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ht Apr 2023
I chew Nicorette gum -
I don't smoke cigarettes

I use safety razors (not for their intended purpose),
I draft suicide notes in an app

I won't overdose - reuse my organs,
I'll drive off a bridge in a Prius

I'll turn the lights off before I go,
Turn my ashes into a tree
I'm a fraud. I drive an Escape. | h.t.
Jade Musso Apr 2014
Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.
JJ Hutton Oct 2016
I buy the gluten-free protein bar, peanut butter and chocolate, because this is who I am now. This is me. This is me as a lighthouse of personal fitness, a man of discipline, of a principle or two. And I surf only the most densely populated dating apps, looking—somewhat feverishly, I must admit—for a likeminded woman, a scholar, a child of the moon, a frequent quoter of the Dhammapada, an insatiable and acrobatic lover, and I imagine her driving the dark streets seeking me. Polly in a Prius. My future muse, near but out of reach. We'll reclaim the arts district. She'll piggyback to the open mike, her ****-me shoes clicking in her hand. We'll spend a year politicizing every ****** encounter. Consensual assaults in perpetuity. And she'll say I'm a white man. And she'll say I think this is my privilege. And she'll say she's into leather and she finds my *** offensive and she'll hold my head against the wall. And at the end, if there's an end, I imagine our naked bodies wrapped in a stained comforter, all of the desire spent. I imagine our minds sober and clear, wondering how we could have ever been so kinked out, so on fire for something, and yet so ******* unable to remember a single ****** or whether or not we transcended. I'll vacuum the apartment. Polly will take her Warhol prints, pack up the Prius, and go anywhere, anywhere not here. Seattle. Maybe Portland. A few weeks will pass, and I'll find a note in whatever book I'd been reading before she left. It'll say: I loved you to the max. I loved you to the max. I loved you to the max.
Somewhere in your wardrobe, I'd be willing to bet
There's a t-shirt probably bearing the silhouette of Che Guevara

He was revolutionary, yeah, he wore a cool hat
But behind the design I think you might find it's not quite as simple as that

Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe,
I think... apparently.. who knows?
Che was a bit of a homophobe, Che was a bit of a homophobe

This is my song in defence of the fence
A little sing along, a anthem to ambivalence
The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it, doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference, when you're sitting on the fence

Somewhere in your house, I'd be willing to bet
There's a picture of that grinning hippy from Tibet - the Dalai Llama

He's a lovely, funny fella, he gives soundbites galore
But let's not forget that back in Tibet, those funky monks used to **** the poor, yeah

And the Buddhist line about future lives is the perfect way to stop the powerless rising up
And he tells the poor they will live again, but he's rich now so it's easy for him to say

I'm taking the stand in defense of the fence
I got a little band playing anthems to ambivalence
We divide the world into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and ****'s
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And the things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into status quo and scary
Yeah we want the world binary, binary
But it's not that simple.

And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
Yea your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And your dog has a bigger carbon footprint than a four wheel drive
And so does your baby, maybe you oughta trade HIM in for a Prius-
ROCK!

I'm taking the stand in defence of the fence
I got a little band playing tributes to ambivalence
We divide the world into liberals and gun-freaks
Into atheists and fundies
Into tee-tot'lers and junkies
Into chemical and natural
Into fictional and factual
Into science and supernatural
But it's actually naturally not that white and black

You'll be
Dividing us into terrorists and heroes
Into normal folk and weirdos
Into good people and pedos
Into things that give you cancer and the things that cure cancer
And things that don't cause cancer, but there's a chance they will cause cancer in the future
We divide the world to stop us feeling frightened
Into wrong and into right and
Into black and into white and
Into real men and fairies
Into parrots and canaries
Yeah we want the world binary, binary - 011101!

The more you know, the harder you will find it
To make up your mind, it doesn't really matter if you find
You can't see which grass is greener
Chances are it's neither, and either way it's easier
To see the difference
Cause it's not that simple...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wUZIqfHf4c4
Its 8:30 in the AM
The Corn Moon
is being routed by a
Manassas cloud bank

NPR be barking
Irma this, Irma that
my tremblin Rav4
stuck in the rush
is idling behind
a pair of gray hairs
spewing
leaded premium
out the back
of a big old black Buick
sportin Florida tags

inching north up I95
I’m relieved to be
a thousand miles
ahead of the
monstrous *****
denuding Barbuda
deflowering the
****** Islands
and threatening to topple
the last vestiges of
Castro’s Dynasty
by disrupting upscale
bourgeois markets
for cafe Cubanos,
cool Cohibas and
bold Bolivars

she’s a CAT 5
counterclockwise
spinning catastrophe
churning through
the Florida straits
bending steel framed
Golden Arches
shaking the tiki shacks
gobbling lives
defiling tropical dreams

the best
meteorological minds
on the Weather Channel
plug the Euro model
to plot a choreography
of Irma’s cyclonic sashay

they predict she’ll
strut her stuff
up a runway  
that perfectly
dissects the  
Sunshine State
ransacking
the topography
venting carnage
like battalions of
badly behaved frat boys,
schools of guys gone wild
sophomores, wreaking havoc
during a Daytona Beach
spring break
droolin over *******
popping woodies at
wet tee shirt contests
urinating on doorstoops
puking into Igloo Coolers
and breaking their necks
from ill advised
second floor leaps
into the shallow end
of Motel 6 pools

but I’m rolling north
into the secure
arms of a benign
Mid Atlantic Summer
like other refugees,
my trunk is
filled with baggage
of fear and worry
wondering
if there’re be anything
left to return to
once Irma
has spent herself
with one last
furious ****
against the
Chattanooga Bluffs of
Lookout Mountain

