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your weight on mine as we blend into each other
under a heavy duvet on an old sofa
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Suck it ‘til it’s dry.
Go on.
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You’re an unending cartwheel,
a firework that arches out forever into everything
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it's not a definition,
it's a feeling
-
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The night’s a maddening whirl as I sit on a table
and my friends dance and expend themselves around me
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Delicately, the dream dissipates.
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What’s he doing behind that wooden door?
A dull neon light seeps slowly on the floor
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I saw your grave yesterday.
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You won’t believe the things I’ve seen, Jack
such earth-shattering things
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There’s nothing like that post-ejaculation clarity
to balance the books and put things in perspective.
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and no I don’t want to enjoy the hospitality of Gavin and Linda
I don’t give a shit about UK satellite TV
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England you incredible ancient monster,
England who gave me life and threw me bones on which to feed
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A Hollywood backdrop
is how it’s described -
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With thick, chocolate hair that swirls around her shoulders like waves,
With attentive hazel eyes stained with a mysterious lagoon green.
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Nothing here is as it should be.
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Hiding in shiny new parts that change colour every week
Overtly pristine but internally antique.
by teebs
119 lines, 3 comments,
on Jun 9 1:13 PM. In Life, Thoughts, Other, Society, Party, Hope, Death, Humanity, Love, Repetition
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They take it somewhere more intimate
And she wraps herself in his chequered shirt
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The ones who’d sooner shake your hand than
Take the time to hold a conversation.
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Glorious globuled gifts gleam gelatinously in a
Hushed hoax that hails and hisse
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So we comfort ourselves with the dishonest sound
Of flesh-coloured Christs that glow in the dark
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There’s a tragedy to skimming stones
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in a sense we’re all winning:
we’re alive
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So I take a deep breath in a will to be free,
But I am nothing at all like I wanted to be.
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Regardless of the time of year I write,
These heavy-handed words contain no less truth
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Kill the last romantic and
String him from the ramparts
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I want to look into her panda eyes
And not have sealed lips look back at me
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He writes in the third person to avoid responsibility,
Shipping his own dissatisfaction onto an imagined fiction
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I sit and watch history unfold on a
Sixteen inch screen.
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I don’t want my final words to be
An introduction for the next person on stage
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So what to do with you,
The four lettered girl.
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There’s nothing discreet in unbridled deceit,
In heroes arriving too late.
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The midnight train is creaking
And the passengers are speaking
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