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    poetry


    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    We are targets in the dark
    Cars parked tight in alleyways,
    Waiting to be hit. 

    ...Created 2017-09-06 14:10:39

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bmUR6FCjO5I

    ...Created 2017-06-11 16:25:55

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    and I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    until they turned into cigarettes,
    never honest enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes designed to make me
    not feel and think of how another self,
    a past self,
    would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    a rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    Not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath,
    one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere,
    Truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    and the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    only I don’t have time for them now
    except to think of how I still believe
    in truth, in this truth:

    If the world doesn’t break you until you beg,
    you’ll never see god.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 13:08:46

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    John the Baptist makes a beeline right for my car window
    And I remember all those times when I stalked my friends
    Until they turned into cigarettes,
    Never gracious enough to beg.

    The rough edges of the world no longer
    Call me on the landline I don’t have, cracking plastic
    Pressed against my sweaty face.
    Or maybe they do, but I don’t answer strange numbers.

    I view color schemes that make me
    Not feel and think of how another self,
    A past self,
    Would have been floored by this.

    Pastel gray-blue-otherblue-red-green-purple,
    A rustic artisanal rainbow pop
    and I wonder if there is any language
    in which these colors mean war, or death,

    not just the slow death
    of domesticity, of fashionable ice cream shops,
    of keeping busy while the ground crumbles underneath
    then one drunken night crying in an alley somewhere
    truth and revelation.

    Because what I see in this color palette is the hole it’s trying to hide,
    And the rough edges of the world come flooding back,
    Only I don’t have time for them now
    Except to think of how
    I still believe
    In this truth: everything has an underside
    Of dirt and worms.

    ...Created 2017-05-26 12:57:09

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Come, sit with me at the bar. The jokes here taste less
    like lead the more you hear them.
    Brush off this jaundiced weather
    Like lint on your grandfather’s army uniform, his frown
    Etched into your smile like a landmine.

    ...Created 2017-03-19 12:25:42

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fzQ6gRAEoy0

    ...Created 2017-03-01 22:42:18

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    I think you're crazy, maybe

    ...Created 2016-12-13 22:45:45

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    Her father was born in China, or Singapore,
    Brother lost at eight --
    The story wears down
    mountains.
    Sip coffee, think about the next sip
    of coffee.
    She is watching the garbage men
    Like she will have to replicate their motions later
    Like someone who has read the same book over and over
    because everything new
    is just too much.

    She is not beautiful,
    Not in the traditional sense. Not lush and pulsing
    with life. She is pale stallions writhing in pain at the finish line,
    The chance of a falling match striking a vein of coal.
    Her face is smeared
    with oil and sweat, her hair tangled
    and her white dress
    barely holding on to the pretense
    that it is still a white dress. She is
    a used paperback novel that is always in your bookbag
    whose pages you finger,
    both familiar and terrifying,
    like sleeping next to a childhood friend
    seeing all the ways in which the world
    has eaten you both.

    This is her finger inside the hem of my sleeve, saying
    Feel how rough I am. Feel how the years have worked through me
    like a worm through an apple. Tell me I’m ugly and fuck me
    like long division.

    I’m blind and bleeding in traffic,
    I’m naked in the middle of the street,
    I’m walking out on coals,
    To meet you.

    Now we’re downtown. Now
    we’re in the top of your apartment building
    with the lights on.
    Now we’re getting ready to go out.
    Now we’re in our underwear.
    Now the curtain blows.

    ...Created 2016-11-01 11:55:59

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied...

    ...Created 2016-10-03 19:45:14

    dotsJournal: dots
    -------------------------------------------
    Mood: The Usual

    https://theprose.com/Zammatran

    ...Created 2016-09-15 20:49:48

    Be kind, take a few minutes to review the hard work of others <3
    It means a lot to them, as it does to you.

    Watch them Die written by HisNameIsNoMore
    an explanation of how i was not good written by Daniel Barlow
    You Make Me speechless written by elephantasia
    Blood to Plowshares written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Lunch written by HisNameIsNoMore
    not alone written by Daniel Barlow
    Everyone written by poetotoe
    It's been a while written by Sharati_hottie
    Commencement written by Ramneet
    Where is My Ghost written by ForgottenGraves
    Broken Promises written by S.A.M.
    Some of it written by Daniel Barlow
    May 31 2018 written by Chelebel
    Legends written by poetotoe
    Ten Poems written by Wolfwatching
    ... written by Daniel Barlow
    When Crows Tick on Windows written by metallichick786
    Bam written by Daniel Barlow
    Can't let my demons go written by faideddarkness
    Stretto written by saartha
    To the Epilogue written by HisNameIsNoMore
    Benediction written by Daniel Barlow
    Cage written by distortedcloud
    Convergence written by HisNameIsNoMore
    ME written by jjd
    In the end written by Janesaddiction
    Love and Solitaire written by HisNameIsNoMore
    I'm here written by BloodtornAngel
    Chasing The Lie written by jackz
    This written by Chelebel

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    January 10 07
    131,497 Poems
    Posted

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