Post with 3 notes
He came home every night
Climbed the stairs
Threw the bedroom door open
Rummaged through his sock drawer
For a bottle of whiskey and his. 44
Sat on the foot of the bed
Drank the bottle down
Put the gun in his mouth
And pulled the trigger
In the morning, he’d wake up
Stuff his brains back in sideways
And do it all over again
Until she came along
She changed everything
She was the kind of girl
You didn’t want to light a match near
The kind of wild card
You’d get shot for playing in Vegas
She had fire in her eyes
And between her legs
And she would be in his bed tonight
Instead of cheap booze and a bullet
Tonight will be different
Tonight, he’ll overdose
And in the morning, she’ll be gone
And he’ll be dead
Post with 2 notes
From so far away
I still feel your hands upon
My flesh, spirit and heart
Post with 5 notes
You know the kind.
You stir into blurry consciousness and stare at the ceiling and it just looks wrong. Your pillow whispers to you repeatedly that you didn’t get enough sleep and you should really stay here for another three hours.
And, hell’s bells, do you want to.
But you don’t because the system demands that you be at least semi-productive today. Gods forbid you have a weekday to yourself. And besides, the alarm clock has been buzzing for the past 45 minutes anyway.
So you wrench yourself forcibly from your bed, take a luke-warm shower because the damn water heater is on the fritz again, throw on clothes that you hate because you forgot to do laundry yesterday, get your things together (well, most of your things; on a day like this you will always, invariably forget something), rush out the door to your vehicle and thrust yourself hastily into today’s thirty-minute delay.
Oh, and did I mention that you only have 15 minutes left until your shift starts?
So, you arrive to work late and make some lame excuse to your asshole boss whom caught you trying to sneak in without being seen. He chews you out, which is a great way to prepare for the usual, daily shit-shoveling. On any normal day, you’d be able to handle the monotony, the automatons you call coworkers, your dick-faced manager and that godforsaken printer that seems to eat only your documents.
But this isn’t any normal day, remember?
You don’t want to deal with this crap. They couldn’t pay you enough. You just want to trash your workstation, slap your coworkers, tell your boss to eat a big bag of dicks, smash that fucking printer with a crowbar, go home and drink yourself into a stupor.
And by golly, you should.
But despite your natural urges to give your horrible situation exactly what it deserves, you maintain control and manage to do only just enough work to keep the boss off your ass.
The day crawls sluggishly onwards. Lunch time. Finally, a break. Except, you just remembered what it was you forgot on your way out the door:
Your only salvation is a pop tart from the vending machine that you were lucky to find just enough change for after rifling through your desk for twenty minutes. Hey, it’s better than starving, right?
Your brief respite is ended and you drag your feet all the way back to your desk. The hours march on like prisoners of war: reluctant, but resolved lest they be skewered. Your blood sugar gets low and you begin to nod off. You snap awake just in time for the boss to stalk past your workstation and give you the eye. You excuse yourself to the restroom and lock yourself in the stall with your head in your hands.
Just one more hour, you pray. Please, just let me survive for just one more hour.
Maybe you punch the wall a few times on the way out of the restroom to keep yourself awake. Whatever, I’m not judging.
You make it through the last hour and rush to your vehicle just in time to thrust yourself back into rush hour traffic. You don’t even have the energy to be pissed at the dumb cunt what just cut you off because she was too busy sexting her boyfriend.
You don’t care anymore. You just want it to be over.
After another hour, you finally make it home and immediately dive head first into a bottle of whiskey. Or gin. Or vodka, whatever blows your skirt up. You spend the rest of the night drunkenly ignoring phone calls and watching whatever sex-and-violence filled movies happen to be on TV. And as your consciousness gradually fades, you think to yourself:
Tomorrow will be better.
It has to be.
Post with 4 notes
On nights like this,
Cool and clear skies
Beckon me up to the roof
Where I will sit with my music,
My book and my pen
And together, we’ll fly
Up through the atmosphere
And out into the cosmos
We’ll orbit the stars
And navigate asteroid fields
In search of places
No one will ever know
And though we will continue
Searching for signs of life
Every planet we reach is dead
Post with 2 notes
He stared at the screen for a long minute. The beer in front of him tried to block his view as if it were jealous that he wasn’t paying attention to it. He brought the bottle to his lips enjoyed a long, slow sip as an apology. It forgave him.
“Well, my friend… I suppose I’ll miss you,” he said into the bottle. It looked at him quizzically.
“I have to put you down, you see. I have other matters I need to attend to.”
It stared at him incredulously. It couldn’t believe the words it was hearing. Tears began to form around its rim. He caught them with his tongue.
“I know, I know. I’ve enjoyed your company for many years. This isn’t goodbye for good, mind you. I just need some space while I sort myself out.”
The bottle sighed with disappointment, but it understood. It was used to a commitment, but this boy was different.
“Three months and I’ll come back to visit, I promise.”
The bottle nodded and received one last kiss from him.
But despite his promise, it couldn’t help but feel empty inside…
Post with 2 notes
So, my muse has finally decided to peek out of its pretty shell and grant me the remains of a little piece I started some months ago. I plan to turn this into a song once I can afford some new equipment. Enjoy.
In a jar full of stars,
Falling right, but not quite
Where you need to be.
Setting suns, on they run
From the father, Time.
Break-neck pace, spin in place,
Such a lovely crime.
With light so bright, the darkness hearkens near.
Pent up rage fills this page
With the universe
Counting years, cosmic fears
Till it will disperse
Outward spiral, denial
Of the only truth
Floating past, make it last
Lest it steal my youth
The world unfurled, the ink, I think, bleeds through
Making something from nothing
In the middle of riddles
Crushing fate, need to sate
All I’ve missed breeding this
Without much doubt, I find my mind… shattering
Came unto this crystal clarity
Calling, reaching out, embracing me
Before me, I’ve glimpsed God and Firmament
In death I have achieved enlightenment
I’m sorry that you haven’t seen much of me lately. Hardly at all in the past month or so, now that I recall. The words just don’t seem to come to me anymore. Hell, I’m even having a hard time forming these words right now. It’s not that I don’t have ideas because my commonplace book is full of them. But every time I turn the pages of that book, instead of the usual flood of words, I get a dried up riverbed where they once flowed so freely. A blank sheet of paper once excited me. It made the wheels of my mind turn with endless possibilities. Now, one glance at that same sheet of paper puts a rod between the cogs and stops the process completely. This kind of thing has happened before, but never for so long. I’m not sure what to make of it. I do hope to remedy my condition and return to you both soon, for I miss you so. In the mean time, I’ll continue to do what I can.
Yours, with love,
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This is so going to happen to me now.
Post with 4 notes
A little taste of madness
To remind me what I’ve missed
Dances ‘cross my lips and tongue
And spreads from where you’ve kissed
“Give yourself to me,” you say
Or so your eyes bespeak
Cascades of your auburn hair
Redolence leaves me weak
I swore an oath beneath the stars
To all the gods above
To ne’er again want of your lust
Your discomposing love
And so, my dear, I find myself
An impasse quite profound
For tempting as your flesh may be
I must remain oath bound
My pleas of you for sanity
Fall mute upon your ear
I’m left with no recourse save one
A bitter path, I fear
And thus, with caustic tears I find
An ending to my strife
You’ve bereft me of my senses
I’ve bereft you of your life
Now in possession of all of Adventure Time and Gumball. Vegetation imminent.
Next on the queue… Ponies. YEAH. I SAID IT. JUDGE ME. JUDGE MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
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