Morning Edition
Is yodeling a common
seasonal refrain
the gubmint is
just about outta cash
congress needs to
increase the debt limit

My oh my,
has the worm turned
during the Obama years
the GOP put us through a
Teabag inspired nightmare
gubmint shutdowns
and sequestration
shaved 15 points
off every war profiteers vig
it gave a well earned
long overdue
take the rest of the week off
unpaid vacation
to non essential
gubmint workers
while a cadre of
wheelchair bound
Greatest Generation
military vets get
locked out of the
WWII Memorial on the
National Mall

this time around
its different
we have an Orange Hair
in the office and there's
some hyper sensitivity
to raise the debt ceiling
given that Harvey
has yet to fully
drain from the
Houston bayous

the colossal cleanup
from that thrice in a
Millennial lifetime storm
has garnered bipartisan support
to  clean up the wreckage
left behind by a
badly behaved
one star BnB lodger
who took a week
long leak into the
delicate bayous of
Southeast Texas

yet we are infused
with optimism that our
Caucasian president
and his GOP grovelers
now mustered
to the Oval Office
will slow tango
with the flummoxed
no answer Dems
to get the job done

pigs do fly in DC
Ryan and McConnell
double date with
Pelosi and Schumer
get to heavy pettin
from front row seats
beholding droll  
Celebrity Apprentice
reruns

The Donald, Nancy and Chuck
slip the room for a little
menage au trois side action
transforming Mitch and Paul
into vacillating voyeurs
who start jerking their dongs
while POTUS, and his
new found friends
get busy workin
the art of a deal

rush hour peaks
static traffic grows
in concert with
a swelling  
frenetic angst
driving drivers
to madness
terrified
they won't
get paid if
the debt ceiling
don't rise
they honk horns
rev engines
thumb iPhones
and sing out
primal screams

unmindful drivers
piloting Little Hondas
bump cheap Beamers
start a game of
bumper cars
dartin in and out
of temporary gaps
uncovered by the
spastic fits and starts
of temporary
decongested
ebbs and flows

A $12 EZ Pass
gambit is offered
the fast lane
on ramp
has few takers
just another
pick your pocket
gubmint scheme
two express lanes
lie vacant
while three lanes of
non premium roadway
boast bumper to bumper
inertness
wasted fuel
declining productivity
skyrockets
the  wisdom of
the invisible hand doesn't
seem to be working

DOJ bureaucrats
In Camrys and Focuses
dial the office
to let somebody
know they’ll
be tardy

gubmint contractors in
silver Mercedes begin
jubilantly honking horns
NPR has just announced that
Pelosi and Schumer
joined the Orange team
the rise in the debt ceiling
will nullify their 15%
sequestration pay cut

NPR reports the
National Cathedral will
deconsecrate two hallowed
stained glass windows of
rebel generals R E Lee
and Stonewall Jackson
it's a terrible shame that
the Episcopal Church
will turn its back on the
rich Dixie WASPS
who commissioned these
installations to commemorate
the church's complicity
in sanctifying the
institution of slavery,
WWJD?

as I ponder
this Anglican
conundrum another
object arrests my
streaming consciousness
upsetting an attention span
shorter and less deep
than the patch of oil  
disappearing under the front
of the RAV as I thunder by
at 5 MPH

to the left I eye a
funny looking building
standing at attention
next to a Bob Evans

I’m convinced
Its gotta be CIA
a 15 story
gubmint minaret
a listening post
wired to intercept
mobile digital
confabulations
from crawling traffic
inching along
beneath its feet

this thinking node
pulsing with
intelligence
reeking with
counterintelligence
the tautological
contradiction
guarantees the
stasis of our
confused
national consciousness

strategically positioned to
tune into the
intractable Zeitgeist
culling meta code
planting data points
In Big Data
data farms
running algos
to discern bits
of intelligence
endeavoring to reveal
future shock trends
knows nothing
reveals less

the buildings cover
is its acute
conspicuousness
gray steel frame
silver tinted glass
multiple wireless antennas
black rimmed windows
boldly proclaim
any data entering
this cheerless edifice
must abandon all hope
of ever being framed
in a non duplicitous
non self serving sentence

the gray obelisk a
national security citidel
refracts the
fear and loathing
the sprawling
global anxiety
our civilization's
discontent
playing out
in the captive
soft parade
ambling along
the freeway jam
imobilized
at its stoop

