A poem that’s really weird and doesn’t really work as a poem, but it’s 1am and I’m gonna post it anyway cuz I’m like that. 🙂 The name, runaway summer, is runaway summer because the entire thing is one sentence so it’s a sorta runaway sentence, because it goes on and on, and it’s about summer. Yeah I suck at names. Go judge me. Whatever. It’s 1AM! WHY AM I STILL AWAKE!
Grass is cold against
my bare feet; I don’t mind it,
it’s like they say:
it’s not cold, it’s “refreshing”
on a hot summer day,
with the sun burning tracks down
many women’s backs
and the day lasts forever,
though you wouldn’t
know, to look at it.
It’s been a while. Again. I have so much shit going on in my life atm. So have a crappy poem!
one or two wishes,
with one smile,
two tiny kisses,
Told you it was crappy. :)This next piece has terrible language and equally terrible cliches. Try not to snicker too hard at my inability. 🙂
Tick. Tick. Squeak. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Squeak. The sound was as steady as a metronome. A smile flit across my face.
“Will you stop that?” Snapped Josie.
“Sorry.” Muttered Cal, as he stopped his pacing and slumped into a seat next to me.
I shifted, placing my elbows on my knees, head in my hands.
“If you get me in shit, Chris, I swear I’ll fucking kill you.” Said Josie, glaring at me.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Shit happens, Jojo.” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes. She was letting herself get riled up. “My name is Josie. Don’t be a dick. We’re in deep shit here.”
Once again, I couldn’t resist a grin. “Josie, calm the hell down. We have done nothing wrong.”
“Then why are we here?” She retorted. “I know you, Chris.”
“Really, Jojo? Then why so worried?” I smirked.
“Stop. fucking. calling. me. that.” She said tersely.
Cal leapt up. “Both of you shut the fuck up! In case you’re forgetting, somebody DIED.”
I bit my lip. Callum was right. As fucking always.
Maybe that was why I was joking, though. Nobody knew about me and.. and her. Josie suspected, but Josie was a jealous bitch because she loved me and I loved teasing her.
But I had loved Laney. And Laney had died. And it was all I could do not to cry then and there. Because Laney had used me like I had used Josie and the irony was that it was my fault she died and I fucking LOVED her.
Filed under Poems, Writing