PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Something about the lucid screams of comatose delirium thru the paper thin walls of cheap Bostonian harbor suburbs

Heard her voice thru a grape vine, thru a dream, a slumber awakening,, a timeless grudge a conjuncture

Awoken, arisen, left for dead with a hard on for the next only the next turned into the last and the last into the best

He was a ghost but so was she, faceless, just in a different sort of way, enough I told my friend, packing to leave

Only the parting never came, the lucidity brought me back into the room, the door opened

In came the nudity, only my half sister was still clothed, the rest, a naked orgy on the floor, her screams still ringing in these ears

The notebook full on the way down and we had to go back for more but we did not go back for more

Could still hear that unwanted emptiness yearning for cock of a man whose fault it was not but whom I’ll despise forever thanks to the forever nature of this here piece stuck in my tumor infested tunnel get-aways screaming get away, instead, they get me closer, and she, with glistening, sweat pores and all, back turned didn’t even turn, just begged for more, not from me, but it was never from anybody, they all left, the way we did

Wish I brought more paper though