They say age hits hardest at 40 and 60
When the old crone comes and slays the former pixie.
Faces turn ambiguous and sarcopenia reigns,
No matter the work, no matter the pains.
And you were there early, so it comes for you faster,
A selfish lifestyle that’s become a disaster,
Not just from sun, but from emotional stress,
Caused by your greed and your utter falseness.
You’ve wasted your years, wasted your time, your nerve
Waiting for a fantasy that you do not deserve,
Materialistic and cruel,...
All Kyle could do was shake his head, as her determination to ruin herself grew with what she saw as his arrogance, his presumption.
“What business is it of yours?” she finally rasped in frustration.
“You look exactly like his ex-wife, you blathering idiot. You could be her sister, if not her twin. And, as for my business, what you did to me entitles me to mock you until you exhale your last.”
She stated it bluntly, as if trying to make herself believe it. “You’re just jealous that I didn’t...
He wants what left him,
Seeking one who looks the same,
One to sneer at in secret, resentment projected,
But one who will never leave him once captured,
Because she cannot leave him.
So he seeks older, in lieu of trading in for younger flesh,
To capitalize on desperation, loneliness,
A need for status, baiting with his wealth.
And she, a fool, guided only by vanity,
Falls for the ulterior motives, believes the pretty words sincere.
But why would he want her for any other reason?
He who could...
Though at the time he would have done anything to have her return his want, she had given him the gift of rejection, as she thought herself too good for him and still did. But she had been wrong, and she should have known it, because the only ones who came for her were users and liars, seeing an advantage, a convenient means to an end that was never in her favor. You see, there was nothing there for them to want, because she was not real. Her entire being was a role she had given herself, a...
Still a longing after all this time,
Rising from nowhere, a leftover rime.
Misplaced emotion, for there is nothing there,
Just an echo through the years from where there was no care.
It should be hatred, but it is only a pit,
And a lonely hope she might one day give a shit.
But there is no regret, no returned desire
To repair any damage, no guilt, and no fire.
Just the same little girl, faking her way through life,
Playing the good person, seeking to be a slug’s wife,
Still the childish...
Things that nag at us, gnawing at our insides,
Dogs on bone, caterpillars on leaves,
That which we know we should do.
We let them slide, though they eat holes in our souls,
And then, one day, there is no more time.
What we know we should have done,
Kept from it by doubt and guilt, from ego and fear,
Has passed us by—
We stand scared instead of healed,
Broken bones, shredded leaves,
The chance squandered for meaningless considerations,
And we are left a husk,
A brittle shell of powder, prone to...
She didn’t appear to know him at all. She must have been thrown at him by some acquaintance as a loser desperate for a trust fund baby. That or she’d signed up on one of those sites where rich men could just choose whom to buy. She had no self-esteem and never did, ready to sell herself to anyone who would win her applause. Though that had been her modus operandi her whole life, she’d never learned that it was a guaranteed recipe for disaster. But, once the fantasy of a beach house and fancy...
The sun brought heat and sweat,
But did nothing to lift him from the hole,
So dark, so bottomless, stench of sorrow,
Recurrent, ever existing.
No hand came to him,
No aid, no kind word,
As he slid farther into the gray,
Spite his ever oppressor, lies his killer,
Knowing joy had passed him by.
Night came as dirt as he was buried.
Goodbye.
She reminded me of Mazzy Star,
But she was never magic,
Not by far.
Only a pretty glimmer
Turned to nightmare.
My name is Sarah Bischoff and the confession of my sins is long.
As I will never make it of my own volition, it comes by proxy through this song.
There is much I never told you, o those whom I’ve misled,
So much I did that I’ve omitted, never to be spoken, by me unsaid.
First I must confess I never told him to leave me be or go away,
Although I’ve told you all I did, and reported it that way.
No, instead I let him think that we were friends and talked to him at length,
While defaming him to others,...
