Sheila, where the hell's my car?
Scenarios tumble forth, kitsch
impressionistic blurs that bloom from my eyes:
The squeal of your shoe,
Its sole stretched against the tarmac
wears thin-
worn in, that time down the high street.
Hunted by a pair of pristine black Doc Martens
Their thud thud thud sending shockwaves;
creating earthquakes.
You flew.
Hit the fence,
pushed up and were away.
The Shipley girls all knew your name,
a weekend warrior with a shock of hair.
Now here you lie, loveless and
sun-damaged from all those summer heists,
on the bank of my driveway, waiting.
I'm waiting.
Sheila, where the hell's my car?

Originally posted by Lorddrg7
If crap came in a package, it would probably be wrapped in this
Last edited by Bidinski at May 25, 2011,
not gonna lie. I'm going to need to read this a lot more before I get it, but it's cool.
I want Super Saiyan abilities
I'm not sure what this was written about, but I get a strong sense of fatal car accident from it. Whether that gut feeling is right or not, this is a beautiful piece. It has a certain flow to it that so few people seem able to achieve. I really enjoyed reading this.

Also, I had to look up the word "kitsch." Bravo to that because not many pieces around here require me to consult a dictionary.