here we are again
like two different color rugs
sewn to the same floor
constantly trying to figure out
why they ran out of one our spirits
and i dont mean spirit
in a god kind of way
like dried up crumbs and red wine
only there for one another
trying to cover up the taste of sand
and the bitterness of forevers blood
i mean real spirit
like wet cheerleaders
tossing pompoms frantically
and showing a little ass
for the sake of the team
but of course
our spirit now resumes itself
to fresh wounds
competing with old scars
in the race to the finish line
i am sick of talking for hours
in a chair snug with illusions
such as
yeah
i'll remember everything we said in the morning
or
i'm there for you
and you know it
maybe we could take a minute
off our mouths and concentrate
on what our hands are trying to scream
as they tie themselves together
clutching a smoke
i forgot how weak my cigarettes were
then remembered how my finger tips
slyly stole the nicotine
and hid them away safely
with my guilt
i couldnt live with one
and you told me i shouldnt have the other
so we just argued for hours
over my red sheets
and the white ones on your bed
who are covered in last nights souvenirs
trying to figure out
where we'd rather sleep;
in my obvious sins?
or the ones we'll end up facing
but its just
so
god
damn
hard
to chose between getting kicked now
or waiting for an hour
because either way
the same result awaits
i called some people today
they are coming for our rug
i asked them to put a new one
this time with one material
and i kept a clipping from each color
(they still smell of vomit
and chirstmas cookies)
and next time we sit outside
you can take the chair of illusions
i'll just stand here sniffing these
carefree of nicotine
or guilt
and slowly feel my lost spirit
soaked in vomit
crawl back
so unwillingly
into this girl
Author notes
i seriously feel like a piece of rug. i like that.
A contest entry
- junkie by the atlantic.
1000 points, ended August 8, 9 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 14 of 14
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Again, I can't think, but you're joining my favourites.
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Ay Caramba !
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there is definite force behind this, and i love that. just some grammatical/spelling things throughout but other than that a hugely solid piece that i could FEEL, and touch, and breathe...thanks for entering!
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oh my. I love this, bloody brilliant. You, my dear girl, have some exceptional talent, and I'm so glad I bumped into your work on here. I only wish I could write emotions like you do. I believe you shall teach me a lot with your writing
.
Meg
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Definitely poetry. You are much too talented for your own good, I agree with onerios.
She picked the line I loved best too, odd eh?
vomit and Christmas cookies...
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perhaps its because there is something very charming about vomit and christmas cookies. atleast i think so!
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(they still smell of vomit
and chirstmas cookies)
You are just too damn good for your own good, ya know that? lol Loved this...every puke encrusted inch. It's time people knew what REAL poetry is: staring straight up and never fuckin' afraid to be what it is.
Bravo!
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haha merci beaucoup! yeah this is real poetry for me. when i sit down and write something in a few minutes and its raw and felt. thats when im satisfied. if i go back and read a piece and cant feel the same emotion i did when i wrote it, i know i shot myself in the foot with some fake shit.
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That's my gurl!
Yes...the force is strong with this one...
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This is good.
Sorry I can't say more.
I'm not in the mood.
Stanza five is fantastic,
it does seem a little long
winded, but I don't know
how to improve that without
ruining the expression.
Plus, like I said, not in
the mood to help that much.
So yes, I love this.
;
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thank you and i hope you are feeling better and in a chipper mood!!
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I am feeling better. Just kind of, tired.
That comes and goes in this day and age, I guess.
Still quite a solid piece you have here.
;
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Poem.
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