PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It left me waxing

Counteracting years of thinking

that the world on the string 

had been cut.

Sliced nice (as it were)

now cue the casual nuance.

Dancing in, we see it's drinking twelve year malts

yelling how we've done so well 

in times of grief,

crying, "nope, not your fault."

Dripping from the ceiling 

I settle in a seat 

of patchwork piled pride

stacked on stale peelings

of leather pounded lies, 

don't stop the ride

I'll vomit on the side. 

It's been nice

being told I'm nice

but I don't wanna hear that shit,

right now I'm on a bender

writing death threats

::return to sender::

The world is casting spells

but the book being used? It's you. 

This apocalyptic trip is not a gentle fad

it's my adolescent attitude, 

something you can't pick and choose. 

A birthright predicted

in the sense I can't write

when I'm ghost white, pulse afflicted, 

Pale and fresh with what only the morgue 

can recall as death, 

I wax again though

as the credits roll.

Popcorn crunching

and tongues roll 

inside the mouths of lovers

and the tongues roll