Princess
does not
meet prince,
never
happy
ever
after
Perhaps
a frog
is kissed,
perhaps
a fool
with his
laughter.
Ruby
slippers
cannot
take you
home sweet
home; dreams
turn sour.
The hour
getting
late, late!
Shelter
now in
your strong
tower.
In the vault of sorrows, the lights are dim,
Memories dangle stiff, stark, cold and grim.
In glass-fronted vaults of remains half-dead,
Haunting to avenge losses, regrets and dread.
Bitterness is grit, dust and rust—
Metal relics wrapped in tempered crust.
Too sharp to hold, too old to appeal,
Scars embalmed, behind bars of steel.
Fur skins and feathered bones, long dead.
Eyes once bright, are now glass instead.
Stuffed with pride, stitched in despair,
They rage within riles, gasping for air.
Old garments show arguments, long of old,
With threadbare cuffs, and buttons of gold.
They're sour of fit, and hung too tight,
To ever again leave shadows in bright sunlight.
Such bitterness belongs in museum displays.
Where you can visit it on sad, rainy rue days.
To see such hateful feeling-disheveled, dismembered.
Covered in dust, to be forgotten, not remembered.
Lock it up, behind the glass, don’t let it breathe,
Bitterness will bloom, when we fail to believe.
It should be kept under lock and key.
Where all such sour sorrows, are meant to be.
Meant to be, Meant to be-!
That's the key, That's the key!
It hits the tongue without warning
Burns the throat where it once soothed
Makes breathing feel like drowning
You gasp but nothing moves.
Like love
When it shifts without a sign
Leaves two hearts beating strangely
Out of sync & out of time.
The light that once felt certain
Starts to flicker & then to fade
And every step you take alone
Feels colder than the shade.
When a heart slips out of reach
Memories build what truth can’t cross
A bridge that leads to nowhere
Not quite on path, not yet lost.
His smelled of semi-soft cheese
with a low moldy blue undertone
I had no tolerance for his smell
for compared to gym socks,
ammonia,
or barnyards,
it was pure Eau de Toilet !
After a game of indoor soccer
he'd break wind
while holding up one leg.
He smelled of rotten egg
formaldehyde,
and sour pickles,
from New Orleans....
While they chased after him
with bottles of perfume
He'd do the armpit fart
then run away.
Leaving behind,
a skunky smell of Cannabis.
Sweet and sour notes taste just like us,
branded in the lilt of your love language;
From slow jam to that bouncy pick up,
dissonance is the core of our essence;
Branded in the lilt of your love language
is a heartbeat I haven’t felt before;
Our rhythm's unbalanced yet complete;
From slow jam to that bouncy pick up,
a whirlwind of world class clamoring;
We push and pull that forte interlude;
Dissonance is the core of our essence,
monotony lacks any dramatic melody;
Fireworks, our combustible crescendo.
be...
in charge
of...the playground now...
and...cries "it's my ball"...
threats
to...
all...
in range
of...a spoiled childs cries...
any good job i ever worked had its
applicant tests for such as relevant
personality and intellectual traits,
technical experience and knowledge
t-rumps's only test was of his greed and bull levels
len
Getting Even
Vengeance is sweet.
Is it really?
It tastes pretty sour to me.
An eye for an eye.
Ok, so now both of you have only one eye.
What does that prove.
Revenge is like eating poison and waiting for the other person to die.
This is the best way to describe getting even.
It can be sheer suicide.
Vengeance is a dish best served cold.
I don’t like my food cold in most cases.
So, it doesn’t sound good to me.
With age comes wisdom.
I am old, so I hope I have enough
wisdom not to eat poison or cold food
or lose an eye taking an eye.
A paper carton
bloats in the fridge,
its manufactured nutrients
stretched thin as a lie.
I pour it down the drain.
The disposal gurgles
back its curdled skin,
a sour hymn rising
through the pipes,
fumes of expiration
smelling like post-partum
nightmares.
Amen.
Hey Alice! Have you,
been smoking the grub's brew?
Think you are a butterfly,
perched on a flower?
Cop the glower,
of livid fire-breathing dragonfly!
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline,
Her crown, heavy with my wasted want.
Never knows best, a fault of design.
Her tensions a dagger, a cunning divine,
A soul-bleeder, god as a vaunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline.
The arson of anger will never confine,
For the plaid that’s been woven, I a gaunt
Never knows best, a fault of design.
I check the guest list for a name I can’t find,
A ghost of a promise, a lingering taunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline.
I hate sour drinks, but I chug it all in time—
A golden apple; a jaunt.
Never knows best, a fault in design.
As the season passes, with its cruel incline,
I swallow one more time; her shadows daunt.
She'll be the queen of my decrepit ridgeline,
But never knows best, a faulty design.
Memories tell lies,
“Behind enemy lines” is getting caught in my mind.
But “two twos” overslept,
Behind glossed over eyes the secrets are kept.
So memories tell lies,
That you already know.
My youth kept inside hides,
That’s something I just couldn’t let go.
That self supremacy just wouldn’t die,
Why,
Oh why shouldn’t I just forget my woes?
Over obsessively weighing cons against pros,
The case only gets closed whenever the answers are known.
Heart beats keep pace,
Decaying on the longer blood flows.
Sour and tart,
Life’s an acquired taste,
Some don’t mind waiting as the cancer just grows.
But hearts need to race,
Down roads with no clue wherever it goes.
I’m chasing being alive,
I just know that I’m close.
I’m chasing down my life,
To see the “Ro” I miss most.
Memories tell lies,
Sincerely yours,
One of the guys.
Sour soup dish taste
Better with rice
Add ingredients
To seasoned it.
If only we hadn’t been so different
It was so right until it turned wrong
Like milk gone sour
That we had left out the fridge for far too long
Maybe that was what it came down to
Is that we left our milk on a bench
In Parque Bicentenario where we first met
No one else existed, everything made sense
At least that’s what I said to the nightmares that I dreamt
So here I sit writing this
With the milk of our relationship long ago thrown out
And I think about Parque Bicentenario
When I had much, much fewer doubts
Voices ringing with the same story
Like they did long time ago
For it's the only thing they know
It's the only thing they can do
To jabber behind someone's shadow
Vilifying day and night
They're like parrots jabbering
About how sour a grape is
For they failed to plant their own
Or they themselves don't have that kind of value
They hate beautiful things
Because they simply can't see beauty in themselves
They only like doing and saying foolish things
Because it's the only thing they know
Like it brings them ultimate self satisfaction
If loving you harder allowed you to stay then my goal remained the same
All because letting you go was a story words would formulate
It was detriment to my brain
Alter of reality
To see you leave
It was the disappearing of what could have been
The end to my timetable of forever and then
A memory to hold
As our stories unfold
Praying to keep you closer to home
Allowing you to leave, without giving up hope
Speaking words to the universe adding words to our verse
As pages were written and vows held doubt
Where those once, roses, dried up in drought
Where our love grew distant and our time ran out
Because loving you harder
Brought continuous showers
As we drowned in rumored hour
With eyes on other desires
Setting souls on fire
Entered temptation, and
Our love grown sour.
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