By: Darlina Marie Magallanes
The sun dances on moon beams of shattered dreams and tainted love affairs of lustful supporters in pursuit of lovers that aren’t theirs. Enlightenment by boastful planets in the galaxies of hearts worn on sleeves and souls painted on blue jean rims. The prey is spotted with a glance and hunted by a grin leading in to a trivial chase with hopes of committing a bed sheet bible sin. Only to wake up the next day, shower, and do it all over again. And they think a clean set of blankets, a thin piece of rubber, and a daily shower will keep the guilt resistant because only those without hearts can stay persistent in this game. The number one rule is to keep strangers close and your loved ones distant because it’s those that fall are the ones that chose to lose and get trapped in the hell of heart break song blues where they drive in their cars and sing while sobbing, feeling that every lyric in each aching ballad was written about them. While their friends laugh and dub them the fools that rushed in, slipped, fell face first, and will probably never win. The people that breed on zodiac promises from books that never knew yet guaranteed to predict the whole story about you, and you, and you, and you. Open like a cheap magazine for others to read in the lines of the check out counter while buying their junk to take home and feed to this growing weed of our poison seeds. Mommy’s teaching their daughters how to resist their love needs; Daddy’s teaching their sons how to be emotion greedy. Growing up to be that girl who thinks all men are dicks and that guy who says that will never be me. Old and new hippies bubble out of the wood work fighting for last hopes of a love worthy economy. I swallow my baby repellant pill as I look to the sky as far up as I can see and pray for my unborn child, a part of this pollution she will never be. This disgusting excuse for humanity he should never see. The over crowding of ignorant people that refer to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to them as “Missing the boat.” I’ve tried to stay afloat in this blood line of life controlling remotes and lies being told to us about counting our votes. Forget it all. This dwelling we call life is a whore’s playground and anyone who thinks otherwise is bound to get hurt and I would like to be respectfully world renound as the girl who picked herself up, and became something better. Thank you; you know who you are, for teaching me how to be beautifully bitter.
The sun dances on moon beams of shattered dreams and tainted love affairs of lustful supporters in pursuit of lovers that aren’t theirs. Enlightenment by boastful planets in the galaxies of hearts worn on sleeves and souls painted on blue jean rims. The prey is spotted with a glance and hunted by a grin leading in to a trivial chase with hopes of committing a bed sheet bible sin. Only to wake up the next day, shower, and do it all over again. And they think a clean set of blankets, a thin piece of rubber, and a daily shower will keep the guilt resistant because only those without hearts can stay persistent in this game. The number one rule is to keep strangers close and your loved ones distant because it’s those that fall are the ones that chose to lose and get trapped in the hell of heart break song blues where they drive in their cars and sing while sobbing, feeling that every lyric in each aching ballad was written about them. While their friends laugh and dub them the fools that rushed in, slipped, fell face first, and will probably never win. The people that breed on zodiac promises from books that never knew yet guaranteed to predict the whole story about you, and you, and you, and you. Open like a cheap magazine for others to read in the lines of the check out counter while buying their junk to take home and feed to this growing weed of our poison seeds. Mommy’s teaching their daughters how to resist their love needs; Daddy’s teaching their sons how to be emotion greedy. Growing up to be that girl who thinks all men are dicks and that guy who says that will never be me. Old and new hippies bubble out of the wood work fighting for last hopes of a love worthy economy. I swallow my baby repellant pill as I look to the sky as far up as I can see and pray for my unborn child, a part of this pollution she will never be. This disgusting excuse for humanity he should never see. The over crowding of ignorant people that refer to losing the best thing that’s ever happened to them as “Missing the boat.” I’ve tried to stay afloat in this blood line of life controlling remotes and lies being told to us about counting our votes. Forget it all. This dwelling we call life is a whore’s playground and anyone who thinks otherwise is bound to get hurt and I would like to be respectfully world renound as the girl who picked herself up, and became something better. Thank you; you know who you are, for teaching me how to be beautifully bitter.
1 comment:
sun dances on moon beams of shattered dreams. that was sick. the word play in this was just phenomenal.
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