Moning Edition jingle
follows urgent report of
FEMA scamblin assets
arbitraging Harvey and Irma
triaging two
tropical storm tragedies
and a third girl
just named Maria
pushed off the Canaries
and is on its way to a
Puerto Rico
homecoming

while
gubmint  bureaucrats
anxiously push on
to their soulless offices
the rush hour jam
has peaked
my WAZE
is having a
nervous breakdown

next lane over
a guy in a gold PT Cruiser
is banging on his steering wheel
don’t think this unessential worker
will win September's
civil servant of the month award

Ex Military
K Street defectors
slamming big civie
Hummers
getting six mpg
lobby for a larger
apportionment
of mercenary dollars
for Blackwater's
global war on terror

Prius Hybrids
silently roll on
politely driven by
EPA Hangers On
hoping to save
a bit of the planet
from an Agency Director
intent on the agency's
deconstruction
the third 500 year hurricane
of the season
is of no consequence

obsolete
GMC Jimmy’s
are manned by
Steve Mnunchin
wannabes
the frugal
treasury dept
ledger keepers
pour good money after bad
to keep the national debt
and there clanking
jalopies working

driving Malibus
DOL stalwarts
stickin with the Union
give biz to GMC

nice lookin chicks
young coed interns
with big daddy doners
fix their faces and
come to work
whenever they want

my *** is killing me
I squirm in my seat
to relieve my aching sacroiliac
and begin to wonder if my name
will appear on some
computer printout today?
can’t afford an IRS audit
maybe my house will
be claimed by some
eminent domaine landgrab?
Perhaps NSA
may come calling,
why did I sign that
Save The Whales
Facebook Petition?

The EZ Pass lane
is movin real easy
mocking the gridlock
that goes all the way
to Baltimore
a bifurcated Amerika
is an exhaust spewing
standing condemnation
to small “R”
republicanism  

glint from windshields
is blinding
my **** is hurtin and
gettin back to Jersey
gunna take a while
GPS recalcs arrival time

an intrepid Lyft driver
feints and dodges
into the traffic gaps
drivin the shoulder
urging his way to the
Ronnie Reagan International
I'm sure
gettin heat from
a backseat fare
that shoulda pinged
an hour earlier

Irma creeps
toward the Florida Keys
faster then the
glacial jam
befuddling congress

I think I just spotted
Teabag Patriot
Grover Norquist
manning a rampart
bestriding a highway overpass
he’s got a clipboard in hand
checking the boxes
counting cars
taking names
who’s late?
who’s unessential?

man
whatta jam we're in

Music Selection:
Jeff Beck: Freeway Jam

Orlando
9/21/17
jbm
written as im stuck in jam headin back to jersey
Brooke Davis Mar 2014
Sitting on the front stoop in a cool spring breeze,
Counting cars like shooting stars,
Simple children's games not to be taken literally,
But focus on the passengers,
And perhaps you'll see,
The story behind the passing Prius or rushing Range Rover.

Perhaps you'll see,
A cobalt jaguar which holds
the tired lawyer in tight rimmed glasses and tweed jacket,
Driving to a large four bedroom,
three and a half bath house,
five kids and stressed stay at home wife.

The bills are getting harder and harder to pay as the economy crashes,
The couple is divorcing soon,
his law firm is going bankrupt,
The bills are becoming impossible to pay,
And all the stress is ******* him,
In a month he'll take his life.

Perhaps you'll see the pretty young,
16 year old blonde,
driving the second hand Subaru,
She is on her way to her high school now,
She is peering in the rear view mirror,
Trying to wipe the mascara trails off her face,
And hoping that her friends and teachers won't see the ghosts that haunt her,

Her mother died last month,
from a drug overdose,
And she was beaten again by her drunk father this morning,
and she will keep being beaten until she has the self confidence to stand up for herself,
but in the meantime,
she'll keep covering the bruises with foundation,
And wiping the tear trails,
apply  more mascara.

Perhaps if you look close enough,
You'll see the little red headed girl,
No older than four,
With large green, curious eyes,
Gazing out the window of a Honda pilot's door,
She is on her way to pick up her brother from soccer practice,
With her doting mother,

What nobody knows yet,
Is the little girl suffers from schizophrenia,
And she hears all the voices,
That tell her to do terrible things,
She has no friends in her neighborhood,
and her parents ignore her,
Focusing their energy on her all star brother,
she is all alone in this world,
just her,
The other her,
And her imaginary friend.

Looking at the passing cars,
And staring briefly at the passing passengers,
who never spare a second glance at me,
I can see these things,
or at least,
Pretend I can,
because perhaps it is easier to see the world this way,
Perhaps it is easier to agree upon the fact,
That we all have our own stories,
we face every day,
Our own struggles,
that lead us through a twisting plot,
perhaps we could all take the time,
to read other's stories,
Instead of trying to perfect our own fairy tales.

