hookersorcake:

Your mind is beautifulin this wild pulsing momentEating cookie crisplooking at porn.
I don’t care what the pastor the future saysall the devils and gods can’t save you now.
Lets partylike you’re an immortal beinglost in the sweet incarnate flesh
slowly explodingrolling through negative spaceyawning in boredom shuddering in bliss
Nothing ever changesNothing ever stays the sameLife is a death sentence
(Really asshole?! “Life is a death sentence?!” Are you trying to write poetry or a shitty country song? “It’s all the same thing…” yeah yeah, you zen prick.)Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, life is a death sentence.
so make shitty artmake terrible lovebe a fucking failurea total disgrace
winning is a shambecause you have nothingto lose, cept your sweet lil mind
and OMG baby take it all offshed your pretensesget nude and shake your meatlike a nodding twerking prayer
pull your arrogance downand be here with me, in all of thisdrunk sound thump bump bumpingin the trunk junk drawer
of this wonderful terrible somethingless-ness yes

hookersorcake:

Your mind is beautiful
in this wild pulsing moment
Eating cookie crisp
looking at porn.

I don’t care what the past
or the future says
all the devils and gods
can’t save you now.

Lets party
like you’re an immortal being
lost in the sweet
incarnate flesh

slowly exploding
rolling through negative space
yawning in boredom
shuddering in bliss

Nothing ever changes
Nothing ever stays the same
Life is a death sentence

(Really asshole?! “Life is a death sentence?!” Are you trying to write poetry or a shitty country song? “It’s all the same thing…” yeah yeah, you zen prick.)
Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, life is a death sentence.

so make shitty art
make terrible love
be a fucking failure
a total disgrace

winning is a sham
because you have nothing
to lose,
cept your sweet lil mind

and OMG baby take it all off
shed your pretenses
get nude and shake your meat
like a nodding twerking prayer

pull your arrogance down
and be here with me, in all of this
drunk sound thump bump bumping
in the trunk junk drawer

of this wonderful terrible
somethingless-ness yes

I’m in love with my own image.
My skin glows with stories.
My blood runs thin with reminiscence.

You don’t see a winded sea captain,
hooked from fights
with whales.

You don’t see a black,
glass silhouette,
with pieces kept
together by false hope.

You see arrogance
and ignorance,
finely tuned to
play on repeat.

You see a beggar,
pleading for a taste
of sweets.


But when I say nothing and smile at you,

you’ll ask about me.

atonguewithbutsixwords:

Prompt: “a father leaving you at a young age”

Dear Dad,
I’m a 
helluva’ fisher.

"Being born a woman is an awful tragedy. Yes, my consuming desire to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, bar room regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yet, God, I want to talk to everybody I can as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night."
— Sylvia Plath (via agelessdaughter)

(Source: raccoonwounds)

A Mirror Morning Thought

If you need
bags,
let me know.

I can
pull them
from my
eyes.

There are bugs attracted to you.
And as I touch you, they avoid me. They are jealous of all the things I can do with your light.

And then I think the bugs should be fine with me touching you because at least I am not trying to swat at them or watch them suffer in a mist of fumes.

In conclusion, the progression of technology has altered the circle of life.

troublewithhammers:

AS WE DRIVE BY

The homeless man
walking along the interstate
with Smile
magic marker’ed to
the back of his backpack
isn’t smiling.

I would like a million dollars and a
reason to love you.

I would like another drink and a
tangible book to read.

I would like a new childhood and a
shot at Bukowski.

Sleep in your car

Don’t poop at the office

Observe, observe, observe

Actually, don’t sleep

Be paranoid

Complete every task with 110% effort

Get completed work rejected 105% of the time

Write down words you claim to know, but don’t

Cry on the downtime you don’t have

Learn percentages

Today I hydroplaned by a graveyard
Close call
From my aunt who said my mom was in town

Today I slipped some white whiskey
On the rocks
I wish I’d never scabbed my knees
Metaphorically

verballer:

Claims are trickier
framed as a questions?
They’re harder to refute?

Do you ever do that.
Do you trick me.
How are you.

I’d like to hear from you
again at some point
because I miss you?

verballer:

I am a badass

I drive a Dodge

I am a wallpaper designer

I have major psychological issues

Don’t talk to me if you don’t love Korn

I slurp raw eggs through a boba straw when sitting on the toilet

I leaf through Hustler for the layout ideas

What the fuck

Both of my hobbies are…

Oh, but we were different then
A year to pass
A year to grow
Oh, we are in love again!

Hello, dear, tired eyes
You lust and lose
And in your blink
I’ve changed my mind

Say goodbye to half-baked
hearts and silent conversations

A void will always linger
in a solid resignation

Surrounded by a slew of others
they pry and laugh and
radiate
color

Close cut to corners
avoiding a black hole,
but becoming the black sheep

All the colors ask too much.
How did I get back in the middle?
When can I catch the next
break.

I have mountains for skin,
and you crawl
up my rugged terrain.

When you reach the peak,
you drink from a blood spring.

Ear explosions
and breathless screams.

A blanket of snow seems counterproductive,
don’t you think?