Sarcasmkillz

There is a silence in thrusting in unpacking cigarettes in crossed legs in never wanting (to know) love This day he calls you a flower Tomorrow he calls you nothing There is a silence in interlocking glances like clinking shot glasses like fucking someone nameless like fucking Tonight you'll watch a weed grow and know it is a metaphor and clip it's beauty but leave the root

I sat in Starbucks waiting for you, two cigarettes in hand. One for me and one for the you I knew wouldn’t show, so I smoked that one too. You were too busy coughing up line graphs with undefined roots Because your body never adapted well to being used or hung over. Inhaling smoke rings, I became your pacemaker, Setting irregular rhythms for your heart to tap dance to. My lungs writhe inside my chest, causing your heart to murmur. I am the angel behind “love kills,” feeding each bumbum with tawdry adoration. Now, I lay, half torn and half untouched, in a bed that I didn’t mean to make, Waiting for the day my lungs

You brought me rays of light when I couldn’t see Because your fatal beauty blinded me And now I’m feeling wordless And worthless So please breathe into me And I promise to be yours for an eternity I’ll let you own me Because my love for you will never fade Will never fray Like the hems on my jeans with the heart lace on it The ones I could never throw away And you made me this way So don’t blame me for this. It’s all because of you Because the way you smooth the wrinkles of my day away Makes me want to thank you for being You are the sweet scent of comfort You are my Egyptian cotton sheets that neve

I’m sinking in silence like quicksand, but I know better than to panic, so I watch time etch lines in my hand. I’m getting a feel for the lay of the land in the absence of the tick, tock, tick. Sinking silently, forever in quicksand, I was beginning to think this was planned, but there’s no point questioning the intrinsic, Or time stops etching lines in your hand. This lack of purpose makes it hard to stand. I never thought emptiness could be so thick, But I’m sinking in silence like quicksand, So I’m being proved wrong every second. I’m no longer convinced this is a trick; The evidence of time etch

Grandfather Clock, sing me a song About the good old days When battles fought were battles won And our flag waved through the haze Grandfather Clock, they say you lie, That peace has never reigned I sing to you in the hopes of Sifting out the disdained I understand you’re telling time Just, please, answer me this: Do we fight because we hate Or because blood is bliss? Hey, can you hear me echoing Within your hollow corpse? This is the song of modern times That dies before its source.

If my head explodes, And no one is around to catch the remains, Is the meaning of life still lost?

I'm afraid words won't help me win this war; And that I've spent too much time counting syllables, And finding rhymes for words that weren't meant to be rhymed. Words like "love" and "pain" Because they have nothing to do with Doves from above, or The rain in Spain, Which sucks because I've definitely phrased that sentiment before. I've packed up my or-gas-masks next to my ve-gas ones In case of odd and unanticipated circumstances. In case of want for, Well, Anything odd an unanticipated. And I have my PB & J's, And ten-gallon hat, And my overly practiced snarl-- I hope it'll fend off enemies Because Words are the only weapo

1. That the ceiling will forget how to hold and fall beneath itself, Revealing how much truth lives in cliches. "The sky is falling," they'll say. But it isn't. But your heart rate, your spackled and re-tiled face, Your make-believe-this-house-is-a-home house is. And then you 2. Die. I asked you if you've eaten today. You say yes, but you're sunken cheeks; Brittle fingertips (someone should tell them they've been smoking too much); Your ejaculated rib cages wishing they had something to protect like A stomach, say differently. And in your eyes I see that you're afraid too, just not of The same things I am. 3. That you forgot I exis

I called God a liar, and then I smote him And made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches My personal saviour instead of His son. "Apples never fall to far from the tree," They say. He reminded me of how He died on the cross for me. And I reminded Him of how He's never been able to let that go. And how He's been wallowing in His own self-righteousness While I watched myself burn, and sink, and rise to surface Just to rinse. wash. and repeat. The trouble with faith is, Everyone thinks it has something to do with praying, And falling on bended knee, and being forgiven When really, it has everything to do with not downing that bottle