So you may say i'm like a child,
Sitting on this stoop,
but i'll just tell you,
To take a seat next to me,
and together we can,
count cars like shooting stars,
and read the passing stories.
Johnny Noiπ Jul 2018
[*****    ADLUVIUS
ADLUVIUS    *****
ADLUVIUS quidam
                Latinorum
            praesumtores]
**** x ***** matris suæ feminas suas
English & orum x naturale eius debent
x Aldus [*******]
                                 summa Torres
**** x ***** matris suae
                   feminas suas
Latinorum_ naturalis & x &
                     eius debent
x Aldus [*******] summa coronas

Quidam voluntatem quam feminam x vulvam
Anglicus tympanum x ****** sua:
prius x [*******]
I tores
x utero matris ad arbitrium est
feminae
Latina: x i & C NATURALIS
naturale eius debent
mensem per [*******] summitatem
**** x ***** matris suae
                    feminas suas
Anglicus x & orum naturale eius debent
x Aldus [*******]
summa Torres
**** x ***** matris suae
feminas suas
Latinorum_ naturalis & x &
eius debent
x Aldus [*******] summa coronas

Quid Pro voluntatem quam feminam x vulvam
Anglicus x naturale eius debent tribulatione sua:
prius x [*******]
Ego torres x utero matris ad arbitrium est
feminae
Latinorum_ x & C NATURALIS
naturale eius debent
mensem per [*******] summitatem
Quidam autem ex femina x vulvam
Anglus x naturale eius debent tribulatione sua:
prius x [*******]
ego viatores
x utero matris ad arbitrium est
feminae
Latinorum_ x C NATURALIS
naturale eius debent
Per mensem [*******] top
Quidam autem ex femina x vulvam
Anglus x naturale eius debent tribulatione sua:
prius x [*******] Ego viatores
x utero matris ad arbitrium est
feminae Latinorum_ × C NATURALIS
naturale eius debent
Per mensem [*******] top
Quidam autem ex femina x vulvam
Anglus x naturale eius debent tribulatione sua:
prius x [*******] Ego viatores
x utero matris ad arbitrium est
feminae latinorum_ x C NATURALIS
naturale eius debent
Per mensem [*******] top
欣快 May 2018
hit with the brush of heat and the super likes
i light my cigarette and lean on my phone and
a 90s volkswagen parked next to a brand new prius
tell me don't make me wait forever, superman
is this what you want, things are changing all around us
and i could have sworn i was doing okay (finally) when
i was without you, before i even noticed your eyes
i was with trevor after class and i could've sworn
you opened your locker after i caught you staring at me

today i walked outside without your hand in mine
and i didn't know what to do with it at all
not speak of such conviction that i think the same thing
that i could be better not knowing what you're doing
who you're seeing, who your sleeping with in cold calculation
the revenge of symbols rearranging themselves
into a broken heart, summer's round the corner
and i'm wasting away thinking about you again and again
Alexis J Meighan Sep 2014
Lol Failure

Too much time to change your mind on the way down. Plus your scared of heights

Bandages and shoe laces stop that ****. hide it with tattoos on the wrist

Too violent, big mess, GSW fail now a vegetable and someone's burden

A lynching? Quit it! KKK gets no favors

Peace and quiet in the car, garage door closed. Then your favorite song comes on. Took too long after all. Don't you drive a prius?

Like you don't know how to swim. Sharks don't live in lakes

Nissan, lexus, most new GMC all have auto detection braking. Get back on the side walk dummy.

Too high of a tolerance you druggy and every Corner has an ER. Now your on the list with diarrhea

Police knows the world is watching they'll pepper spray before they draw now. Now your blind and got your *** whipped with a. Night stick

Honey? Bears? Really?

Circuit breakers homie! Now you have soggy toast.
Smile and shovel the pastries maybe you'll get lucky and cholesterol will stop ya.

Insensitive? Yes,but none the less,
Guess That's my LOL Failure.
-Xin-
Some times. We have bad days. Looking back, some times they're funny
Caleb Conley Feb 2012
He is a man among men
no equal has there been
named Kyle not a pile
been friends for quite a while
Not in the Prius, I just said that, makes sense it does not
Long gazes, pauses, Madden, ******* IT SCOTT
I love you always and forever
One day we'll live together
It will be so **** great
As long as you don't hear me *******.
With an opening of hand,
we can change fates plans
Best friends forever yo,
You my favorite **.
To my bestie.
Homunculus Dec 2015
Here's one for all the suicidally depressed people.
First of all, if you're thinking about ending it,
Please know that I love you, and I really hope you don't
I've been there too, and sometimes all it takes is
One more day to think before you decide that it
Really isn't worth it... BUT: if you've thought long and hard
About it, and you decide to follow through: be creative.

Don't just say "goodbye cruel world" and swallow a
Bottle of sleeping pills, or slit your wrists in
The bathtub, so that your landlord finds you
A week later after wondering about the smell.
Instead, rent an exhibition space in a trendy art district,
Hire a PR team, and pour your investments into,
A highly publicized event, that will be billed as
"The Performance Art Piece of the Century".

