deepundergroundpoetry.com
That Reminds Me
Hard to handle my rough edges… to put it lightly I’m a little bit different.
There are skeletons in my closet… mostly dresses I never wore, accept that one time I went...but I never did, until this year when I dusted off those brand new heels and learned to walk in them.
I’m soft spoken while the voices argue in my head screaming about memories I remember until I forget.
Doubled over in pain in the past, the vomit still fresh on the floor where I left it to fester.
The bottles line up in a display case down a corridor lost in mind. The dust is thick there, much like it is on the past.
Most wrap their vices in pretty wrappings, curled ribbon tied in fancy bows as if they can make shit smell better by giving it a bath and a new dress.
The truth still lingers in the air covered in the awful stench of lemon fresh and floral prints.
I don’t know much.. except more than I should… please give me a minute.. walk with me, lend me your jacket and listen to the hiss of hell in my eyes.
Lies… they slide from the watering mouth like silk in Satan’s name they play.
Melt on your tongue eye candy strutting his weight around the table tempting me with whiskey and skin…
I was weak back then… in a lot of ways still am...but in more ways still I am not.
Can you lend me a dress so I can cover up the stains of my youth with something more appealing?
Or we can sit and reminisce what isn't in the hot sun and boiling rage… that reminds me of vomit….
There are skeletons in my closet… mostly dresses I never wore, accept that one time I went...but I never did, until this year when I dusted off those brand new heels and learned to walk in them.
I’m soft spoken while the voices argue in my head screaming about memories I remember until I forget.
Doubled over in pain in the past, the vomit still fresh on the floor where I left it to fester.
The bottles line up in a display case down a corridor lost in mind. The dust is thick there, much like it is on the past.
Most wrap their vices in pretty wrappings, curled ribbon tied in fancy bows as if they can make shit smell better by giving it a bath and a new dress.
The truth still lingers in the air covered in the awful stench of lemon fresh and floral prints.
I don’t know much.. except more than I should… please give me a minute.. walk with me, lend me your jacket and listen to the hiss of hell in my eyes.
Lies… they slide from the watering mouth like silk in Satan’s name they play.
Melt on your tongue eye candy strutting his weight around the table tempting me with whiskey and skin…
I was weak back then… in a lot of ways still am...but in more ways still I am not.
Can you lend me a dress so I can cover up the stains of my youth with something more appealing?
Or we can sit and reminisce what isn't in the hot sun and boiling rage… that reminds me of vomit….
Published 19th Nov 2018
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19th Nov 2018 3:23am
We all have skeletons in the closet I know I have more than my share that’s for sure, you can take my jacket and keep warm or take it and cover up the vomit that remains I’ll walk with you and be quite if you need me to be,
It’s ok to be different I’m definitely that, why fucked up things happen to people I’ll never know but your writing speaks in volumes to me I my not feel your pain but I definitely can hear it in your words. 😊
It’s ok to be different I’m definitely that, why fucked up things happen to people I’ll never know but your writing speaks in volumes to me I my not feel your pain but I definitely can hear it in your words. 😊
19th Nov 2018 3:56am
19th Nov 2018 4:09am
