half of a briquette from last summer’s backyard barbecue when the wind kicked up to spray red embers into the air like a meteor shower, streaking in bright sparks and fluttering to shrieks and stop-drop-rolls along dry grass until the itching ceased and the bubbles formed in small foamy patches along arms and strapless backs and sun-red cheeks.

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Oct 11, 2010

Oct 11, 2010 at 5:30 AM UTC

Inspired by “The Burning Giraffe” by Salvador Dali I am defined by what clutters my drawers: • Aortic—a tattered matchbook with a phone number I never called scrawled to the inside cover as an inscription to everything I never wanted. A half-empty can of butane with a missing cap alongside a dollar’s worth of pennies that weight a scrap torn from a newspaper tragedy: four killed, faulty smoke detectors to blame. • Ankle—a charred picture, curled in upon itself and kept as a reminder of what I could become; a blackened nest as an omen of losing all I’ve ever known and an ointment tube, squeezed in the middle as a talisman against blistering tempers. • Thigh—an empty Zippo with a scarred case, dull and pointless; a coiled stove element with an ashen haze that could testify that water doesn’t douse all flames; and an oily fuse, plucked from the top of my head to serve as a yardstick of minutes, seconds, then nothing. • Knee—a fine layer of charcoal dust and half of a briquette from last summer’s backyard barbecue when the wind kicked up to spray red embers into the air like a meteor shower, streaking in bright sparks and fluttering to shrieks and stop-drop-rolls along dry grass until the itching ceased and the bubbles formed in small foamy patches along arms and strapless backs and sun-red cheeks.

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They are objects Of no importance In our lives Often carelessly scattered Ominous Over ripe Crinkled Left For somebody else To pick up But he takes them To centre stage On big canvases With lots of colours And no filter Even sewn up wounds Shine Beyond the ordinary Everyday decadence They become parts In our stories Like memories of past Or future lives Like they have not been Before He saw them This way And let us see them Too

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Jul 9, 2014

Jul 9, 2014 at 7:09 AM UTC

Zippo Raspberry Post-it Note

They are objects Of no importance In our lives Often carelessly scattered Ominous Over ripe Crinkled Left For somebody else To pick up But he takes them To centre stage On big canvases With lots of colours And no filter Even sewn up wounds Shine Beyond the ordinary Everyday decadence They become parts In our stories Like memories of past Or future lives Like they have not been Before He saw them This way And let us see them Too

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An obvious homage to AG America it is time for an update. I am still sick of your insane demands, just shut up and try to listen. America, it's 4 AM. November 5th, 2016 and you have become a shambling giant crushing us all as you stumble on. America we have come to a parting of the ways. America your founding fathers were rich white men who sold their truths for power and then ***** their slaves and whipped the People into shape. America Clinton and Trump really are the best you have to offer. America I am voting NO! I no longer accept your vicious lies. The Wobblies and anarchists were right. To rise from the ashes something must first burn and die. America I am holding a Zippo. America I am thinking about you. Your cities are scoured by ****** your heartland drenched in **** Your jails overflow with potheads. Your police have become assassins who cry like little girls when their victims shoot back. Your banks have stolen all the money in the world yet I am broke as usual. In the 60s I actually thought there was some hope of redemption. Youth and drugs create such illusions. Now I live alone with a sociopathic cat. My friends are dead or scattered. I am a poet in a country that can't read. America your brainwashed minions stare into their TVs, awaiting further orders. America I don’t own a TV. America we are well and truly ****** America once I fought a war for you. I would never do that again. America you have turned your guns on hope and devoured it, feathers and all. Now that is a Thanksgiving dinner. America don't you ever weary of eating your citizens' dreams? America let me get to my angry point. I am declaring my independence from you. I am in you but not of you. Stick your baubles up your *** You have enough slaves. You don't need me. So long America. I gave you an honest chance. America, don't call me, I'll call you.

