more.bad.poetry

where awkward private thoughts become public knowledge.


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One Night

Stars that glow like lanterns
Of travelers in the sky
Moving dream to dream.

Blushed pink lips invite
The softest kiss of your life
If you mind the thorns.

Dark clouds, day is night
Small feet echo over stone
Rushing to stay dry.

All that he could see
Was the dew drops in her hair,
Her smeared mascara.

Halfway across town
He longed for the scent of her;
Stale smoke and lilacs.

She stood a statue
And watched the birds dive, her breath held
Scared they were goners.


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Jukebox Girl

Push that quarter in, now –
Push it way down deep;
My songs are so ethereal,
But always come dirt cheap.

Someone touch my buttons, now,
Someone make me spin;
I’m that something fun to do
After six shots with your friends.

I’m the kind of thing you remember
Sometime later the next day,
Just some sort of hazy cloud
Of good times in your brain

I go quiet, I sit still,
Sadness in the dark until
Darkness brings them all back in –
Just a quarter, push it in.


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Trouble

Trouble with a different face
I’d still know you any place
It seems we’re destined to cross paths
Time and time again

I never even think your name
And still you find me, just the same
I can’t say that I’m glad to see you
Don’t care how you’ve been

And here we go now, one more time
Aching just to call you mine
Swiftly brushing the past aside
To feel you on my skin.


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Can’t.

I’m tired of not being able to write.
What happens to an artist that can’t create?
Will I swell up with unshared truths,
Bursting at the seams,
Driven mad, tormented at what’s unspoken –
Maybe.

Or will I sink slowly into some kind of darkness,
Grasping for the remains of the rays of light
That I once spouted desperately into the world,
Hungry to ignite a spark of hope or beauty in another lost soul?
Possibly.

It’s eating away at my brain –
These images I can’t put into words,
These feelings that don’t have names.
Tortured by the right words on the tip of my tongue.
Craving the quiet that comes after bleeding on a page.


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Dusk

Was that girl in the mirror sad?
She looked so much like me
Then shards of glass flew at my face
With lightning breakneck speed.

Is it just an illusion, my confusion setting in?
I never seem to see the darkness starting from within.

I tried to hold tight to that golden rope
Should have lifted me up with my hopes.
The wind is picking up and I’m getting tired –
If I could climb up to the top
I know I’d make this feeling stop.

At first it made sense to climb
It really seemed worth it this time.
The lights, they’re fading into dim
Just like dusk is setting in.
Why was I so open? all the words I spoke and
The way I let myself let you in.