198three

You know what needs to stop? Bathroom Hate. Filth on the walls. And crap in the stalls. Do you feel like a man With a pen in your hand Writing racist garbage While you sit on the can? Maybe you should wipe your mind As well as your crack. Maybe you should read a book And get your life on track Stop drawing breasts to try and be cool And start realizing you're a sexist tool So how about next time you stop to think Put your pen away and save the ink Maybe look at yourself When you use the sink Because I don't care if you're black, white, or brown And I don't care if gay people make you frown But when you bring your hate in o

Rose opens her eyes, but the room she's lying in is darker than the darkest of nights.  The pillow beneath her is soft and cradles her head soothingly, perfectly. The long dress wrapped around her body, fits her nicely, hugging her curves like a lost lover.  A stray hair tickles her heavily make-upped face, and she reaches up to brush it away.  But, her arm is stiff, and aches, as she reaches towards the stray hair. She brushes her knuckles against the thick comforter pulled high over her head.  The comforter must be the reason for the darkness, but Rose is too tired to care. She rests her arms at

The chained bark echoes down mirrored blocks, like heartbeats down highways. Metallic extensions rolling down the street like the steady flow of blood past this city's teeth.   The dawn barely exhales out of the night as sirens sing of motorized indigestion. Alcohol and hate seethe from the gutters, spilling onto TV like a dirty Hallmark movie. Blurring eyes worldwide. The temperature outside is a vicious mirage, setting fire to your goose-bumps as it tears down daydreams. Then when the moment to relax appears on the horizon like a ghost ship full of gold, only one question remains… Who put out the sun?