| A poem about doubt and about hope |
Childish GamesGumball machine ring around my finger Pocket full of drugstore roses Meaningless All the thoughts behind your eyes won't ever leave your lipsChildish Games
Chip away the pretending you don't care Peel your apathy down You won't ever let the walls you build all fall down We all fall down
...5-4-3-2-1 Ready or not, here I come All those secrets that you keep You should have swallowed the key Let's call a truce, please and end this game of Hide 'n Seek
Hush all your maybes
Don't say a word You want me to buy into You be
Please, shut upAlarm clocks and ringing phones piss me off. Filling me more and morePlease, shut up
with pathetic types of hope. He hasn't even tried. to remember my number. Just don't talk about it. I don't feel like crying. out loud. in front of you. again. Please, shut up. about him. Forget his name. like I can't. I don't want to forget. how memorized the bridge of his nose bruised by freckles is. Or every dent. made by the story of a scar that decorates his big, tough arms and hard knuckles. If I forget I will be made e
Turn Back the ClocksThe only time I hear your voice get soft and sweet and sincereTurn Back the Clocks
is when her name slips between your smile.
Everyone is probably right about how good she is for you
and no one has to say that I'm just another bad influence
you can't afford.
We both know
all these things too well.
She's so worth the wait, and I'm just the time killer.
Soon Enough
beer breathI -beer breath
I like tracing the cuts on your knuckles to pass time Digging the grease from your fingernails for fun,
cleaning your cavities with my tongue,
Your fingertips tell your identity but not with fingerprints, 'This boy plays guitar, badly but a lot, This boy grabs onto welded metal while it's still hot,'
II -
He writes country music with punk rock regrets,
puke stains on blue jeans with more dirt than denim,
used to be the boy that took any girl (as long as she let him),
smells like tough leather boots beggin' to be broken in, the mu
my man in matte blackhis eyes shine like chrome on a cadillac,my man in matte black
the cracks in his hands flattened and
dull like a deuce in matte black, his heart pumps with v-8 fury and my heart is falling through rusted out rat rod floorboards,
worn upholstery, mold and corrosion aroma, weary springs no longer bounce, and the seats frayed seams no longer stay,
engine roars with the hesitance of a quiet valve clatter (if you listen close... but we don't, we just drive, maybe we'll fix that tonight.)
--
"Restraint may often be the better part of valor, lest one find oneself victorious but alone."
I joined simply to see and hear and be heard.
--
Arielle.
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