pieces fall from me
like
cinders from a cigarette
and all that was tragic then
is boring now
but not so well spent

and my emotions twist like drunken dolls
when the porcelain's bent

i loved you
for the winter
but it withered
when the winter went

you took my gun
i took your books
you fed me looks
i fed you sin
you pinned your lust
on rusty hooks

well, so much then, for fitting in.

begin, begotten
forgotten in
the acid rain
of lifeless stains
love's pulse was brought in

bleeding hope
you crawled across
begged to care
our bitter loss
my sanity
your final cross
you switched your number
i got lost

and the desert then
became a spell
and what was all red rock was hell
the airport was approaching death
i wore its colors
wore them well

you changed the locks
you switched your major
some tiny little rage
or shock
begot your lonely
unworthy wordplay

.my love was lost.

and then when all was done, not said,
you spent three days there in your bed.
selling yourself
to your fans -
the broken fridge,
smoothie machine,
and every drug,
kept you unseen.

it was the month of his last breath.
oh, but you will never know,
the way i loved his life to death,
or watched the utah useless go.

why climb the rocks
when life's below?

you hated my fraud,
and i hated your show.

It was great~ you're really talented(using winter twice and so close to each other irked me a bit though just a personal pet peeve <.<)! :]

Well PP I shall miss your fantastic words and the passion felt when reading your writes..This write was amazing..

Do what you must...stop posting if you want... but know that you are withholding a gift to those you touch with your words. Talent like yours should not be bottled up, unshared and hidden like a dark secret, only for you to embrace.

excellent writing as always
title sucks tho

Until....
Thanks for sharing...

.

Plastic Hero

Is someone supposed to protest or cry?
Should they scream out, "No, don't leave!"
Run in circles like headless chickens
grabbing at pieces of cinder so light
they swirl in the slightest breeze before
disintegrating when the crazed magician
waves his cane and tips his topsy turvy hat?

Or better yet should we,
who ever the hell we are,
offer a tissue and a steak
rare and bloody enough
to place on your swollen heart
and sooth it back to normal size?

You didn't deserve the gun and you know it!
Anyone who pizzes off a perfectly good talent
should not have rights to a more perfect gun
unless there is a signed contract to keep the
thing cleaned and oiled!

And fitting in, spare me the whining
Throw out some top of the line angst
or forget it. Do you think you're dealing
with morons!

OK, thats better.
"My sanity your final cross"
That shows promise, a hint of real angst,
the kind only certain suffering can produce.

So the cause of all this pain and drama
was another, in your narcissistic opinion,
unworthy no talent with even less imagination!
Figures.

One stays in the bed and sucks up sympathy
like a dried up sponge left out in the rain
while the other curls up in a tight little ball
and fondles his laptop, chews his fingernails,
and tries to think of something original enough to
fool the crowds gathering behind the yellow tape.
Whatever.

Off with you then, off with you!
If this was you last poem, you should have done better.

I don't want you to go.
Please, don't go.

© 2012

......!*^#.....
takes alot to make me swear!
teasingbrunette