Don't worry about how you'll afford it, either.
You can easily take out several loans from
Various banks and payday lenders,
Max out your credit card, bounce cheques etc. etc.
It's not like you'll ever have to repay them.
Once you follow through, you'll default by default!
Then, well, that's their problem, huh?
Meh, serves those greedy ****** right for
Crashing the whole **** global economy
every few years, like they seem to like to do.

Instead of a suicide note, write a manifesto,
Complete with a detailed statement of purpose,
Instructions for preserving your work, and
An incisive aesthetic critique which decries  
"The subversion of artistic autonomy by
The market society", and the uninspired
Throwaway commodity form
That art has become as a result.
Blame Andy Warhol, people will get it.

Then, when the big day comes, and
You're surrounded by those pretentious
Clove smoking, soy latte sipping, Prius driving,
Tofu eating, turtleneck wearing, Soho art district types,
Get a gun and put a canvas behind your head, so
That when you pull the trigger, it splatters an
Aleatoric masterpiece that even ******* would fawn over.
Now, for maximal effect, you're gonna wanna use
Hollow tips, dum-dums, or buckshot in a sawed-off.
If you really wanted to play on the chance operations thing,
You could line the cylinder of a revolver with both
Full metal slugs and hollow tips, so that there's an
Equal chance of the shot creating
a controlled burst or wide array splatter, but
These are just suggestions, It's your art, you decide

This spectacle would make headlines, for sure.
Then, instead of being just another statistic,
To be neatly lumped into a sheet of numbers,  
Stuffed into a folder, and quickly forgotten,
You'll be remembered for generations to come
As that tragic visionary, whose passion was so
Uncompromising, and whose artistic integrity,
Was so utterly unyielding, that you were
Even willing to give your life for it.

Now, one last point of contention, to
Add a bit of weight to the argument:
You remember Thich Quan Duc?
He was the monk who set himself
Ablaze, during the Vietnam War,
In an act of protest. Of course you do.

Nobody knew him the day before,
Except maybe his fellow monks, but
Now his image is immortalized, and
Immediately recognizable decades later, as
The picture that defined a generation.

...but,

Do you remember the man, who was
Fed up with his dead end job, and one
Day finally decided to end it all?
Which one? Who's that? Exactly.
Now, perhaps I've made my point.

Just a thought...
I was listening to George Carlin's bit on suicide from "Life is Worth Losing" and decided to have a go at the topic myself.
olivia Jul 2017
pinks and blues and golden hues
sunset simmers in the sky
and inside
I look in your eyes for the first time-blue

backwoods and a warm beer
my *** is sore sitting on this rock
my hands a mess but I don't seem to care
somehow I find myself already thinking about your ****

the night turns to black
you ask to go back to your car
I warily oblige aware of what's to ***
the first time we've met and we're going to take it too far

we find ourselves in the backseat of your prius
its hot that you care like that
chest to chest, we begin to neck
excuse me, I guess you can't mind your hands

once you find yourself inside I scream
I know it feels better for you than me
it always does
I'd prefer a few fingers and some tongue

when you drop me off at my place
you salute with:
"good night,
homie."
not about love, not about bipolar disorder
joe thorpe Jun 2021
it goes on and on like this
a hundred hours
of attention grabbing
feeling you up
life goes on and on
like this is it
a whole game
in my hands a computer, strange
I’ve got a virus
world pollution can’t be fixed with a Prius
numinously vetting
editing, all the Love I don’t know how to give
selfishness
it isn’t what it is
please restore me to factory settings
#beenbusy #Love #hate #ivebeenlisteningtosagefrancis
JoJo Nguyen Feb 2014
In greying room sits my idle stare
glassy I outside see Baltie air
foggy white whiskers, a comely face
Smiling mouth vacant. A circle lace,
Within contact eyes sparkling fair
Uneasy on moving teeth despair.

Zoom, zooming a Prius black streaking there
in between Baltimore, heaven's stair
up collective vibe, woodie brown palace trace
knowledge bit worker, foe uncommon hairy race
Discovering an escaped boar upon hidden lair
Greasy lit padding with dollars flare.
Kate Apr 2014
After the end
she wore the beige bra that she bought for him
because he liked plain things  
under a dark turtleneck that meant she was mourning
their loss even if maybe he wasn't

she shivered into the street
and watched the palm drop on the moon,
the stars pop out like street lights whose bulbs you couldn't change,
their high up light bleached the night,
falling over the Prius, bouncing off the half-bumpered Honda, sliding down the metal window connector of the neighborhood's only El Dorado before ending up on pavement like most things do
the garage seemed to radiate and
other people's windows glowed yellow

as she turned to go
a cat rolled across the four lane road
like it was a meadow
Wrote this last night after wandering around. Would love to get your feedback.
JoJo Nguyen Jul 2016
did we know that today
in 2016 we'd be reading the future
about the Great American
soft
depression interlaced
August 16 with Lehman
Goldman
Sach King David
how this time it will be
different but the bubble
starting
in 1995 always burst
even if its only two years
later Elizabeth Montgomery
died we were joining the Academic Mafia
around Circle Drive
Korean BBQ
Blues Caravan and
cruising around East Los
in a Blue Toyota pickup truck
now
there's a parked Prius
because we're too busy
running
numbers a racket
in Cambridge that leaves us
just a bit of fried egg in the morning
with coffee vorleser-ing and documenting
just
as any moral Hannah would do
in 1939 to say hey this is the way
we wanted right boxcars leading
to abattoirs today we do our best
imitation
of a weak McNamara
mea culpa
John F McCullagh Feb 2013
When I was young and needed wheels
my father helped me buy my first.
He worked then in a funeral home
and got a great deal on a hearse.
When first he handed me the keys
I thought there must be some mistake;
A Station Wagon for the dead-
Most dates would do a double take.

