lifeisame

Could you pause, Stop me and rewind Skip your previews and Jump to my ending credits? I've lost touch with This plot was garbage from The beginning is full of holes Who scratched the disc? Clouds like clenched fists Pummel our scene with Your words sting like hot soot and All because Chim-Chim-Cheree sounded like a dirge? If you want to, This mangled movie Fixed in a jiffy with only one phrase We could switch to blu-ray No more skipping or scratching. Our Happily Ever After.

Waking Up to Forty-Two My Life Sip the latte – burn the roof of my mouth Don’t let the scab heal – knead it with my tongue for days Take another drag – curl the smoke past my lashes to sting against my eyes Keep the eyes blood shot – to sleep is to be weak Push through for just another week. The end was never in sight – the tunnel light was a train Higher education hit me – the wreckage tossed near and far My weary hand places the pen down – nearly empty from use On a scratched record spinning in the corner – Joyce, Dickens, Keats And then repeats. The spacing    - off – the gramm

Sharing 103 Years Watching The Moon nap away - I wonder why She has descended from her vantage point high above to mingle With the common folks that admire her so The electric bed molded into a chair to fit her mood She sits, asleep - so deeply asleep Unable to hear the bustling of nurses - or Our greetings as we enter the room. This room is quiet - the television barely pushing through the air This room is oppressively warm - it sits on me like a dead weight Grandma, Jenny, Jackie all there I keep looking at everyone's faces, but they reveal nothing Like ancient stars in orbit - they are content to watch The Moon My youth bubble

A Plea to Falkor the Luck Dragon Like the Childlike Empress, I have fallen ill Parts of my rich Fantasia are winking out A land once lush and dense with imagining Replaced with darkness unknown Unseen – I travel within to find an answer. But all the while I am being chased Big black beast – thrives – follows me through The G’mork – messenger for The Nothing Helping to eat away the world – with sweet words Wolf concealed by sheep’s skin Convinces me there is no hope Conspires to stop me before I find a cure. In The Swamps of Sadness I cannot get any farther I only have to believe in myself

Pilot Episode Paging Doctor House! Paging Doctor House! Gregory House, you have better things to be doing: watching, listening, and saving lives Of people you don’t even care about I’m in need of a specialist - I’ve added my name to your clinic duties. If only for the autopsy. I’ve heard a rumor that you like puzzles Pieces fit together just so or not at all. And there is your problem, Dr. House There’s no redemption to being healthy one day and a cripple the next No improvisation that you are anything but a miserable man But at least there is dignity in that Better to die as what you are than as somethin

Adam’s Apple Was me that molded you from pup to dog, Was my hand what made that muscle strong, Made your skin sweat silk, your breath song, Your mother created you, I made you man. My wild beast you will slip through my grasp, Even now I see how your eyes stray to the east, Blue- Ocean – Upon some appled Eve they feast, Her breasts and thighs will tame you yet. No doubt both crisp and flesh will be her fruit, One bite of it is sure to soften any wolf’s tooth, And you, my love, will always be blind to this truth, She waits for you far out on that deck. And as God has watched man destroy ‘to be,’ I will st