Young Writers Society

And it hurts
Like sex on Tuesdays
Mints from down the road
Chewing on pencils
Found in an abandoned hallway
Poisoned nails that dig into your own skin

Rapturing, capturing
Youth’s kisses
To unravel in the “golden years”
When the gritty shit of life
Begins to cake around your eyes
Vomit around lips
Forming hypothesizes of
“Hell in a hand basket”

Paperback novels
Lining walls
Like sluts in a whorehouse
Wet lips; sparkling with lip-gloss
(Lip-gloss that those in the golden years recognize)

A cycle of life
Like a cycle of death
Because you are dying from the moment you are born

Fanning out your fingers
And spreading them across your chest
Seeping
Like sewage
In the cold and dread of late December

Getting the mail on a daily basis
Getting (high) off of auto-pilot
Ruining my life
Like a chip off of the old block
You lick
And splinter your tongue


Take pictures of your eyes
Just to see
The shit
The vomit
Creeping out from your eyelashes
Your irises

A churning sea in boiling rage
Like Ramen noodles steaming
Venting
To God and the radio
As your child
(That fuck)
Shoves itself through your vagina
Where so many men have gone before

The shit is obvious, now
And the nails litter pristine Jesus-land
Wood splinters
(Tongue splinters)
Stabbing at feet
That aren’t ever innocent

And it hurts
Like pregnancy
In a prom gown

Your bathe to get rid of the vomit
But you never do
Because you keep sweating
Like a cold shower

And it hurts
Like gold