Don’t tempt me
Two toned
High socks
Rubber waistband
Interruption
I’m sitting
Hard packed
Too short
No back
Frugality
Not needed
Sad song
Long ride
Setting sun
Heartache
Full beer
Time saving
Mind resting
Overloaded
End-of-the-day
Tag: heartache
White Flag (day 542)
The torment of age pulls at every crevice of my countenance it can find
Dropping my cheeks into a hollow pit of agony only my mirror doesn’t grimace at
Hair streaking with uninterrupted hurt, curling the edges of my toes
Pulling me into a shallow slouch the clock on the wall envies
So where did the first signs of this painful agony surface
A gloom so rich with heartache and pitiful distrust even Demeter would cry for
In spite visible agony the poison tipped arrow repeatedly plunges
Unstoppable in its fury to forget that which hurt the lovers
With cries that rang out into the mild winters night alone
Lightly highlighted clouds turned in their unrest
Dancing with Hades around the fire of revenge
Unbeknownst to them white flags suffocated their children
Hurry in an Angels grace, with all lost reasons
Against all miseries of yesterdays woes
Into the hands weeping eyes have never sanctified
Into a lover yet to rectify his love for you
Destiny (day 199)
I go through spells of masturbating and drinking tea
Drinking tea and masturbating
It’s like I have an inner desire to be some kind of
Fucking poet, wracking my brain for some utter nonsense
Only to release it with an unconventional treble clef
It’s nonsense, fucking utterly nonsense.
As a young boy I’d sit mesmerized by the flicker of
Angel’s wings floating through the garden on hot summers days
The other fellas would be off playing footy
Me, I’d just enjoy the cool breeze as I lay back
Slow buzz of another little creature coming to pry at my brain
Now, I’m wrecked with heartache that fails to leave me
Little bursts of memories that inflict me with so much agony
I’ve replayed it over and over again, each time with a new smell
But each time it lasts a little bit longer
Maybe one of these times there won’t be an ending to the sad verses
Tomorrow I’ll spit into the middle of the soup
Chanting my spells and adding a drop of blood from a virgin’s finger
I wont wake the dogs for they don’t dance with my words
They act stupid and make believe they don’t see the ghosts that I see
I know better, we all share miseries destiny