I'm going to ramble a bunch of impenetrable, drunken nonsense and call it Poetry

[Original Poster]

Back to Bits In this mess of shit we can't even recognize our own twins staring back at us through the shattering glass. We were all born of some sun that exploded once and tore our little pieces open. And then we summoned these bodies so we could take some lives down with them. We live in curling blood that splatters like a painful hug from a myth. And with pieces left on the floor we all divide back to where we came from. Our lives are like a bullet coming from God. And he’s the mightiest killer of them all. He ripped my world apart in front of me, he just killed it all. And it seemed then just like it was the first time. I realized I was in pieces but I still had a heart beating and I picked up my eggshells and swore I'd never climb that high again but fuck it. I always find myself staring back at his finger ready to flick me like a bug. And I smile then. I love nothing more than looking down the barrel of a gun. So if you tell me there’s a war to fight you know I’ll charge the field every time. This world begs for a tide of blind brothers sent to stab each other and I hate the bloody mess that I come through but I’d do it every time with you, whether or not we recognize ourselves. I feel like you're my missing puzzle piece only our manufacturer delivered us defective so we don't fit right. And our wrath is rotten fruit thrown at the best comedian we’ve ever seen because we feel the edge of every punch line and we're sick of it. Our eyes lock on each other like sarcastic cigarettes smoked for the fuck of it because we choose to do only the things that will probably kill us. I wonder if this world is even real. I know giants used to live here until we slaughtered them all so we could finally feel big. And I know we all dreamed of being pirates until we realized we couldn’t even sail a ship without getting swallowed up by an ocean of fear, sorrow and disappointment. And I know the worthless shit I go through isn’t even real, but you twisted this dream into something real enough. And I wouldn’t even care if I were just asleep as long as I never knew the friendship was pretended. If I never meet you I hope to wake up crying every night and not know why. If I’m just a bullet speeding from God then I hope to leave a hole in you. If I’m just a flash of light then I hope to blind you. If I’m just a bit of music I hope I never reach the radio but get played once by a band with their volume turned too loud. If we're just snowflakes in a storm I hope mines the one that causes the rest to bury the city in an avalanche. If we're just memories reeled in on strings by Alzheimer patients then I hope mine cause the most regret. If there's such things as soul mates I hope we both missed that ticket and got left alone at the transit. If we meet in the moonlight on a beach and smile and share a kiss while a guitarist plays in the background I hope a wave drags me away by the feet and smashes me back to bits. If this is all really just a dream I hope I never learn that you're just a figment of it.

[Marvo]

"I'm going to ramble a bunch of impenetrable, drunken nonsense and call it Poetry" So meta.

[Lseadragon]

It's generally what I do.

[greenhavoc]

This is all very sad. Change your username back to Dei, that guy was pretty cool. This OP character is PU.

[Original Poster]

My mind died yesterday. It was a slow death. First it’d just go missing from time to time. Little pieces fell off and I tried glue and tape and sutures and sometimes I’d try to just smash them back together like hardened clay. I’d crumble more and more until I’d just give up and leave the lost pieces to soak up the dirt in some memory of a place I’d never see again. Sometimes, though, sometimes I’d just grab hold of it and throw it just to see how far it would reach before it hit the asphalt and crack apart like an old tree in a heavy wind. And sometimes I’d squeeze it until it popped, grabbing onto to bits of air and stretching rubber ribbons around it If I could only stick enough back in to make it float. Sometimes I would kick it after it took a shit on the carpet. Because the only way I knew to love it was to show it how much bigger I was. Sometimes I’d try to just hold it but it kept squirming so I’d hold it a little tighter. Just enough to keep it still in my hand. And then I’d get distracted until it suffocated. I’d try to revive it but I knew there was no chance So I'd bury it but I’d dig a tiny hole and throw down a thread tied to a bell I couldn't let it stink up the place but if it woke up I'd want to know so I could dig it out And I'd listen for that bell to ring, and jump from my seat every time the wind teased it. I'd ask myself if I should dig it up just to make sure But I never did. Sometimes I'd toss it like a speed ball at an empty plate. Thinking I’ve got to make it strong enough so never again would I have to feel it break. Or at least numb enough I'd never know the difference. But eventually I realized it’s probably better off dead. I didn’t want to see it go but I spent so much time writing the epitaph and more than that I just didn’t want to see it suffer anymore. Like an insect that circled the fire until its wings burned off, leaving it to writhe upon the ground and try to walk it off but all the onlookers would say you shouldn't let it suffer anymore. We excused our blood lust for pity though deep down we just wanted to hear that sweet sound when it crunches and we know it was us that did it. After all death must be better than to leave it drowning in a pit until its lungs were full of mud. I’d steal hope away from every possible mistake though I swear I’d never let it die in me. My mind died a slow death like that. Everyone wanted to end its misery but I said its better it die slow and painfully than to steal away it's chance. I said feel free to try and kill it but hope twitches hours after it's dead

