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neth jones Jun 2023
afterparty mingle in a single bedroom vault wincing ceiling slopes so low condemning matter dance to fumbles and more penetrating life forces gum-***** into stressed room couple and squirm over into the crawl space hazardous music and metallic humour is pushing risks and insult no being is out of place pouting the smoke and store brand alcohol routing and deafening and defeating too much the gagster comes thundering down the corridor like he was wrought for applause he addresses those outside the room and it's wagging dogs and a face of cartoony ballooning pep it's hard to handle the wash of wording an assault of enthusiasm jester baits laughter with an old polaroid camera slamming open the door all tension his way he presses the button and projects them all against the walls 'Flash ****** ! ' he squells throws aside the camera 'People Pile!' he thumps into the crowd bed begging a play fight baroque girl hugging her knees crammed under the small sink to the side of the door reaches out a nervy hand and takes the discarded camera watches the ******* photo paper fade in slow retch her own pose lone excluded soul separate and saved she leaves with souvenir
enthusiasm

you come thundering in
like you were made for applause
when you speak it's just 'wagging dogs'
your face is a cartoon of ballooning pep
i can't handle the wash of this conversation
an assault of enthusiasm
Lindsey Miller Jun 2012
cocktail heels
sharp as tacks
watch your feet
every step the green mile
you could hear a pin drop
(or was that a pearl earring?)
the lipstick on her teeth smiles at you.

skin so creamy
it’d feel right at home in a cup o’ joe
free that poor hair from *******
so the red sea comes tumbling down her shoulders
just ignore the diamond on her finger—
it’s merely a suggestion.

that dress
smooth black and form-fitting
follow the zipper towards the small of her back
now emerging from the chrysalis
madame butterfly
nice clothing like hers looks better on the carpet.
Maria Etre Dec 2020
I felt so much better after I vomited you in every stanza.
Cole Hearn Oct 2015
I cannot be gay, say  
I cannot be gay, just say
I cannot be gay, gays
Think I'm pretty ugly oddly.
No guy crush can change my mind,
Say this outloud over one thousand times.
Given his kiss didn't beg for it,
That kind of affection could confuse a Pope or priest;
Could make any insecure boy think into it too deep.
Edward Coles Oct 2015
Rugby, Warwickshire
16/10/2015

Unholy streets of G-d, liquid tobacco,
gentle froth and steam
from the coffee estuary, split beneath the clock tower
on the idle hour; more pigeons than people,
more buildigs than choices
on this small-town, charity shop parade.

The women are still beautiful, still unattainable,
still on the brink of a breakdown
in the most confident dress.
Street-pastors carry the drunks home,
the street-cleaners appear by the afterparty,
clear out the old bottles
before the commuter picks up cigarettes
from the newsagents that never rests.

Tattoo parlours, barber shops,
Christmas on the radio come Hallowe'en-
this is the town that crazy built:
war-time poetry, jet propulsion,
chief inventor of sport,
of mild alcohol addiciton.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
hundreds of places to hide away;
a foreign face in a sea of family and friends.
Landlocked, gridlocked,
centrally located but left out on a limb;
this town clings to the tracks,
it's avenues of escape
the only margin to keep the residents
out of mind and in their place.

But this is where I grew up,
always more car-park than parkland,
my first steps on Campbell Street,
on Armstrong Close,
first time I broke the law on Bridget Street,
on Selborne Road.
I'd push my bike all around this town,
no stopping off for a smoke,
for to get my fix-
I'd push on and on past graveyards and open bars
without a second gance.

Now, it's all shooters and soul-singers
and happenstance;
chicken wings on a late-night binge,
a box of wine, a night of sin,
wake up in shame,
life's a guessing game
and guess what, you'll never win.

Chewing gum, patches,
vapour that scratches the back of my throat,
nicotine in my blood,
you know, I'm trying my best to get clean.
Blister packs of vitamins, bowls of fruit,
buying coconut water over the counter-
green tea by the rising moon,
incense sticks and vegetables in the garden,
yet by the time night rolls on by
the locus of my eyes, they darken;
I'll be back on the beer,
I'll be smoking a carton.

This is the town that crazy built,
even the flowers by the roadside wilt,
cement factory, hum-drum poverty,
post-code belonging to Coventry,
kept out of the war
by a matter of minutes,
kept from the future
by corporate interest.

