heart felt blunt words
Basted
If my hands were udders
And my fingers teats
Would you milk me every day ?
Eastbound
Instant microwave eggs
Not what I wanted for my sweet sixteen
Category loaves
Infinity scarf
Doesn’t mean you’ll live forever
Dollar store eyeshadow
Small Town Effect
Rolling hills and drug deals
Mark my words
The back of a stop sign is no longer innocent
I’ve always wanted to be in a car crash.
There is something so settling about the way I would watch the car come at me.
My heart would pound and my feet would try to brake,
But something inside me would want to hit the gas.
To seize the moment and wreck us both for what we are.
The metal would wrap around me as the impact shook my tethered body.
The crunching sound would be almost too beautiful to focus on life.
And maybe,
Just,
Maybe death would come.
Maybe I would see just who pretends to care about me,
The people whom I barely know grieving over my lacquered casket.
Salty tears from their salty beings.
Fuck you.
Sometimes I feel so fake, I almost doubt there is blood coursing through my veins. I am just an empty vessel floating through the abyss. Me, the only viewer of true life. Always watching life but never being the life itself.
Other times so human and so raw that I can conquer anything. So full that emptiness is almost unthinkable. I feel each heartbeat as it pushes the life through my veins. Each step I take valid and right; my existence matters and I am life itself.
He smokes?
Out of all the times I’ve laid eyes on him as he shovels the steps of that concrete
Never once with a cigarette
Surprise, surprise
I cut another car off
7 o’clock, he’s shovelling the snow from last night
12 o’clock, he’s trying to keep up with the falling snow
2 o’clock, smoking and shovelling
4 o’clock, still shovelling
At 6, he gives up
Calls it a day
Goals complete
His daily race against the weather
Does his entire life consist of shovelling, smoking, and over pricing goods?
It must be…
Bruce
You need to live a little
We drove up a road under construction
Stopping at each flagger
Up to a friends quaint reunion
His smile was intense
His body Caucasian
His relatives oriental
No match
He pretended I meant something to him
As we walked in his field of baby geese
His Asian relatives starred and judged
Geese as far as the eye could see
Continue reading “The Dream”
I brought two oranges of varying sizes
To the party you call your home
I left the peels on your dusty shelf
And left the fruit next to the other fruit
Your reaction was priceless
Your brother
Pretended to
Slit
My throat
Starrfishing 