[Original Poster]

The Taste in Its Mouth I caught a glimmer of light and it told me I’d spent all my memories bathing in shit. I caught a glimmer in the middle of mealtime devouring darkness. It was an accident. My head poked through the edge of a shadow and there it all was. Fire. Stars. Parades stampeding music into my bones and mainlining beauty straight to my soul and my eyes were gluing themselves to the fabric. Then, with the flick of a wisp full of wind I found myself drowning again in the shit and the shadows. And as I look around my dark home I bleed dissatisfaction. I was broken by the world outside of here, cursed to find no solace until that music comes back and my heart fills once more with whatever that was that spilled into it. Happiness once assumed like background noise has become a worthless attribute without the colors that I used to know. And I stink like lust now worse than the shit I’m surrounded with. I reek of sweat from digging for fallen shards of those stars I can only imagine exist the way my memories claim that they do. I reek of hope and it rots like maggots consuming the husk of complacency I used to consider my skin. I dream that my dreams will swallow me up and I’ll never know the pain of waking again. Because I caught a glimmer of light and that light caught me in its eyes and it changed me forever. And my heart was caught in the jaws of this world and when I receded the thing began bleeding and ached to be swallowed, breathlessly screaming for this place that it saw. With the taste still in its mouth it led me like a lantern through mazes and tunnels and all those scary places I’d never willingly go and when those waves of pain came I’d try to protect it and close it and keep it safe but it always stayed open even when plastered with rains of falling glass fragments or haunted by the burdensome weight of old ghosts like rejection, regret and early goodbyes. And I’d try to protect it and close it and keep it safe from those things but I couldn’t stop it because I realized what I fear more than being killed by my passion is that I would kill it. So my heart goes forward, much braver than I, still with the taste in its mouth and the music in its ears.

[Woodstock]

This is all very sad. Change your username back to Dei, that guy was pretty cool. This OP character is PU. And change the sig pic!

[Original Poster]

Call me a Vampire but I see nothing wrong with a bloody vagina. All that gleefully nutritious, succulent sweetness goes to waste if you're unwilling to assault the main gates and plaster your snout against the coppery wetness leaking from those happy drapes. Sometimes if she's bleeding I'll go down simply because I'm out of granola bars and don't feel like ramen. I can survive off her pussy for weeks and if I'm careful enough she won't even stain the sheets. Don't you dare look disgusted. Have you ever tried it? Do you even know what it tastes like? Sure it's pungent and stings the throat and leaves a bloody mess on your chin but there's a rich and sugary undercoat like raspberry syrupped over flavorful olives or a mucus of honey and cherry and bubbly soda pop. Alright I'm embellishing now it's more like salmon brunch or a nice tuna melt. Except covered in vagina blood. You know I'm failing to really capture the taste with words and I apologize. I suppose it's an acquired taste like oysters or artichokes. And each one different from the next. Some similar to delicious blush or a two buck chuck and others more like habanero gasoline. A few come pickled, usually the ladies in triple digits whose curtains you feel tickle your voice box So come friends and join me! Let us dance all night in vagina blood and play and splash about and wrestle, holding each others faces down in menstrual puddles until somebody calls uncle. And when we're done we'll shower in it and scrub each other thoroughly dirty until we fall asleep and when we awake it will have crusted over night and we'll find little snacks caught in our hair and behind our ears, tasty treats too delicious not to eat. Please friends, won't you sample some vagina blood with me? They may call us cannibals but they don't know a thing.

[melanieb]

So ess bee'd.