Hospital lights, supermarket glow,
I can't remember the last time
I wasn't loaded with chemicals
every time I get home,
every time I sign out
and put my head on the pillow,
I see familiar streets, familiar signs,
the job centre, the floodlights,
the 12% lager, the twist of lime.
I struggle with rhyme,
I struggle most days to get out of the house,
but at night, I know, that sea of doubt
is a river of light, to ruin my liver,
to spike my fever, to calm me down.

There's hundreds of places to get drunk in this town,
and this world it don't spin,
it just throws me around.
A beat poem (adapted slightly for reading purposes) about being young in my home-town. You can hear a spoken word version here: https://soundcloud.com/edwardcoles/poetry-and-music
NuurSeraph Apr 2014
You know what I've been fantasizing about around my projectory...besides some stimulating evening entertainment...I like the art of BellyDance. It's sensuous and extreme mastery of smooth kundalini up and around the body.
Yeah, right...I know.
No, but seriously, imagine man, our own Island. Yeah, our Own Island. The Crew would celebrate the SkyClad Moon around a wood fire, the tribal drum patterns interlacing trading Ecstasies of rhythm beat into our hearts coherent waves generating yes by us, through us, into the night's Enchanted Moon. 
Oh she and her seductive powers moving tidal waves into the hours splash crash and receding just to come back for more. You Know What this is about you know what it stands for
yeah, and if we want to bring it into our human sexuality, mating powers, let's trade energies why not talk our bodies into majesty
~ see what happens• usually magic from my memory I like magic I like cosmic kinds of bliss in exchange for a mystical talk with God~ Lets work it out. Of man & ladies ...you know, all the crazies, no end to the amount of this kind of party. let's make the magic happen this doesn't have to stay imagination I know how it manifest and if you have questions come see we will figure out the rest ...
imagine
Need a vacation
Delilah Dec 2016
Confetti settles in the crease of the carpet.
I wake up with pints of honey buzzing
in the center of my chest. My eyelashes cast shadows
like tick marks on my cheeks. No chaos.
The backs of my legs are tender
from crawling through the window to the roof.

We watched a paper mache moon from the roof
the night before. Small towns are boring liked threads from the carpet
but the people have hearts that are tender
like living peaches, always buzzing.
Just one picture of us, five sorry teens with internal chaos
dancing through string lights and breathing shadows.

Harris has a fascination with those shadows.
Her membership would be awarded with a dive from the roof.
She always loves the smell of checklist chaos,
or formulating plans while lying on the carpet
of her room. Her emotions are pulled taut and buzzing,
resonating fear when she forgets how to be tender.

Julia’s wire existence couldn’t try to be tender
She is a fat slap of clarity across your dispositions. Shadows
can’t cast new shapes across her buzzing
body. Her ******* pointing toward the roof
and her feet sinking between carpet
folds. like every time she is around it’s chaos.


Britt’s eyes reflect blue waves free from chaos
and each word skips across his tongue gentle and tender.
His clothes, Goodwill and kind-of-used-carpet
and camera casts light to evade shadows.
Short prayers dare scrape the roof
of his mind. Send heritage and denial buzzing.

Nelson is 7 years of swallowed gum and buzzing
alarm clocks, warning the world of chaos.
He climbs up rusted ladders to the roof
to shout of love and it’s lack of tender
tendencies. He is a fall breeze where leaves force shadows
across the laundry line, too weak to leave a hole in the carpet.

I glide through my days alluding tender
my mind scoffs at the chaos of my daytime shadow
but under the roof, i'm just a chalk outline pushed into carpet.
LLillis Nov 2019
Erratic squirrels
Irresponsibly consume
Fermenting pumpkins.
Arielle Dawn Jan 2018
Morning haze, after phase
Heart still racing, mind still spacing
Memories of dancing lights and smiling faces
My body fights tiredness of different cases
Light the green to put my mental to ease
Experience life the way that you please
Reminisce the nights filled with the unseen
Never to dwell on what could’ve been
PN Nov 2013
Just need to get away*

Away from the noise in my head
Leave the phone behind
Jump on the bus
Go to the furthest part of the kingdom.

