Your Prop

With every “hello” there’s a chill

bellowing an echo

in the back of my throat.

Toak, drift into smoke,

floating on a cloud of my own.

Drifting, linking hands and drinking,

until we slip under the covers

and smother each other

in the feelings that we harbor.

Your heart is my target and

I’m aiming to be forever A part of it.

I just hope we last, letting time fly past,

not causing a draft; not even enough to

move a feather off its path.

I want to grow old with you.

We’ll share laughs, baths, fuck it...

I want to split every asset in half!

Cause as long as I have you I’ll feel whole.

You are wrapped tightly around my soul

and I hope you never let go!

Just hold until your bound and sold.

The jolts feel like lightning bolts

that have struck through to volts…

Making every hair on my skin poke up

as if they were debating a vote.

You’re making my heart

beat until I pole-vault!

Into a state of shock cause

I feel like I’m gonna pop,

and drop in to your arms,

until my knees feel weak and I flop...

Willingly become your prop!

 

I fucked up now my head is spun like a spinning-top.

Our bubble popped, my impatient tendencies

got the better of me, rendered the agenda,

I became un-tender. I didn’t mean to offend-ya,

I surrender, I didn’t pretend what I felt for you at the time,

I was just in my prime-state of mind

where I felt I was right, but I wrong all the time.

I was kind, I adored you,

You over-whelmed me,

That’s what I thought of you,

I try to make up the break up

but you didn’t give a fuck.

Now I’m set off in a rut, I did fuck up…

but at least I can admit my fuck up when I do fuck up.

Which is a-lot, but I fought

after I powered the ball in the wrong court,

because the more I want

the more I thought about what I had caught.

Which was special... Even made me pick-up my pencil,

which is rare these days because it’s skill I define dispensable.

But FUCK IT, if you want to be my Damsel

I’m going to fucking handle it without a tangle,

I’m done, dumb, raging for things I done,

summed up to the-world’s-worst-cunt.

I tried but now there’s no shame in giving up, because

I’m tired, I’ll try-to try but get fried,

the amount of shit’s I give are defiant

on a scale, heights of the sky’s brightest titan.

 

I mightn’t fight for these relationships anymore,

like I said the more-and-more I get sore,

because I just fall to the floor

the weight is too heavy bare,

the air is thicker than my skin, that’s so fair,

so it soaks in and I require skin-care.

This same shit is a record, in cycle, I blare,

playing through the headphones I ware, it’s delightful

sitting on the chair reconciling

with things I’ve previously shared.

What will I conjure up next?

Who will offend in this card-deck?

My context ricochets like light

when it reveals its complex reflecting effects.

Check.. Check.. Check..

Let’s snap out of this depressing dialect,

its no-use when you’re pri-med

to dilute the bio-wep-red-necks.

I’m a bio-wep-red-neck

with the effect to make you feel this chill

when I play the violin that’s resting at my neck.

Pre-text. You bitch, are more-or-less fuss-in-a-mess,

dust which I just blew off but it didn’t choke me to death.

It only made me cough, I’m still able to stir this broff,

in my loft cause I drop froth on you so you’ve

fogged-off in the mist you profit off. YOU’RE LOSS.

My cost is multi in-another-ten or few-two-many years,

and your moulting, my eyes opened now your fucking revolting.