True, it had low mileage,
but a ghastly MPG.
It was very roomy in the back
where the coffins used to be.
I thought it would be hard to park,
and in that, I wasn't wrong.
Dad said the horn was customized-
when pressed it played "the Munsters" song.

Its capacious bay proved useful
when transporting beer and wine.
It even helped me to get "lucky".
a "Goth" girl thought it fine.
Pale white skin with tats and piercings'
those memories still can thrill.
Though I found it disconcerting
that she liked to lie so still.

These days I drive a Prius
in an effort to be "Green"
I work out and eat "healthy"
as I'm no longer quite so keen
to be caught lying in the back
of a flatbed limousine .
The genesis of this poem was seeing a used hearse parked outside a private home.   My first car was actually a 1972 Volkswagen Beetle.
Mitchell Mar 2014
IV.
We walk down Steiner street after we eat. The food was decent. Not worth the price, but good enough where we didn't have to talk about it afterward. Olivia was nice to look at. I liked the way her upper thighs rubbed together as she walked. That was something I noticed but said nothing of to him. Her silhouette in the window was shaped like a fresh picked pear. And that smile. I could sit there and drink water with lemon and order nothing all day and just look at that smile. I would have to go back. She was beautiful and I wish I'd never met her the way I did. Not that it wasn't a romantic kind of way, but to order from someone you admire is a kind of awkward thing. It puts one in an uncomfortable position. You want to take that person out of their place and put them into someplace better. Who am I to judge? Maybe she enjoys it there. He didn't seem to show any signs of care or wear.
We continued to walk down Steiner until we passed over Lombard street. The traffic was already thick with cars and their horns. A hummer, lazy and rolling, has a driver inside with thick black sunglasses and all the windows down. It's not even very hot yet. The music inside is loud and is a mix of rap and mariachis. After we cross the street, I notice a pizza place standing on the corner and a long line is coming out of it. It looked very busy for being so early in the morning. It is only 11:15. He looks at the line too, but says nothing. He's been very quiet and moves with very light footsteps. I hope nothing is wrong.
"Jesus," I say, "Look at that place." I point at the pizza joint.
He nods, "Who needs pizza at a time like this? It's so early."
"It is Saturday," I shrug, "All bets are off."
"They'll be in bed by 1, guaranteed."
We cross chestnut street, which is bustling with people already. A few joggers **** by us as we pass a pair of miniature pugs. Their tongues are both out, dangling like a worm on a hook. In front of us, two women walk in their skin tight yoga pants and I force myself to look away. Too tempting. I can see every curve. He sees them to and steals a few glances, pretending he's looking at a parking sign or the details of a lime green Prius parked next to a fire hydrant. There are many people out and I wonder where they all came from and why they are all up so early. I wonder the same of myself and shut up.
I stop. "You ever eaten there?" I ask, pointing to a hole in the wall taco stand. It's closed, but we can both see the chefs and front of house people moving around inside getting ready for the lunch rush. "Their best is the fish taco with freshly picked cilantro, some kind of spicy, thousand island, grilled red onions, and lime on the side. Very good."
"I'll have to go there the next time I'm in the city," he says.
"Definitely," I say, "The next time you're in, we'll go there."
I ask myself what I'm really doing here in my head. Not out loud. I don't hear an answer, so I try again. You want to talk to him about the phone call. Why? Because she called you and he knows that she called you and you two haven't once spoken about it since. Can't it just be one of those unspoken things where we both know what happened and never talk about it? Sure, it could be. You could leave it in the dirt and let it rot there like a dead rat, molding and boiling in the sun for another little rat to come along and eat it. That's graphic and grotesque. Well, it's what I see. You see a lot of things. Yes I do. Well, that is a very graphic thing to see that perhaps is not really even that big of a deal. It sounded like a big deal to her when she called you. I don't want to get involved. That's fine. They have their own problems just like I have my own problems. I can respect that, but it wouldn't hurt to say something. What will he do? Get offended or something that you picked up her phone call? You didn't have any choice after you picked up the phone. She started weeping and bawling hysterically. What would it look like if you just hung up on her?Yeah, you are right. That would've looked pretty bad. Very bad. Alright, I'll say something. Thanks. Thank me later. When then? Later.
At the ocean front, we sit on a bench and look out at the water. The waves rise, peak, froth, and fall reflecting the sunlight in their marble surface. A gull passes over us and squeals. It startles me, the little ******. I look up and catch a glance into its blank, black eyes. Their brains are the size of peas. Did you know that? He doesn't notice me jump. He is looking out at the water, silent. There's something powerful in not feeling the need to say anything and wading in true silence. It takes a certain amount of vulnerability, humility, and ***** to sit with another and admit that sometimes there just isn't a **** thing to say.
"She called me two weeks ago," I say.
"I know," he says, like there's no more words that need to be said.
"I called you also, but you didn't pick and didn't return my call."
"I know," he says again.
A female jogger passes by us in those skin tight, jet black yoga pants and we both steal a glance. Her **** is so firm it barely bounces as she runs.
"I don't see you guys that often," I tell him, "I don't need to get involved."
"She called you," he sighs, looking at me, "So she got you involved and I really wished she hadn't."
"I see that," I nod, "I don't like people getting in my **** either."
He turns his head side to side, stretching his neck, trying to crack it. I can tell he's getting nervous. I can sense it. Something gets released into the air when someone starts feeling like that. Some people call it tension or anxiety or some fancy name, but there isn't one. It's a feeling and he was feeling it everywhere.
"We're fine," he says, "We're actually doing better than we were."
"I don't need to know what's going on with you guys. She called me and just didn't know where you were. Naturally, I got worried about where you were because you're my friend."
He turns his hands face up. They are resting on his thighs. He opens and closes them, staring into his own palms. His breathing is short, silent and his eyes very soft, yet focused. There has always been something array with him and he knows and I know, really everyone knows it, but what this it is is mysterious, unnamed, uncategorized. There are labels that people give other people and he never had one. Not really. None that stuck and stuck. He was always changing. He was too quick.
I get up and walk to the edge of the waterfront. I look down and see the clear, jade blue water lap against the concrete. It slaps lightly against the wall, breaking the reflection of the sun into a million diamonds when it hits. There's no fish I can see, just some driftwood and scattered trash. He comes up beside me, but says nothing. There's no need to say anything. Silence rests in between our shoulders like a birds nest. I don't want to move for fear of dropping the eggs inside. We stand like that for a while.
"You can do whatever the hell you want," I tell him, "I'm just your friend and I would hate to see something happen to you."
"I know," he nods, tightening and relaxing his jaw.
"You have friends in town, not just me. If you need anything though, same with her, I'm always there. I'm always around."
"I appreciate that," he says. He turns to look at me, "I really do."
"It's true. I've known you a long time."
"Same here," he smiles, "I've known you as long as you've known me."
"That's true. That is very true."
"Where to from here?" he asks. He turns away from the water and slides his sunglasses up onto his forehead.
"I don't know the area that well. Let's walk back up and see what we can get into."
He puts out his hand, stopping me, "Thanks Roger."
I take his hand, "You don't have to thank me, but you're welcome."
"It's hard to a find a friend you can truly rely on. Everybody's got their own agendas nowadays."
"Well," I say, "Its part of my agenda for my friends to not do anything ******* stupid. Don't know why, but that's just the way it is."
"That's good," he chuckles, letting go of my hand. We start to walk up the hill and he's still laughing a little to himself, "That's real good."
"Let's get a drink?" I ask.
"Let's get a drink," he says.
Mike Essig Oct 2015
When you come of age
among Camaros, Mustangs,
GTO's and Challengers,
it seems somehow sad
to hear the pussified sound
of a Prius go puttering by
like Death driving
something sensible.