Lock the door
Throw away the key
Hide under the sheets
Hoping you'll join me there

Afterparty - free bar
Escape back behind locked doors
Alone in the dark
We have all we need
Ten Mercado Aug 2021
she scattered her love
like confetti
only to know
that in the end
people just ignore it
when the good time
is over.
Michael Kusi Dec 2017
Kris looked at the clock and knew he didn’t have time to mingle.
Because he was Santa Claus also known as Kris Kringle.
Why did he have to go to the office Christmas party?
It was time to get toys to kids, he did not want to be tardy.
Kris tried to argue with his boss, who was having none of it.
It was like the more he talked, the more his boss had a fit.
How could something be mandatory if we don’t have to go.
His boss said with a smile, You don’t have to be there, but you can’t say no.

So Kris found himself at the party, drinking punch and looking for a way out.
He was sure that with all the days he took off looking for toys, he lost his clout.
To make matters worse, someone suggested that there should be an afterparty later.
Another person yelled out in the office that he knew people who could cater.
I have to get out of here, Kris muttered, but his only experience was with chimneys.
There are cookies and milk waiting,  I can't get no more food in me.
So he decided to slip out, but his friend called out, Aww Kris you’re no fun.
Kris went to his car, and looked both ways before putting the keys in the ignition.
It transformed into a sleigh, and Kris Kriegle ripped off his suit.
Santa in all his glory, with the red everything  and the black boots.
As he left he shouted, No more Office Christmas parties! I mean **, **, **!
Because Santa is the giver to gifts to our children, not our office bro!
Edward Coles Mar 2015
I have been singing for forgotten things,
beer bottles hidden in the hedgerows.
The opera singer, the strangled vibrato,
ash-filled cokes cans; the afterparty sunrise.

This recovery has been long, fickle.
Reckless optimism and the science of failure
collide into the colour
of a Daniel Johnston cartoon,
or a songwriter's sense of humour.

Disused pencils stand as monuments
to old dreams of grass-roots art,
the fragility of neurotic *******
drawn with innumerable straight lines
that composite a woman's naked body.

I have been drawing on memories
and hoping for a brand-new image;
dissolution of old borders - a strangled voice
in a room full of opened tongues.

The Hawaiian shirt made light of depression
in darkened hours and wax smiles.
Plastic cocktails, the pending brides;
desperate men - the post-work demise.
I have learned a lie ever since.

This recovery has been imperfect, a fraud.
Swollen truths to satisfy the concerned,
only myself left to fool.
I have found the early morning
but cannot reach a sober conclusion.

Redundant habits mildew my mind
with the backwater of yesterday,
familiar street names to mourn
those who became strangers,
the negative bias of my mind's eye.

I have been writing words of action
from the safety of my desk;
all that the desk-lamp can illuminate,
all of which words can make sense.

This half-lived recovery is bunk, irretrievable.
Working poverty and untied knots
are co-morbid in meaninglessness;
chains to hold me in Plato's Cave
whilst her skin freckles in the sun.

Disused and living outside of love,
morning curtains open to a sheet of light
that obliterates loneliness
in the presence of shared heat,
only for it to return again, come night.
C
julius Feb 2023
Ex-******* addict and traumatized people pleaser
Keep me high and keep me bound
No one knows who i am in secret
And yet my scars are displayed for all to see
Lines off my face years off my life
I don’t care anymore just take me
He’s mine and im his and i could say im happy
In life and death we’ll be intertwined
If soulmates are real i’d swear i can feel our string
I need you fully and completely
Love beyond time and reason
Beyond physical planes
Kiss me like a dream
Like the first time i hated myself
Feel me like Luci
Who’s gone forever
Will we last
You say we will
I don't care anymore just take me
End it at the afterparty
we're supposed to be recovering
Dylan D May 2011
-



I’ve been accepted in a number of small-town organizations,
Constructed by some confetti-fetishists who craved nothing more than
To write their thoughts onto the underside of a bridge,
Abandoned due to incredible uprisings of what some would call faux water.

They’d told me,
Multiple times actually,
That I was bound to their ideals and morals forever;
That they’d essentially taken the parts of my brain that mattered
And the sections of my heart I knew couldn’t feel emotion but
Hoped dangerously that they, under suitable conditions, just might
And tossed them into a box
Snuck down to the river
Let it drift away as I slept alone.

I’ve been afraid to try new things, always afraid,
Always wandering about with a finger to the air and a
Paintbrush to mark where I‘ve been.

To think that they “saved me,”
Or “kept me from a suicidal afterparty” is now
Only a thought rather than action.

And now
Slowly, gently,
He lift a glass of dust to his mouth
Wondering who he used to be
As I watch myself from the corner.