He’d had his ups and downs. He’d been the villain. He’d been the hero. He’d lived the life of the pristine privileged, and he’d lived in rancid poverty. He’d been warm, and he’d been outside in the cold. He loved. He’d hated, but he’d always forgiven. He’d made mistakes, and he’d atoned the same. He’d seen the worst people could be, and he’d seen them at their best. He’d known saints, and he’d known criminals. He hadn’t, however, known much joy.
But he’d never encountered someone so committed...
He was beyond sick of being glared at from afar, whispered about, buy those who didn’t know anything … because she’d never told them everything. The truth was that, in her desperation for attention, her clawing need to have revenge for what she’d called down upon herself, she overplayed her hand. There was a reason he’d never been indicted, and it was patent. The lies she’d fed to the power-deranged cop, whom she’d manipulated as she did all, plying tears of a helpless child, were unsupported...
To lie for the rest of her life …
Was a burden, self-inflicted.
Keeping the spies alive,
Never asking herself why.
All a lie … to appease a lie of a life.
A self-inflicted wound.
Day first cold, then hot, then cold again … like her the whole time.
Back and forth, torn in mind, marching to his window,
Demanding he no longer ignore, needing to control.
She didn’t tell them that part later.
Then a torrent of abuse, chased by a flood of compliment.
No sense in any of it, desperate but tainted by someone else’s tongue,
Someone else’s expectation,
A slave to someone else’s plan for her.
Tears, senseless given the situation,
Counterintuitive, emotions not matching her words...
Desperate for a daddy,
Time has ticked away and any man with cash will do,
The sands are thin,
She needs to “win”
To herself she’s never true.
Desperate for a daddy,
Sell herself to him who creeps her from afar,
The lies she keeps
The creep she reaps,
Not smart enough to run.
User, user, user
A floozy and a boozer.
Hook, hook, hook
A liar and a crook.
Infest, infest, infest
No morals, heart not honest.
Kill, kill, kill
Murders truth and her own will.
Desperate for a daddy,
Time presses her to deal...
The world is burning, though the fires are invisible,
Things collapsing all around us, while most see nothing.
Selfishness is the zeitgeist of the day, as theft is now applauded,
And there is no more comradery, not in truth, not as it was.
Lies have replaced decent hearts, and greed rules the roost,
And love … love is long lost, slain by false words and possessions.
Brains rot watching flashes of nonsense, nothing real,
And to speak of reality is an unpardonable sin.
The horrible men have won,...
The one who had decades and the means to come for her and never did,
Whom she dissed in public for his selfish, childish purchases.
The one who pursues possession and wealth for its own sake,
Another who dresses like a total clown, trapped at the age of 12,
Plenty of money, no taste to speak of.
Publicly self-aggrandizing, egotistical, narcissistic,
Just like all the other ones.
The one who feigns charity but ensures it’s made public to reap the glory,
With the same sign of sun, some manner of...
Remember how you claimed that this was an open carrot three,
And lied about it later in your vain dishonesty?
Now it still has meaning, though its significance has shifted,
Now it means something else, a mark of time,
And there’s nothing good left within it.
I should have walked out the door of the room that day,
Uttered not another word, not given even the remotest benefit of the doubt.
She had set me up again,
A cruel way to crush me, instead of being honest,
And she’d still expected that I would fawn over her,
Continuing to pull my strings.
She’d crushed me before,
Nagging me for a confession of my feelings,
Only to stab me with them.
She had not deserved my fascination.
But I believed her profession of friendship,
Too thick-headed, too enamored of a...
His head would not stomp pounding,
The beat stolen from his heart that would never be healed.
The lies were permanent.
There was no reaching the soul that made them,
No earthly power that could break that obstinacy,
No caring in that heart.
He’d loved and lost himself.
He wished he could seal himself into a bottle
And cast himself into the sea,
Hopefully to be found by one with care for mystery,
And honesty, loyalty, … eventually,
Or to just drown.