Drunk

You, spitting rain

Gap toothed grin

Arms still, mind shaking

Parched brain, glass breaking

Drunk.

That’s what you are, isn’t it?

Sloshed, sullied, inebriated, walking through an earthquake

‘No I’m fine’ he says as he trips down the hall.

Too pushy, arms wandering, eyes rolling, overconfident, there’s no way this teenage tower could fall, Drunk.

Less than honourable, girl passed out, wasted opportunity, just can’t pass by,

Hunk. That’s what you are isn’t it? Any girl should feel lucky to have you, that’s what she’ll say once you’re through,

Drunk.

Hazy memories, silk smooth skin, no resistance, glides on in,

We were both drunk.

So that makes it okay right?

It’s no issue because there wasn’t a fight right?

As if the mere lack of aggression excuses your action and means that she’s totally cool, and 100 per cent, down with it.

Drunk.

Pushed back, broken screaming, weight of a thousand actions, drips down your neck.

Girl shouting, dick shrinking, sobered up, prick now finally thinking,

Drunk.

As if any amount of liquor changes the weight of your actions.

Pain blossoms around your back, shins, face, actions that cannot erase, the damage you have done to this poor little girl.

Budding flower, chopped off, quickly wilting, barely thinking, just one word, why?

Why? Why? Why?

He was so normal, just another drunk guy, confusion, anger, hurt, breaks down just to cry, why?

Now I hear that he’s getting off since he’s on the hockey team and they’re expected to go pro.

He never finished getting off so there’s no harm in letting him go.

No one cares about that little girl

Who can’t even go outside without wanting to hurl, dirty.

She rubs herself thin, rapidly removing painted skin, can’t even look at a guy, everyone she looks at seems like him,

Drunk.

Maybe she said yes and doesn’t remember, I mean look at him, star player, and he’s such a hunk.

She probably came onto him, since they were both drunk, gorgeous hockey player, every word just deepens her funk.

No one believes her, ‘its fine he was drunk’, as if that excuses his actions and abuses, of a passed out girl. What the fuck is this world.

This is an old slam I wrote ages ago. ✌🏼

C.C.

The Boy In A Thunderstorm.

Do you ever feel like you’re freefalling and everything and everyone you’ve ever known or loved is just slipping past your fingertips as you desperately try to regain control?

Cause that’s what I feel like.

I feel like everyone else’s life cycle resembles that of a raindrop, a slow steady fall where they can be lifted and spun around by wind’s encompassing embrace; I feel like a bolt of lightning.

Screams out, dashing down to the ground as quickly as possible

But in all actuality it’s my impact that hits first before they hear my words.

By the time I gather the strength to cry out it’s already happened.

The only thing left is a memory of the scream and maybe an afterimage if you were looking at me.

..it’s all very, brief.

Short lived.

By the time you blink me out of your eyes it’ll be like I never was.

A tiny mark on the ground for where my body landed.

And even this will be washed away in time by the rain I call my friends.

For isn’t that what rain does?

Washes away and purifies?

Though if we go with that

Does that not mean by proxy I was impure?

And if I was impure how does that speak of those who came before me?

The brief bolts of lightning who seared themselves into my brain leaving only a brief afterimage in my memories

A little mark.

Perhaps that is why lightning is forked?

So we can revisit the spots of those who came before

And those who will come again.

Perhaps that is also why the rain resembles teardrops,

they both came from the same place but took different fates

and still the rain will linger as dew drops until it yet too drops,

Just like i did

Only slower.

I cannot conceive which to be the worse fate

That of the rain

Or the one that I take.

.

Well my ear thing fixed itself but now I’ve come down with a cold two days before a commercial audition, really hope it clears up in time or there’s minimal chance I’ll actually get the part. Ugh, why world? Why?

C.C.

I Missed A Flower

I missed a flower.

Not just any but the most

amazing and beautiful

Prettiest penny,

And by a penny I mean to say she’s tiny and finding her in your arms is considered lucky.

I like to think that you resemble a beautiful red rose,

That is to say I clutch you to my chest regardless of the thorns.