-
Adam Holmstrom Aug 2018
We lie awake
at afterparty hours
with fragile hearts
that scream silently,
violently,
why do we feel alone?

Why do we feel alone
with so many of us here?
We carry a torch
in its fire our feelings flicker.
We pass it around
breathing the ember in.
We inhale the flames
And exhale dark ashes.

Each breath keeps it ignited
as we share this light inside us.
We feel it's familiar warmth
when we pass each other by.
It bonds and it heals us;
all walks of our lives together.

We lie awake
at any fragile hour
with open hearts
that scream loudly,
proudly,
we are not alone.
Thank you for listening
jack of spades Apr 2017
we got dressed up for dinner but didn’t go to the dance
it was prom night and we were wasting time in my friend’s basement
when the question was asked:
how many men in your life are you comfortable around?
‘well,’ we said, ‘what do we mean by comfortable?'
we defined it like this:
how many men in your life could hug you
without making you flinch?
none of us had more than a handful, ticking names with our fingertips.
my total was two-point-five:
because i’d trust my dad with my life in the way that
you have to question authority to know that it’s right,
so i don’t ever **** away in fear from his familial touch.
(i’m the only one of us whose father makes the cut.)
the second name on my list is a kid from AP physics.
his name is trent and i’ve had a platonic crush on him for like a year.
we’ve bonded this year over math socks and clorox and death jokes.
(a few hours after this basement conversation,
we’re going to an afterparty and he yells my name
from across the parking lot;
we meet each other, running, and he collides into me with joy.
i don’t flinch away— i meet him half-way.)
the point five is
tricky
see, half the time, my brother grabs me and it terrifies me,
begging for him to just let go because he’s hurting me,
i don’t like tickling because it leads to panic attacks—
i don’t like unsolicited men touching me let go of me let go of me.
when my brother reaches for me, i flinch—
half the time.
but when he wants to actually hug me,
he just lifts one arm from his side and lets me tuck myself
under his shoulder, loose and gentle and loving, like good siblings.
half the time, my brother is reaching, and that is terrifying.
half the time, my brother is offering, and that is comforting.

how many men in your life could hug you without making you flinch?
take
a minute to think about it, it takes a lot of reflection.
a man without boundaries,
who takes what he wants and touches you when he wants to,
a man who doesn’t care that i’m flinching—
rapists and assailants don’t have boundaries,
they don’t listen when you say stop let go of me let go—
how terrifying it is for someone you know to just
grab you whenever he wants to.
i don’t want your hyper-masculine hands touching me without asking.
not unless you’re part of my two-point-five person list.
otherwise, you're just going to make me flinch.
speed write: 10 minutes
kain Sep 2019
What is beyond death
When I don't believe in God
I know my body
Will be buried
Or burned away to nothing
And that's okay
But what happens to me
What happens to the person
Who loves with blue flames
Where does she go
When the sun sets
And all is quiet and calm
If there is a hell
I'm probably headed there
But I don't think
That there is
Perhaps I'll roam the universe
I can touch down on planets
And stars afar
Maybe I'll be reborn
If that's the case
Then end my term
Eternal life on earth
Seems like a chore
I don't want to live forever
I don't want to be here
When nations burn
I refuse to bear witness
To another century turn
And someday I will die
And I am so afraid
To let my conscience go
And fly into the void
Because deep down I know
What happens when we die
We are gone
Like smoke into the night
The thing that makes us human
Is furthest from physical
So when my body dies
My mind won't have
Anywhere to go
I don't want to be snuffed out
Like a burned down candle
And oh I know
That it won't be my choice
Maybe that's why
I've tried to end it all
I want to live
On my own terms
But the world
Has never been under my control
In a world where we die
So my only hope
Is that I can live my life
With the time I have left
But what's the point of living
When we all live to die
I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living and being happy and having to let it all go.
kenye Mar 2013
Freedom from addiction
Means keeping pills in relapsing distance
I just need the presence, the friction
The suffering of temptation
Released
A downward spiral
or something cliché enough to drag me to the bottom
I let go of everything once
Trying to force a flow of liberation
Misguided euphoric tide
At least for the half-life
Then the comedown
Through the noise
This kid is making a comeback
Infantilizing the sacred ground
Back to primal setting
Bursts of energy via the star nursery
These compulsions
Lead to impulsions
When the nervous system's wracked
I'll be here wrapping my head around
Trying to control the chaos
Organized crime in the mind of the attention deficit
Demanding change in this temple trashed by the afterparty.
Adam Smith Jul 2015
To hang with my crew, any day of the week, would leave 21yr old me, in the bathroom on his knees.
Wether we chill in the lot with a Rapper blowing trees, or moonlight the bar with lap dances and whiskey.

