Poll: ?
Poll Options
View poll results: ?
black
3 43%
green
1 14%
blue
3 43%
Voters: 7.
#1
---December '94---

   [B] "Six inches of SNOW!"
                       "They didn't cancel school."[/B]

Mom always knows how to ruin my day. 

              Eat.
              Brush.
              Piss.
              Dress in layers.
              Bus.
              Desk.
              Class.
              Go to recess.

Fourteen friends, two third grade teams. 
              
              Football.
              Whistle.
              Desk.
              Class.
              Dismissal.

Another average winter day, 
in this third grade hell.
At least until I start walking home--


  [B]  "Let her go."
                      "Shut up little kid. Don'you know that we 
                        sixth graders run this place."
   "I don't care, don't
      shove her face in the snow!"[/B]
                   
I'm glad I black out in high pressure situations...
[B]
   "What happened... why is my face so cold? 
        My nose is Bleeding!"[/B]

She leans in close, like she's going to whisper
then presses her chapped and snowy
rose colored lips against mine,
then quickly jumps to her feet and trudges away.
              
              Shock.
              Amazement.
              Exhiliration.
              My first kiss.

Only cost me a bloody nose.
Women will be the death of me someday.



"Tears and Tempature"

I was sitting under a street light,
the air hurt my lungs.
(Eight minutes till midnight)
To cold to take a drag,
I held it in my hands...
soon it was nothing but ash.

A dog trudged towards me through the snow,
she licked me, and I laughed at the warmth.
Petting her I asked, "do you know how to cry,
because I don't think I know how."
...She simply laid down beside me.



I'll Be Keeping Myself Warm This Winter

This motel is an open wound,
a nest of dual solitude.
Another month would free this harbour,
if another month would come so soon.

An escape from winter's pacifists
that bait you up, then lure you in.
This calls for a celebration.
A deck of cards, a bottle of gin.

Seeping through these paper walls,
room 6 has known my secret all along.
I'm painting portraits of myself
with crosshairs over open palms.

I'm crawling in my vanity.
I'm calling it democracy.
I speak of "luck" in theory,
while knocking boots with fantasy.

The flies on the wall,
they all sing a new hymn
for every trip that I've taken
down memory lane.
And they shed a fresh tear
for each breathe that it takes
for me to warm to the embrace
of another vestal's chastity.
#2
compared to the other thread, i don't think these deserve to win.
Promises meant a lot back then.
#7
^Sorry cabby, but that would defeat the point of having time limits on the polls.

Tiebreaker will be going up sometime soon.