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Amanda Oaks |
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Tender Eight hours of my day spent where death overshadows life. It clings to refurbished walls and in and around pull-string lights. Blank stares, missing smiles and gurgling throats, this is their last go-around, an unpleasant march to a peaceful rest. Christian nut nurses pricking the skin, pumping the morphine in, DNR, NPO, it's passive euthanasia girls, i'm glad your beliefs don't get in the way of that, you're playing god while i snicker behind your back; it's a foul smelling utopia before the heart stops, and they take their last breath. I watch the snow fall under fluorescent lights, while copying numbers on wasted trees, and think i am handing out smiles with little ease because i am the catcher in this suicide squeeze. Booger- FIP (Finally In Peace) I didn't know him that well I only met him twice but name any cartoon he had the characteristics of at least one personality from every show I know he had a three year old daughter at the age of nineteen I know he stole some of my cigarettes one night I know he had spent three months in boot camp I know he had recently gotten into an unjust fight I know he liked fast cars and I know he was just a kid lookin' for an out You got any pills, man, got any pills? Anything to alter the reality of things, an escape from his fucked up family life, his back-stabbing friends and his pill-whore war-pig of a mother Last night, his friend was life-flighted and he was dead doing a buck-ten on the narrow windy roads of the countryside they found them, the car was split in half after hitting three trees and when it hit the fifth one it burst into flames Missy identified the body she said he was burnt from the chest down his nose was smashed in and his lips were cut open and bruised and the blood, oh the blood, one of the pigs had to help her back out of the woods Tattooed across his wrist was life IS pain I hope he died on impact Weekend Drive/Write Me a Love Poem Her hands fluttered gracefully out the window struggling to cool the breeze It was one of those days that if you didn't have the luxury of an air conditioner you would have trust in condensation, in all forms of the word, dripping down your leg, from your soda or pop bottle, depending on what side of the state you are from or I guess it could be one of those good deals from the Kwik-E-Mart where you can get a 44 ounce fountain drink for under a dollar, have you ever finished one of those off without summer's air charming it to it's fate? white lines- epileptic shock She flicked her cigarette out the window I wonder if she realizes that it takes up to or more than seven years for a cigarette butt to biodegrade- like a broken mirror depending on the environmentalist you're talking to or what superstition your giving in to I bet she knows I saw her playfully fooling with the air outside the window She tried to cup up the freshness and bring it into me but she never comes through I never come through |