5am, 'In The Air', single mom feeling naughty
Next thing I knew, was at the afterparty.
Hooked up till dawn, but cant tell nobody.
Haven't shaved in a week, cant remember last sleep.
Ask me where I was and you'll never hear a peep.

Head home for an hour, change of clothes and a shower
Then back to work, cause the wicked get no rest
My tire explodes, Im on the side of the road,
and Im dressed to be sat at a desk.
Catch my breath screaming '****!', **** near hit by a truck,
as now rain pours down in my face.

Tore my shirt and late for work, *******! do I hate this place.
Now the hours feel like years, till I again have some beers and get back to where I feel like me.

6am in the bar, and just lit my cigar, and the bottle it seems is empty.
Lather, rinse and repeat, cause its only midweek
And this is how I know to mend.
What is my life? **** if I know, but a ShitShow you'd pay to attend.
Jack Mandala Jan 2018
Do any of you feel like you can't rely on anyone but yourself? My whole life has felt like that but tonight it's really hitting me.

It all started a few weeks ago when I asked this girl I liked to formal. It was quite a stretch considering the social boundaries that were already in place. I'm a senior and she is a junior and I had no connections to any of her volleyball friends. It may not seem like it but some girls need to feel like you are socially "accepted," and I was socially unknown.

When I asked her, she seemed really excited which made sense due to the energy and good vibes she would bring to conversations despite her extreme shyness (I seemed to do most of the talking). Then formal came around. Before we went to the dance, there was a pre-formal get-together at her friends house. We were there for about three hours before we left for the dance and it was a great opportunity for me to meet her friends and her social group. I made my date laugh many times and I truly felt like there was a deep emotional connection between us. I conveyed confidence and a sense of humor, but it was clear I was the odd man out.

As I'm driving her to the dance, we started talking and again and she gave off off many signs that she was into me. I'm usually pretty good at looking in to that kind of stuff and I felt something was there. Although when we got to the dance, things start getting pretty shady. We met up with her volleyball friends that were at the formal get-together but it became increasingly obvious at the time my date was either too shy to dance with me or she only wanted to be with her friends. After 30 minutes of awkwardly following her and her friends around without dancing with her, I decided to give her some space and proceeded to hang out with my friends for the majority of the night.

About an hour and a half after I left her, she found where I was and asked if I wanted to go to a party that was happening afterwards with her which led me to believe this was her trying to convey interest in me without putting herself out there. I agreed and we got in my car until about five minutes later when her friends insisted they couldn't go anymore, so she decided she wasn't going to go either (I can confirm that her friends weren't trying to get her out of hanging out with me and there was actually something that prevented them from going). So I dropped her off at her friend's car, still went to that same party, and called it a night.

The next morning I hit her up and told her I had a great night with her even though it was mostly *******, but I didn't want her to think I was mad for what actions took place (Ignoring me during the dance and ditching the party). Then Christmas break began and I was out of town for about a week and a half. While I was out of town, I decided the best way to get to know her and her friend group better was to throw a kickback since it became clear they rarely accepted new people into their group. Keep in mind that it's not just me and all of her girlfriends. One of my guy friends who is almost dating my formal date's best friend has gone to all of the events with me (pre-formal, the dance, the afterparty), and he was my only guy friend throughout this whole process.

Finally the day comes, I send them the address and then I get the dreadful question, "Who else is coming?" Side note: people who ask this question can honestly ******* because pretty much what they're saying is "is there anyone else coming that would make it worth going to?" Anyway, I told my date that it was just going to be my friend Nick (the guy that I mentioned earlier), her, and her other two close friends which she replied "that's it?" with no emojis. I proceeded to tell her yes and that I'm just keeping it small. I was left on open, but still assumed she and her friends were going to come.

