Poems
Poems from the top of my head. I'm updating just to prove I'm still alive.
A smirk from the approaching seems to last forever to the disher. Laminated in her mental guardian angel, whose life force thrives on her energy alone, she wishes to have her emotions survive the day unscathed.
Her shield also assumes the roll of a projector, hence the smirk. Day by day she does this, and this force, thriving on her energy, scars the very thing whose well being is it is trying to preserve.
You are walking past a girl. She gives you a fake smile because she doesn’t want confrontation. She hates smiling at people when she’s not dishing out a smile for the traditional reasons.
Her fake smiles drain her energy and make her sad. They cause confrontation within her self. She realizes all the fake times she’s happy.
Up, down, up, down they go. The keys all bouncing in to place at the exact instant they are supposed to. The head, the hand, the board, the processor, screen, eyes, head. Spinning in circles but sending the message for specific characters before the brain even perceives the ones being typed. Perhaps dilated our intake valve, and hushed our muffler, we’d be wise, and make less mistakes.
This is why we mess up and keep typing before going back to correct ourselves when we type.
Smithy always clung by the sides of the moving objects. The objects grew callus to Smith’s existence. Smith was fond of the idea. It was second best, but better than nothing. He grew callus to their callus and when they died, he detached without thought and hovered by new objects, hoping to turn them into people. He only grew callus again.
We all know Smithy. He’s a tag along. We eventually forget to notice him, and he wishes to be our friend. We don’t even realize it. Then he forgets about being your friend but still wishes to hang around. You are just a pack. Then you die, and he doesn’t care, because you weren’t people. It didn’t matter who you were, or what you were like as long as you accepted him. He has no problem going to another group.
A smirk from the approaching seems to last forever to the disher. Laminated in her mental guardian angel, whose life force thrives on her energy alone, she wishes to have her emotions survive the day unscathed.
Her shield also assumes the roll of a projector, hence the smirk. Day by day she does this, and this force, thriving on her energy, scars the very thing whose well being is it is trying to preserve.
You are walking past a girl. She gives you a fake smile because she doesn’t want confrontation. She hates smiling at people when she’s not dishing out a smile for the traditional reasons.
Her fake smiles drain her energy and make her sad. They cause confrontation within her self. She realizes all the fake times she’s happy.
Up, down, up, down they go. The keys all bouncing in to place at the exact instant they are supposed to. The head, the hand, the board, the processor, screen, eyes, head. Spinning in circles but sending the message for specific characters before the brain even perceives the ones being typed. Perhaps dilated our intake valve, and hushed our muffler, we’d be wise, and make less mistakes.
This is why we mess up and keep typing before going back to correct ourselves when we type.
Smithy always clung by the sides of the moving objects. The objects grew callus to Smith’s existence. Smith was fond of the idea. It was second best, but better than nothing. He grew callus to their callus and when they died, he detached without thought and hovered by new objects, hoping to turn them into people. He only grew callus again.
We all know Smithy. He’s a tag along. We eventually forget to notice him, and he wishes to be our friend. We don’t even realize it. Then he forgets about being your friend but still wishes to hang around. You are just a pack. Then you die, and he doesn’t care, because you weren’t people. It didn’t matter who you were, or what you were like as long as you accepted him. He has no problem going to another group.
posted by Shat @ 2:39 AM
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