Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

I want you
to call me
I want you
to remind me

why I
keep breathing

down the neck
of who we

used to
never be

& why

what we wanted
I am still wanting

despite the fact you
crossed me off

you forgot my name
& lost my number

& still I'm waiting
by the phone

for your
sweet voice
to tell me
to fuck off

555-life-bites
call me
lifeless

yes, there is something pleasureable to be said for hearing a delicately breathed hot sexy "fuck you" coiling down the line from a loved one...gets me all tingley!

lovely...excellent ending...tickles my humourous side.

This is an amazing poem
Stares down that old daredevil masochist in us all....

powerful and right on as usual K...

H

{insert yr # here}

Oedipus at Colonus

one edit
sorry for the inane reply
I did not really get your poem.
Who we used to be don't mean much to me anymore.
I was only happy for what we had.
And sorry I tried to hang on

Nothing to do with your poem.. Just a juxtoposition of the title of your poem and what has been on my mind today

strong piece, K~. A+

Reminds me of that night.
He and I discovered one another in an alcove of that ancient building during our ten minute break from Poetry class. Only friends, up until that titilating moment where our lustful mouths touched, but nothing more. Between gasps of air, our eyes met and I saw that he had fallen. But I hadn't.
Ten minutes turned into twenty.
Frayed with passion, we tore ourselves away from the other and returned to class with a sense of satisfaction.
He left for the army shortly after though constantly begging me to reunite with him, calling me to say that he wished to see me when he came back for Christmas.
The urge striking me like lightning, I struggled with the phone in my hand, now completely attached to another. To see him would be to delve into a pot of lust I couldn't bear to dip into.
The number in my hand, I let it fall between the cracks of forever.

Last I heard, he was married. He'd called me many times before this and I always ignored his calls.

Curiousity is something I play with every day.

you want that.

what I want
heaven
has no words for

your melody

plays endlessly

and I

am just the movement

of pages in the wind

nothing more

than mere echo

of your symphony


~ please, sing to me again~

I am dischord
I am
the random measure

where dreams connect
to paths we send
our wishes down

I feint
to your
cruel enchantment

tto mo fo'clinging a ling
to much a ding a ling
a bussy i am
and at ten?
when I got ta go ta bed
up at 6 and in the chev
to work
my
had ta buy a call minder
block your #
bluck you #
had to go out and buy a call minder
mind you
the sex was great
but this needy ball of need
this crying bitchy
sometimes over board kitchy
james dean marylin monoroe
acting like a baby
why don't you buy a sports car
and crash
or a shiot load of sleeping pills with your
extra cash
one always has to leave
but think
if no one ever broke up then you'd be married
to someone that has the upper hand
"i could leave at any time"

the smell of some one else
the new exprience
leting go is a bitch
and if it would help everyone hates you
if it helps your
better off dead
but that is not what you want
so clean up that snot stop crying
this situation is not really that trying
I know nothing about it
just geussing I
could be
way off.