I doesn’t matter how nice you are.
How much you care about someone.
The time they owe you.
Anything you ever said.
How you changed them.
They’ll throw you anyway like yesterday’s news if it suits them.
are amazing. I would trade every car in the world to have a vintage style vespa. Preferably in Candy Apple Red.
That is one sexual piece of machinery. Mark my words, I will be cruising into school my first day of Senior Year on one of these babies. I’ll also probably get beat to death by some of the football kids. Whatever, it will be worth it.
AND THIS ONE IS JUST FUCKING AMAZING
i read this at the Slam Poetry club at my school to a grand audience of let’s say…hmmm three people maybe?
Morning falls achingly across the pavement
As the cruel autumn wind
Sighs through the city
Crawling silently across the withered flesh
Across the debris of a broken man
Haunting a narrow alleyway
Wearing the cringing posture of burnt paper
He mourns the embers
That once thrived inside his veins
In the caverns of his sunken eyes
Creaking open with the cautious pace
Of a door to an unwelcome visitor
His gaze does not drift
To the wreckage, sparkling across his flesh
The wreckage, sleeping soundly on gaunt arms
Scattered keepsakes from his one true love
Photographs of desire
His grief echoes no simple words
No longing sonnets could sing his sorrow
His loss wraps him in fever
And burns retching in his throat
Memories grin behind his eyes
The taunting recollection of velvet touch
The beautiful sea in which he drowned
Followed by a faithful numb
Wearily, he stumbles
Stumbles from the scattered hours
Of yet another bitter slumber
To wander through yet another day