I set the kickback to start at 8:00 PM until I get a text from her around 7:45 PM saying that she was sorry but neither her or any of her friends could make it. As for my one guy friend and the friends he was inviting, he said he was going to come but never bothered to actually show up. Fed up and frustrated, I decided to invite all of my friends that were in town to come to my house where we can all get ****** up. After anxiously waiting for an hour and a half, my friends started to show up and at the peak, around 7 people showed up which was actually pretty good considering it was Winter break and most of my friends were out of town. I snapchatted the whole thing and made it look really hype without looking like a tryhard and put it on my story to let the ******* that ditched me know that I could invite other people right on the spot and they would still manage to come through.

It was a great night and I was glad there were people that I could rely on once in my life, especially since my whole life I never found anyone I could rely on. It made me realize how cliquey high school is and how unwelcoming most people are to letting others join their friend group. No matter how good of an impression you make, certain people will still push you away if you don't meet their social standards. Anyway, I hope all of you guys have a nice rest of your day. Thank you for reading this.
Aleksandra Bril Aug 2012
With lulled fireside chats,
we smoked spliffs to the lyrics they inspire.
We collaborated on canvasses,
filling blank spaces
with Purple.
Neurons in one intoxicating drip of paint,
we adhere to a generally powder-free
prowess to party.

Rage.
Get what you want.
All night.
Making sure that
if we sleep,
our shoes
are off.

The first time for one of us
the three of us
lay trapped in the meeting of lady's lips.
Not getting off
but getting close
to a pair of sculpted and slim homosapians
who put on
and take off
with the fall
of just the right words.

And just the right silence.

As the moonlight fades, I rise to roam now
sticky floors that bore the footsteps
of Tasmanian Devils and "Diablo",
only to find that testosterone
has forced fists
into walls.
Taylor Dahly Sep 2014
I pull myself together long enough to put myself together
to altogether get there all alone
I pick myself apart at the party hoping they pick me for the part
nearly departed at the afterparty
upon a platter of platitudes they cast me as myself
I was miscast if you ask me
would have bought a locket if I wanted a cameo
everly Jan 2019
was she ever even mine..
Nao Oct 2020
Don't try to hold me
and turn off the lights I'm too hungover
I'll eat guacamole in the morning
Jake Griffith Oct 2020
I met him in the night.
    A Gayborhood local
     told me he was from Venezuela, but didn’t have to,
           his accent, so beautiful with its deep grit and softness,
                               twang and lisp.
                               I already knew,           he didn’t have to tell me.

             He bought me drinks, and watched
                             me             and only me,
                as I bit from the fruit of his garden.
              
             He invited me to an afterparty,   I didn’t know
   him, but we went     through alleys,
         dampened by the heat of bodies
      melding to the brick walls, glistening
                            in the streetlights and nightlife. Unknown lips
                          pressed and held, to stay,            not to
                         part. It was
        beautiful.
          
             Within the alley was
        our destination: underground. It was
                a luscious venue, crowded, exuberant and whimsy.
    Velvet covered the walls, and he brought me more drinks.
                                      I finished them all.
                    

                                                               I remember
locking lips with a stranger, and how
         it hurt.

                                       He was warm and sweaty, and
         smelled of Burberry and whiskey,
                                    his stubble left
               my face burning.

                            He grabbed my hand, and led me to
                         the bathroom, then I woke up
                             in his bed.
      
      
             I remembered
                            his husband’s name, and that
                                            he lived in Caracas, that
                  we had ***, and took
                           a shower together, that
                            his mother, dying from leukemia,
                                               slept upstairs, unknowing.
        


                                            ­               I wept
in a stranger’s arms,
   cradled by their tiny physique.
         I wept
              for our beloveds.
**** In no way am I trying to romanticize adultery ****
This is something that broke my relationship for a little while, everything is back together now.
دema flutter Feb 2018
I’ll stay for the afterparty of our conversations, but I know your party is for one.
Cyclone Dec 2019
Tricky business is a witness to legitimate deals, we **** for it, I'm intimate when I know you're real, give me all that you got to give, and I will be the only hitter that went to bat and gave it all back, the benefits are always beneficial, when we keep it official, that there be no foul-play, we keep a distance; all the instances I made another love song, could've had another kid from a womb, doomed from the words of my ****, lucky me!; but I'm more responsible now.. I guess it's time for me to say..................... **** your friends cause I said they don't deserve it, knew that you would be offended, intended for my easy targets, you wanna be my demonstration, go head!, cause I'll throw salt on you to verify that I don't have no sugar for *******, which is, perfect and worth a killing, of the person you never liked and wished was gone, but my spirit loves to live cause I'm reborn and ready for the world bout to punish it for killing me the first time, but they forgot to close my casket for good, left it open for the world to view my tortured soul, it's understood that nothing stands in my way, but yet revenge might be the hardest thing today at least.. try not to tell the people plans so they plan ahead, but I was head over heels to induce their fear-to love their boring days, I hope they really play on, cause when I crash the party- won't be no afterparty.
R Mar 25
don't mind my jesting
it's just a little fun
playing with fire to keep you guessing
the dancing flames have a delightful burn