  ~mce
Aric Wheeler Aug 2013
This morning we drove to work and argued. You were wearing your Starbucks shirt that you washed last night and I was in my oversized sunglasses and my green pants. The Prius go-karted through the trees and the mud puddles but you sat still and moped while I listened to my favorite music.

The mountains around us jammed out with me. They knew the words coming out of Stevie's mouth before I did, landslide was written about them.

I have decided that you have no desire to stand out or enjoy yourself. That you would rather go through life without ever being embarrassed, too afraid of rejection to put yourself out there, to roll the windows down and listen to your music as loud as you want. Someone might see you, maybe the mountains wouldn't approve?

well, WHO ******* CARES?

I think you think that the world would explode if you didn't go through your day exactly the same as you did yesterday. That if you didn't put lotion on in the morning your legs would spontaneously combust or maybe if you made toast in the toaster instead of on a pan the house would catch on fire.
Grace Jordan Apr 2015
I took my meds today.

No one should get mad, but I'm still on fire. My limbs are mobile and vibrant and alive, and I want my fingers to pound and scream but I'm in a quiet room and that would be disastrous.

I cannot focus, my mind is only on the words, the little dancers in my head, the heroes in my horror story. If only typing was silent, I would flutter my fingers across the keyboard, making a frenzy of frightfulness that create my creative heart.

Shaky shivers spread on my shoulders, like too much butter on too little bread, the twitches are real, the quaking is real, disrupting my system and destructing my thoughts.

I want to write. These distracting classes with their loud voices and their incessant questions, I just want to sit back, type away, and write. I want to be happy, but I'm stubborn and manic and me. I'm happy doing what I want to do, and in the zooming car chase between the semi truck that is life and the little Prius that is me, the semi-truck is winning by magnificence.

