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Cherri Cola's Poetry Corner Ripoff Hack Job
Current mood:
 distressed
I'm so cool, calm collected of a wreck and I'm shaking shaking shell shocked brought and beat between momentary measures and momolouges that go nowhere and I'm a letter that is never sent and I've written me in shiny golden font on blue lambs wool spun small into a paper, woven into tiny tiny threads and I'm all moonlight shimmery in my fonts and there are flower petels in the envolpe, so f***ed up and ready to send but I won't be
I'm the hot heat of the stars all pooled together in one big net and shoved and pushed till it's one big red hot heat, and it's golden and it's me
I'm the cool, cool, water filling up your pool, I'm surronding and a safe form of whatever's out in the big big blue until you're face down under a silly shape
I'm the hurricane brought together by shiny golden stars, burning right red, and the cool, cold water, all brought together like a vegas nightclub, all shiny and starstruck and dumb
I'm the hurricane and I can't even stay on track to write why
I'm the destruction of my own world, my own lines and head and finally I remember why my great big dusted fantasy is to slam my skull on the tree base till my blood tastes like ink and finally when I write a letter or a cry for help someone hears and understands and I'm finally safe, safe, safe, I'm brought in to warmth and cozy and I'm the life of a party without any bass
I'm at a party fueled by tea, and the girls are gossiping and the men are shaking hands and I'm a rabbit run mad, mad, mad, and there's a hat hiding my head, but I'm a human man now, with a sharp suit and a violin and a mission to commit a murder on my sweet and my knife is just a bow and I'm so sorry sorry sorry but when your saving grace of a neck feels like the strings and all I know are symphonys I just play like I got told to do and I wish wish wish so desprete am I that I could just play a new number or
paint paint paint and I'm all bunned up and messy and well loved and covered in splotches but not like red red red, I'm orange and pink and yellow and it is hot hot hot, and I'm on fire, fire, fire, and when I stop drop and roll I just scorch the earth before I come close to putting myself out, and the world is burning around me, before I'm trusted with the hose, and I don't know where to start but it isn't my hands and I hope when I finally get my water that it's just like me and it's too too too much and I go deep deep deep away till the bubbles stop spilling and there's no one there to save me cause that's how the story goes
Why do they write all the villains to be gay and mentally ill? It's cause of me me me and I'm the maker of the world but I don't know what I'm doing and I'm flustered flustered flustered and I feel red red red hot hot hot and it's pink orange yellow, and i'm on fire fire fire and it's too too too much to even repeat all my repetions and then
I am dead, and the world is back to normal. The only semblance of then is my sweat soaked self, but the room is cool like average, and even if I'm craving more an ice bath, things are dead just like me. My dad mows the yard, my mother fills a cabient, my brother goes to work. The internet is down, and I'm middle class america with the white picket fence keeping me in, but it's not driving me like it did before because what can drive a corpse to feel and fight like I did moments ago. Where is my mad drivin mind and when did it get here? why is the car in park? Where did everyone go to make me feel so distantly pulled, and was it my fault? I ask questions and get no answers, cause I am dead. I don't feel bad, or glad, or sad, cause I am dead. I'm the corpse in a cradle that held you long ago, but I'm not crying like you were. I'm a million miles and feelings away, and I'm muddy brown like the dirt they're putting me in, and I know you wanna beg them to stop because it's still alive! It's still alive! But I can assure you, I wish I was alive but I am dead like I wanted.
I hope they bury us together when you get here, but I more so hope you stay away like the rest of the country, and that I stay buried a scoundral, and you stay a living hero for putting up with me.
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curious