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Nov 5, 2016

Nov 5, 2016 at 5:42 AM UTC

An obvious homage to AG America it is time for an update. I am still sick of your insane demands, just shut up and try to listen. America, it's 4 AM. November 5th, 2016 and you have become a shambling giant crushing us all as you stumble on. America we have come to a parting of the ways. America your founding fathers were rich white men who sold their truths for power and then ***** their slaves and whipped the People into shape. America Clinton and Trump really are the best you have to offer. America I am voting NO! I no longer accept your vicious lies. The Wobblies and anarchists were right. To rise from the ashes something must first burn and die. America I am holding a Zippo. America I am thinking about you. Your cities are scoured by ****** your heartland drenched in **** Your jails overflow with potheads. Your police have become assassins who cry like little girls when their victims shoot back. Your banks have stolen all the money in the world yet I am broke as usual. In the 60s I actually thought there was some hope of redemption. Youth and drugs create such illusions. Now I live alone with a sociopathic cat. My friends are dead or scattered. I am a poet in a country that can't read. America your brainwashed minions stare into their TVs, awaiting further orders. America I don’t own a TV. America we are well and truly ****** America once I fought a war for you. I would never do that again. America you have turned your guns on hope and devoured it, feathers and all. Now that is a Thanksgiving dinner. America don't you ever weary of eating your citizens' dreams? America let me get to my angry point. I am declaring my independence from you. I am in you but not of you. Stick your baubles up your *** You have enough slaves. You don't need me. So long America. I gave you an honest chance. America, don't call me, I'll call you.

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Houston woke up early. Yawning. A cigarette away from just packing his meager possessions and leaving everything this dusty room did not have to offer. A spark of zippo flame had his lungs drowning in chemical filth. Sometimes it felt good to get ***** Often enough now that he had forgotten what it felt like to be clean. The yellowed pages of his favorite books stared back at him in a mismanaged pile on his writing desk. What few thoughts he had managed to scripple out kept them company on crumpled napkins and ink stained pages.The sheets a sweaty twist around his pale form. He knew something had to give or he really was going to go over to Silvia's to just "talk" but do what he had been thinking about more often of late and drown her in the kitchen sink sloshing over with ***** dish water she never drained. Gods but that woman drove him crazy. The clanging of glass every time he took a step a testament to those emotions. All he could do to cope with the damage she had wrought was lose himself in a bottle. Any bottle would suffice but his favorite was spiced *** It used to burn going down but they had gotten so used to each other it was like old people having *** with the added bonus of actually reaching fulfillment. The company he had kept last night lay sadly on it's side next to his worn mattress. It's cap somewhere in the wreckage of Houston's hundred dollar a month room. He looked down at it and sighed, picking up the neck and now stale sips left in the bottom. He knew that this one swallow would only stoke the flames of his desire for more yet he could not help himself. Autopilot had taken control weeks ago. The glass on his lips was comforting but the not enough taste left on his tongue was sour. Today. Cracking of his spine echoed as he stretched. Today he was going to get revenge.

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Jul 30, 2013

Jul 30, 2013 at 9:01 PM UTC

To Drinking and ******

Houston woke up early. Yawning. A cigarette away from just packing his meager possessions and leaving everything this dusty room did not have to offer. A spark of zippo flame had his lungs drowning in chemical filth. Sometimes it felt good to get ***** Often enough now that he had forgotten what it felt like to be clean. The yellowed pages of his favorite books stared back at him in a mismanaged pile on his writing desk. What few thoughts he had managed to scripple out kept them company on crumpled napkins and ink stained pages.The sheets a sweaty twist around his pale form. He knew something had to give or he really was going to go over to Silvia's to just "talk" but do what he had been thinking about more often of late and drown her in the kitchen sink sloshing over with ***** dish water she never drained. Gods but that woman drove him crazy. The clanging of glass every time he took a step a testament to those emotions. All he could do to cope with the damage she had wrought was lose himself in a bottle. Any bottle would suffice but his favorite was spiced *** It used to burn going down but they had gotten so used to each other it was like old people having *** with the added bonus of actually reaching fulfillment. The company he had kept last night lay sadly on it's side next to his worn mattress. It's cap somewhere in the wreckage of Houston's hundred dollar a month room. He looked down at it and sighed, picking up the neck and now stale sips left in the bottom. He knew that this one swallow would only stoke the flames of his desire for more yet he could not help himself. Autopilot had taken control weeks ago. The glass on his lips was comforting but the not enough taste left on his tongue was sour. Today. Cracking of his spine echoed as he stretched. Today he was going to get revenge.

Continue reading...