it's just a little fun
you see, i'm crying on the cold kitchen floor
the dancing flames have a delightful burn
until you're numb and bored and they can do something you can't

you see, i'm crying on the cold kitchen floor
i think it's just the afterparty's effects
until you're bored and they can do something you can't
we elect new people to look down on us

i think it's just the afterparty's effects
nothing's a big deal when you've been out all night
we elect new people to look down on us
thinking they'll be better and just maybe we'll be alright
experimenting with new structures
James Daniel Feb 2023
Eternal
Crush my tree
Fantasy
Will you marry me
Or just kiss me?

In love every time
Doesn't grow old
Been all this time

Everytime
A surprise
I'm scared to look into her eyes
Are you there?

Friends for life
The way she cares
Her eyes, nature, body and hair
It's all there

Look at the sky
She said that morning of the afterparty
God made the skies, said the song
To reach for
It could be freedom,
but she is cute too

Eternal
Crush my tree
Fantasy
Will you marry me
Or just kiss me?
Like stepping into rooms that are almost, not quite formed, inhabited by blind guides. Enthusiastic sages, whose mouths drip with the oozing compost of yesteryear’s salvation. I’ve seen this one before, this party is the same as the last. The sigh that slips out is like so many lungs full, from a balloon released from a child’s clumsy fingers.

I look back for friends, praying to step through the threshold accompanied. Who likes to show up standing with the host, making small talk with the gal holding the shrimp tray, trying not to let the eyes linger where they shouldn’t. But the air is slipping out of the front door, threatening to change the world outside. It’s not like there was a choice, move forward, or step back. One last glance, behind the hedgerow, beyond the gate, the clamor already complains.

The air is penetrating still until lilting melodies, crack open each room like canned joy, preserving the freshness of someone else’s moments. Sharp laughter of someone hunting for their self-esteem pierces the stochastic void, reminds me of the last time I cried. The sound waves carry reluctant feet down dark halls lined with the regrets of paths not taken, painted over with grim smiles. Reminders that the future is already littered with the corpses of good intentions.

The hall ends in an ornate door, carved by hand with sigils and runes, marked, ‘remember’. I want to, because surely what has been is not all that there could have been. I step up, alone as on the last day. Praying that ahead there is a miracle that rescues from certainty, and it’s like a voice on the other side whispers “this is it,” but when I turn the handle, it’s just another room. One more closet full of the artifacts accumulated in the pursuit of meaning.
I want to respond to The Body that Hoped Not to Be Real. By hellopoet(ry) wordsmith: Rastislav
Onoma Jan 2024
Yasou Papo...

you were able

to dance with

a small glass...

filled with liquor,

above your head.

with open arms.

during a marital

afterparty.

plates were being

smashed on the

dancefloor, & money

was being thrown.

just like eagle feathers

thru the Parthenon.

when you freely gave

away your last breath,

there was no plaster known

to cast Your Face.
*For a bygone King, dipping his toe into waters that skin stones. Lazaros Dimopoulos. My Grandfather, who rests with a mint leaf tucked at the side of
his right ear--staring thru the sun~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Travis Green Jun 27
He was my gay soul’s private afterparty
My lit-up **** drugland
My blissed-out paradise
My high-vibe on overdrive
My jammin’ joyride jungle

My dope boy utopia
My velvet-voiced boy toy
My fragrant, man-sational love-bandit
My macho soul-melter
My loverboy deluxe

I was straight-up strung out
On his hunkalicious drip
His power-charged, heart-stopping allure
Ready to bite into his
Saucy slice of heaven

I reveled in his high-octane game
His swagged-soaked splashiness
I was spaced out in his blazing hot man cave
Of exhilarating awesome sauce
His top-notch boss sauce hit different

He had me floating like a MF
He captivated the hell out of me
Left me blazed and dazed
Stranded in his treasured play space
Marinating in his savory greatness
Lost in his unparalleled shockwave charm

— The End —