“Let’s”: Post-It.
Category: random feels
Slut.
Grind me down like sausage meat.
Lick me up like BBQ ribs.
Wipe your pants using your hands,
don't spare the sauce when it came.
Heat, smoke, spit, slick.
Certified organic, FDA stamps.
A time to sizzle, a time to slab.
Don't forget to try all the sides.
Sets in fall.
With a blush in the sky
the sun's going to bed.
I'm in love with something
three dimensional & above.
But it doesn't love me back.
I observe, I stalk, I do my best.
Whenever i get close I refuse
because I'm afraid I might offend.
So many "I" in this, so much fear, so many indecisions, not enough substances.
I gather, I pry, I travel, I stretch.
Yet, it's all the same.
We play this game, the mind opens, the heart fades, all contained. All remained.
You still look the same.
Sing.
Someone I want to be.
Someone I want to have.
Someone to be whom I despise.
Someone to anchor me so I don't fly.
Some one to be the God.
Some one to be the Devil.
Someone who fucks me sweet.
Someone who hurt me raw.
Someone who holds me tight.
Someone who tells me lies.
Someone to dig a grave.
Someone to be a slave.
Some one to sing.
Some one to cry.
Someone to lie down & die.
Someone to be alive.
Someone to despair.
Someone to whisper.
Someone to continue.
Someone to annihilate.
Someone to hate.
Some one to hate.
Some one to love.
Someone to grieve.
Some one to grieve.
Sing.
Around.
I locked myself in and threw away the key.
Step by step, getting away from me.
Nobody noticed for that I'm glad.
The map in hand is a tangled web.
Look to the stars, they show me more
than I'd like to know.
Look to the masses, it tells me
I have a certain use.
The glamor & sound chase me around.
I don't think nor feel for quite awhile.
"Hey, honey, it's me at the door.
You never left & the dream is your own.
Won't you spread the seeds you've grown
and come outside for awhile?
Nothing's lost & everyone's always been
around."
Autistic.
I seem to live atop of life instead of in it.
Like a diver who takes the occasional plunge
then comes up for breath.
Beware of high tides, sharks & moonless nights.
It's a habit, an exercise, a strategy to survive.
The lucky few…
...get to choose what to suffer for in this life, one at a time.
There's a bleeding heart to stab, the blood, the tell-tale sign.
Maybe you try to escape the miserable fate but it's all the same.
Being alive is a shinny prize that's hard to come by.
Be careful & careless when you choose your pleasure & pain.
It might dawn on you or it might be a mirage in the rain.
Be quick now, before the muse finds what's missing on gods' plate.
Get away before the dreamers who count & think, wake.
Script.
It's always a good time so why do I resent it?
It's situational family comedy with strangers.
Maybe that's where I find the plot:
I'm no one & that's fine.
And hardship cloaks my misery & loneliness
like sweet crafty.
If I can be noticed, if I find my place,
maybe it's all worth it.
Tell others' stores by telling my own
without taking charge.
I put something on the line but
never too much until, "Action."
Mother death.
I don’t know you and you don’t know me,
I grow up alone and that’s what I know to be.
I long to return home, I’m tired and weak.
The only song I know is buried and
I don’t know what to keep.
My spirit is alive somewhere
beyond my reach.
No title.
If you really look what do you see?
The space in front of your face filled with dreams.
But when you focus there's nothing really there.
And when you blink to discern it's gone forever.
If you really look what you're going to find?
Maybe love, maybe loss, maybe something dumb.
When you pause to write who guides you hand?
When the rhyme is not a rhyme but a breath.
If you really love what's gonna be the keep?
Blood flows, tears fall and a will is croaked.
When you dare to grieve who's holding your head?
The light is dim but the sun still shines.
hotsurf_ 