Walk on

walk on these broken legs and call them growing pains, because some people were taught they aren't worth fixing

hot-mouthed little bitch / medical

hot-mouthed little bitch

sits

awaiting a throne she's owned

since the seeds were sown

because how do you knock someone down

who can't even believe it all worked out

just how she wanted it to

BUT some sweet successes are regressive

when all that glitters isn't quite bitter enough

to taste on the tip of the tounge she uses 

to abuse the sick little thoughts they've got

but cant unlock without her, the catalyst they cannot resist

they push the buttons on their favorite game controllers

but she IS levels 1-4

How is it Mario's World if the princess is the only reason they're in it

letting them unlock secret levels

she let's them play

---

better await the medical bills

then to pay for something your body needs

alcohol kills politicians at the capitol

but no one asks for their last two months of bank statements

just to be able to pay for

broken bones

let them hang from our bodies!

let them hang from our bodies

we only mend those worth mending

and if you're salary is below $30,000 a year

but above $20,000 

then FUCK YOU

seriously, fuck you for not going into "the hard sciences"

because no one's gonna say it but 

art's a flaccid thing when no one's there to fluff the pillows

The ocean has no walls

remember when second life came out and everyone one was like whats this all about, you create a character with a name and it's another you just not the same.

like a computer program that simulates another real life, ouch, girls who do it must get no husband, and guys no wife, but years later we sit here with our fingers ripe to upload each post, hashtag and photo, like something that was once a social no-no is now normal.

 oblivious that we're not supplementing our connections but replacing them with pixelated affections, reflections of a society dying to make individuals a hot commodity.

so we no longer want to sit and enjoy each other but only follow from a far and employ our own safe judgements, wasn't it supposed to make us closer this social media ocean.

like the far atlantic, we're starting oil spills cuz we can't handle it's perfect serenity,  i blocked my grandma on facebook so she couldn't see my scantly clad selfies and i am i ashasmed of the way we live now where we call and leave a message and at best a text is all we get back in these broken connections -- we've got a ton of them everywhere we go,

but i sent 3,000 texts last month when all i really wanted was one phone call and the back and forth of an old friend. i cannot pretend i don't miss it... that is,the joy of not knowing what they're going to say in that one call. cuz you see, i already read it the day before, on your wall.

i have an old phone saved with your texts. it's a flip phone. and it can't take photos, but...

by Hal Lasko

ill never marry you 

but when my own boy grows up

i might be as proud as your own mother

to have a son who loves me

perfectly

despite his path, unsteady

ill never marry you

but i see you every now and again

and it's sorry, like when we leave marks we didn't know we could

but they disappear like a breath on a mirror

and we can repeat that action

but how many times can it be done until we know

it just won't stick

it won't ever stick

years, probably, we'll go on

but the years aren't really anything but our skin showing the dirt of our experiences

and maybe you breathed the most dirt on me,

but it was only because i needed that reminder