Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.116.62.169

Your Email Address:

To Email Address:

Subject

Personal Note:

Poem Title:

Poem

Every summer in august my family gets into nicest car 
And starts our five our decent into my sage scented hell 
Granite, Oregon 

Granite is a bustling city with a population of 13 
All of whom live in shacks made of wood that came from trees older than this country
This 13 is Made up of, hermits, hunters, and war heros
And luckily the only three people my family has ever met are the hermits 

We know the lady of the lodge who keeps it clean in return for a place to live 
And enough money to fund her meth addiction and we know her parents 
Bat faced mom who smells like cheap perfume 
And beer bellied dad that smells like cigarettes because once a week on saturday he dirves to the nearest town 
Half an hour away 
To buy enough to feed his weekly fix 

If Granite were a color it would be brown 
The only road is dirt 
And the only grass is dead 
Even the evergreens in granite are either burnt, or beige 

There is nothing beautiful in granite. 
It is not the escape from the city my parents think it is 
Our family goes to granite to become wholesome
And leaves empty 

The reason those 13 live in granite 
Is because there is so much going on in their own minds 
That the only place they can stand to be 
Is a place where there is nothing 

And that is what granite is 
It is a small, insignificant, terrifying nothing. 
It is where broken people go, so that they won't matter 
Not to each other 
Not to anyone

CAPTCHA Preview

Type the characters you see in the picture

Required