blankwavearcade

take it press it up against your unmarked skin do it you know you want to you want that rush you want to escape take it press it deeper against those perfect veins do it you know you want to you want to see that crimson you want to know if you're alive take it press it hard against the tissue do it you know you want to you want to see the first flecks of red you want to let go,'til you're not quite dead take it press it even deeper this time do it you know you want to you want to watch it flow into your hand, onto the floor you want to let it all go

drip drip drip into the sink sink sink the water's turning pink matching your tear-stained cheek you just want it all to end. no one knows not even your closest friend she did it too a couple times but she's happy now and you dont know if you should stay or go you stare hard at your handiwork feeling proud that you accomplished something you feel refreshed, renewed. you open the medicine cabinet and find the gauze you dont want to share this masterpiece wrap wrap wrap around your wrist wrist wrist it's time to start anew a new cycle of apathy and feeling blue no one knows what's going on you're afraid to tel

cracked pavement orange leaves against a cyan sky decrepit canvas shoes peak out of the bottom of dime-store jeans he looks up, through chestnut hair all mussed with shining emerald eyes up at the bright november sky he lingers there, taking it all in a north wind cuts through him he moves on kicks a pebble down the sidewalk looking at the world with lonely eyes he wonders where he'll sleep tonight it's getting so cold at twenty-three he already feels so old he's lived most of his young life this way wandering aimlessly a modern day nomad just a boy and his guitar a backpack holds his few belongings but he is happy

looking at him    is like stepping on glass and enjoying the pain

this poem is not titled it is a collaboration of the masses he dreams of random cats has a strange fixation on sandwiches or interpreting poems as if they were about a sandwich this is peculiar i type this as he reads to the left of my shoulder people are talking in the background his dream involved freezing small animals steel ponies riding the wings of dragon-beavers and putting them in tiny coolers and then bigger ones like those nesting dolls the small animals did not include gophers or squirrels. i helped in this poem...the subject speaking he typed.holes..... a word completely random, but deep. this is not a poem this

the scent of saliva covered lollipops and sun-heated man-made leather fills the air underclassmen brag about toking up and getting wasted atreyu blares through my headphones but the highest volume cannot drown the noise coming from the mouth of that dirty freshman (with the terrible acne and horrid taste in music) he's homophobic and filled with uneducated opinions i need car insurance lacking it is the only thing keeping me on this yellow thing fueled by fossils affectionately called a cheesewagon bus 179

the sky is blobs of albino cotton candy swimming in a blue rasberry slushee with a round slice of lemon

the sky is a gray pancake sitting poolside with a golden delicious apple preparing to take a dive