Blue ring around my finger, beckoning me to do its will, do what it wants, be the me I want to be and forego all the consequences.

I'm tired and alert and a dying sun in a body made of stars, and I wish only to be a moon, changing and waning and growing and loving, just something different. That would be nice.

Guess pills or no pills, I will feel what I feel. Manic, depressive, level, whatever, its all muddled in the puddle that is my brain.

Time to fly and forget it all.
blushing prince Oct 2017
Suburbia greeted me with pale hands in my late teens.
She was a wasteland in a mini skirt; in its’ own right it could be called a Cave with Plato egregiously driving his brand-new Prius 90 miles an hour saying “this is really living as long as you don’t look back” and all you can do is nod your head vigorously because the twisted **** that had settled surreptitiously in your baby lungs was giving you daylight hallucinations. My endeavors didn’t end there when they should have.
There was something uncanny about the way streetlights gave you the eternal glare. Of creating ordinary neighborhood streets appear like you’ve been there before in a dream, in another body. In a dazed stupor the sounds of a television and a light coming from a garage is forgiving in your misguided attempts to be comfortable in a foreign space. It could almost feel like home when your repressed trauma keeps resurfacing while you’re trying to introduce yourself. Almost.
In these polite badlands with everything uniformed the people I met were always trying to stand out from the serene landscapes. Sitting in plaid couches I was giddy playing the nihilist. Rerun episodes of Portlandia playing but all I remember from that smoky room were brown pants that looked extremely crisp to the touch and I wanted to reach out my hands and see if they would crunch under the paperweight of my heavy palms. I didn’t but I’m sure they would’ve emitted the sound of potato chips being eaten in a frenzy.
When I wasn’t walking through dark rooms feeling through what could have been hallways, a family’s living room or the cool gates of hell I was meandering my way through drowsy parties where boys with the names like Dusty and Slaughter were prevalent. Each with their own bizarre story about how they stole their parents’ money one night and took off spontaneously. Driving all the way to Nevada with nothing but half a tank of gas and one pack of cigarettes. You could almost pinpoint their personalities by the type of cigarettes they smoked. Most of them holding different colored American Spirits. Had I been smarter I would have asked for a light and a smoke. Never mind that I was always deadly afraid that I had some undiagnosed lung disease and that asphyxiation was my biggest fear or that I had a pack of Marlboro black menthols in my purse that were over a year old. I found my corner sitting in a worn outdoors chair. The ones where the armrest comes built in with a cupholder. My beer ice cold sitting awkwardly sideways while I tried to consider why the host of the party was wealthy yet so hostile. My favorite party game was the one where I took hit after hit of joints being passed around until I was crazy glued to my chair and my brain started to feel like a lagoon that continued to melt into a Campbell’s soup I once had as a child. Everyone completely unaware of the horror that the house had become to me. Somewhere in the distance I was acutely aware of who I would go home with, why my ventures into the suburbs had sparked my intrigue in the first place. The only reason why I had endured feeling like a spider watching a **** film and why I had lost my virginity just a day before. I was a displaced specimen thinking about her ***** in a room of 30 people or more.
lol my experience with rich suburban kids
Alyssa Sep 2014
Don't tell me about Long Distance.
I have known Long Distance
since the day I saw you waving out of the back window of that silver Prius.
The snow banks insulating my car
because i spent the last 47 hours with you
and held you while you cried
because you weren't ready to leave for the marines yet.
But your body said other wise,
your muscles sharp and deadly.
It's been a while since you've written,
and it's been 8 months since my blankets have stopped smelling like you.
I couldn't help but notice
the way my body drowns in these sheets
because you were my life vest
but you were not there when i jumped in.
I looked back at the dock before my head went under
and i saw you just sitting there,
watching me struggle.
I tore you apart in my head
every single strand of thread and love was separated
until every bit of silence that was woven in has been exposed.
But these strands don't hold any value when you're drowning,
what I have done is destroyed the only thing that could give me buoyancy.
Now I am left with extra weight on these shackles
i bear and water filling up my lungs
like a measuring cup to a recipe from Hell's kitchen.
In your last letter you asked
"Are we okay?"
but you don't just tell someone you love them then let them drown.
I have known Long Distance since you came back home today.
You are so close to me
but I still feel like you are not present.
There is something to be said
about missing someone who is right next to you.
Usually it is the person at home
who gives up on the one in the military,
but you found your home inside of those bunks and those guns.
You have only taught me to never make homes out of human beings.
I have to keep reminding myself
that you are a woman to never be slowed down
because you will leave everyone else behind
and I never wanted to come last to you
but i never wanted to beat you either.
I have known Long Distance
when I reach my hand out
and you've always been just slightly out of my grasp.
You were a goal to work towards,
a beautiful woman sitting on a pedestal waiting to be won
and I've always been too inadequate to be the one to have you.
You are the Epitome of Long Distance,
and I have known you for much longer than I would have liked.

— The End —