What You Call it

just a gathering of feelings towards my own life. (note: if you read it at a faster pace than usual, it helps with its flow.)

Don’t you love the way the floor creeks
the slower you move through the house
you haven’t had a good sleep at in weeks.
Dodging droplets from the proverbial roof leaks.
Slip out the window in the tree and on the ground,
bust out the house without making a sound
take a trip to the new place,
see her and her friends,
regulate your pace with lack of haste,
means to end.
Its what you say when you don’t got
any more reasons to make yourself stay
locked in the bathroom with your’ gut rot.
Your’ nothin’ special,
just your’ mothers daughter or son,
and don’t disrespect your fate,
what’s done is done
and couldn’t have been any other way
even if you didn’t show up late,
even if you didn’t have the b***h you love to hate,
not the one that you hate to love,
she’s just the one who f***s you over
so you elevate yourself just to float  above.
Making big fusses over missing small s**t like city busses,
running, leaping, dodging from the debt collectors and p***y hustlers.

So put all your’ chips down,
or put your’ lips down,
for someone livin’ small town
you sure are makin’ big sound.
See the police man,
and get the hate feelings,
try not to release them
into the world where they could bring havoc and destruction.
Take a breather for your minds deconstruction,
it’s instruction and convenient reconstruction.
You can just pretend that it isn’t real,
that she doesn’t exist, that girl you’re lovin’.
Relationship marked symbiotic,
lost every memory that could’ve been symbolic.
Love, Hate,
whatever you wanna call it,
im still the same nicotine addicted self righteous alcoholic.

Author's Note

usual.

Reviews

[DarkAngelWriter]

[Katy Otto]

bulletproof.

[Lydia]

wonderful.