You don’t want to hurt me but your spikes keep my wound closed.

A nice dull ache as you’re rooted in ground, I prefer to endure this love loss I’ve found,

Rather than throw the pain away

I’ll keep it in my heart

And love for another day.

.

Than risk bleeding to death without you. Without new. I find flowers enhance their beauty as they slowly fade away.

Please don’t fade on me

But if you do, than that’s okay.

You’ve been rooted before and rooted you’ll stay, I know you’ll bloom again one day.

Even if it’s not for me, but that’s okay. As long as they love you.

.

Here’s once again a different emotion/flavour of poem, I’ll get back to posting more article type posts soon but for now people have been enjoying the poems so they shall continue to pop up!

Peace, love, and tranquil vibes,

C.C.

~A Cigarette Daydream~

Everyone disappears don’t they?

Especially the ones who say they won’t.

You were a cigarette daydream

Warm, fading, and small.

I’m not sure when I became addicted.

But running after you was like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands.

That is to say I had to watch you drift away.

Calling after with smoke filled lungs.

Wishing you would stay.

.

Or maybe I was the smoke.

The daydream.

For I’m losing sense of what is real.

Drifting through life.

Trying to feel.

Something..

One thing?

Anything?

.

Isn’t it beautiful how the wind dances?

In the trees and their leaves, the way it shifts and prances?

I envy the wind.

It’s here until it just..isn’t.

No one cries for the wind.

.

It’s so.

So cold.

I can’t feel my body.

Except for the smoke.

Within my lungs.

Oh, how it used to flow from our tongues.

Those smoke like promises.

To last a thousand suns.

I guess.

They couldn’t even stand.

A single.

Night.

.

I’ve lost myself.

And I.

I can’t see you.

Not anymore.

You’re gone too.

Or maybe here.

But just looked on through.

.

I exist right?

I exist.

I exist.

I exist.

I-I..

.

.

.

So I noticed a lot of people enjoyed The Volcano, this poem was obviously a bit of a different breed from it in terms of both writing style and emotion but I wrote this a year or two before The Volcano when I was in a fairly bad place of my life. Luckily with meditation among other methods I’ve managed to crawl out of that headspace to become the wonderful peace loving, tranquil, hippie soul that I am today. I think in the end I just decided, I don’t care about what career I follow in my life. I didn’t care about following a career. I wanted to find and chase happiness which led me to searching out every possible avenue I could do that from, so I did.

I’m still searching. But the more I travel this world, the more people I meet and places I go? They generate seeds of happiness in my soul. Soon once they’ve sprouted i’ll be able to carry them with me everywhere! Can you picture it? Won’t that just be bliss! Keep chasing your happiness and keep chasing your dreams! You’ll get there, I believe in you. ^-^

Peace, love, and tranquil vibes people,

C.C.

The Volcano

You tell me

Grown men don’t cry.

As a man I am not allowed to cry

As a man I am supposed to rage and shoot fire from my fingertips

And I do not want to relate to that.

I do not want to be the volcano

Smouldering red hot rage

Boiling up

And raining down from the heavens.

I am not the volcano.

And yet I can feel white

hot Molten rage

Flow through my veins

When I think of the way

You told me

Grown men don’t cry.

As if you’d prefer me to build it all up. Whole body shaking

Until cracks breach my skin

And with an almighty roar I fracture

warping everything around me.

Raining down death and destruction indiscriminately

Cause at least that way I’m not the only one who’s hurt.

You’d prefer the volcanic ashes of our love to fall down like feathers

Staining people’s skin with the stories of us. Burning the shadows of ourselves into all of the places we once lived and loved each other.

So that years later once everything has cooled and my heart has hardened up like magma

Others can come and admire the ghosts of our love.

I wonder, can they feel the fear of our final moments?

Moments before I proved you right.

That I was a volcano.

But you, you were the one that set me off. And now I don’t cry

Not because grown men don’t cry

But because the magma in my veins

Pumping through my heart

Has grown cold and hard in your absence.

I both fear and await the day my heart begins to heat back up.

C.C.

(I did mention I’d occasionally post my poetry)