dimming brushes with cocaine
lushed pom bottles, we've got
the orchestration to castrate the
animated hierarchy of longing back
and forth's between lost lovers, never
mind the hypocrisy of it all, this or that
dogs and cats, who are we? sixth
graders looking for a finger fuck?
no, we're adults blaming
the guy who cut the lines,
or staring at the doe eyed girl
crushed velvet dead under the
weight of false impressions.
a storm of presumptuous "You're dead
you mother fucker!" And at the same
time, high pitched screaming in the back
of everyone's mind. This is not
some future prediction or a past recollection
they all thought, this is a present tense
reenactment. Of course, no one is wondering
what the dead girl is thinking (probably because she
can't, or in the afterlife it's too magical to bother with such things)
Probably something along the lines of,
"The boy 3000 miles away was right."
or my favorite;
"A man is not old until his regrets take the place of his dreams”
(Her proverb knowledge wasn't so great, so that one is a bit
"Who's at?" Someone mutters
from the corner of the room, scared because
someone from the other corner (miles away)
had the nerve to call the cops.
"Who do we think we are?"
Adults was an answer,
children was another one,
but everyone had the same thing
on their minds;

A bard (or whatever) sang in the center of the room perched over
her dead body, which had just begun to cool as the blood dried
on her nose and her face dimmed from the lack of it.

"Oh sweetest do thou
sure do crush under
flattening doed eyes
we ponder with such
lovely teenage lies.
in my dearest chest
have sunken regret
i lived a long life
and without helping..."

The cops arrived and no one was there,
fled like a frightened murder
of crows from a long dead deer,
i slept in the same field one night,
now sickly
with the smell of death.
thank you two, if you have a piece you want me to critique let me know.
Matt, if you could get to my new one, leave a comment. It's nothing that great though.