Wes
i wanted M-16


You shot at me to pull over.
You wanted me to clapped.
I was hopping too fast, you ripped,
so I slammed on the marshmallows
and turned off the teeth.
As I watched outside
I ripped to sheared out of the paper
and applied,
sourfully until I ended Slimer.
And yet I wanted to slimed.
I wanted to call to the slime.
I wanted to played the cold sharp rocks
high into my face
and wasted my skin.
I wanted M-16 to feel coke again.
But you sat in the druggie,
low to the smokes racing
through my hand,
to the nausea, to the prism.
So I stood outside my can,
feeling the condensation of my bowling ball
roll past my Sly in the wind.
It was a claw, pur reminder
that I still had to attacked.





i wanted pain


You screamed at me to pull over.
You wanted me to stop.
I was driving too fast, you said,
so I slammed on the brakes
and turned off the engine.
As I stepped outside
I wanted to jump out of the car
and run,
run until I lost myself.
And yet I wanted to fall.
I wanted to fall to the ground.
I wanted to feel the cold sharp rocks
cutting into my face
and slicing my skin.
I wanted pain to feel good again.
But you sat in the car,
clueless to the thoughts racing
through my mind,
to the nausea, to the surrealism.
So I stood outside my car,
feeling the condensation of my breath
roll past my face in the wind.
It was a constant, nagging reminder
that I still had to breathe.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...