tl;dr. c4c, ots, etc.

rodgers and hammerstein

4:35 a.m.

and we're singing standards again,
it might as well be spring and the streelights
lay me down colored gold while i'm sleeping in their heat
and i guess that it means, i've had too much to drink,
but is there really too much when all you want is a dream
of masterful castles swallowed by sea, pulled in grain by grain
and scattered by wind, and then each one sinks and
there's nothing to show, for the hours we spent on the sand
digging holes in hopes of finding some treasure we're unable to know,
but then when we left, we were lonesome and old,
and i never go to that beach anymore.

7:08 a.m.

your bedroom, home, alone, cellular phone,
long distance drunk looking for some kind of snow,
so i can laugh at your footprints and mock all your cold,
but no one i know, has anywhere else to be,
so we had a couple more drinks and she pressed her
lips against my grizzly-bear oh-so-debonair five-a.m.-shadow cheeks,
and she laughed at my shivering knees, my stuttering speech
the winter coat and scarf of my dreams.

11:46 a.m.

eyes red and pressed, ma's love and dad's dead,
fuck him, fuck that man. i think i'm losing perspective again,
and bob barker gets more pussy than i'll ever see,
and that makes me want to crush him with his own stupid wheel,
and i think maybe i should've just gone to sleep.

3:16 p.m.

traffic spite,
pack of cigarettes and maybe some ice,
grassroots, sweet tooth, and this town
was built for demolition boots,
cause every time i walk, i'm just leaving
my mark, black little holes to fall in, and
and i couldn't get out.
scandnavian skateboards but i couldn't get out,
and i said, "well, i just want out of this fucking town."

8:53 p.m.

fountain pen, pressed against my leg,
i've got dreams of drawing disaster, but
i can't even draw dread. i just flutter and scribble
til it's all just pointless, and i painted your nails,
but i couldn't paint your skin. i couldn't paint anything.

11:28 p.m.

safety crawls across the concrete walls of your building
and i wrapped my fists into balls and i pounded and pounded
trying to catch it, but i'm just bleeding and it's shit, it got away again
and that's it, and i'll just curl up on your steps, and i'll just dream about your lips,
and i'll just shower in the thunderclouds' hips, i'll pass each hour counting
the thousand little drips that leap from your window's width.

2:37 a.m.

you came with a blanket and some kind of skin,
to wrap up my spine and push it back in,
and i sat on that step feeling all that i could,
and i swallowed my breath, cause it did me no good,
and i moistened my tongue, and i talked to be heard,
and i told you i loved you and i told you it hurt,
and i told you that nothing would could clean off the dirt,
and you laughed and you smiled and you opened your mouth,
and it didn't fucking matter what you said, cause i was out
of nerve, of bourbon, of gas, of time, of mind, of chances.
sultry sucker-punching glances, and i fell asleep on your knees
on the front steps of your apartment building.

4:35 am.

and it might as well be spring.
There's only one thing we can do to thwart the plot of these albino shape-shifting lizard BITCHES!
oh god. lovely, absolutely.
Quote by Arthur Curry
it's official, vintage x metal is the saving grace of this board and/or the antichrist

e-married to
& alaskan_ninja

everyone will love this but I thought it could have been much better. your use of rhyme seemed out of place and prettyfied a pretty gruesome text. In my opinion it would have been better to go about this with what it seems like you really wanted to go about it with in a no holds barred, pared down account of desperation and emotion. I didnt get emotion out of this, I got poetry excercize fueled by emotion. The killer images you had were undermined by repetition and alliteration and cute end rhymes for the most part.

the ending was raw and real and it was glorious in it's simplicity (though I wasnt a fan of the end rhymes) and I don't think that it needs to work in juxtaposition to the rest.

this was a great piece, reminded me of something I wrote last night, though it may just be because I like to create relationships between unlike things, but I think this could easily be edited to be even better. I wanted more visceral and less poetic. what you had that I would classify as 'poetic' was beautiful, no doubt, but took away from the power of simplicity that I believe should drive this piece (to a much greater extent than it does now).

eh, still a blast to read.