The damned

My outlet has become an inlet

The thoughts that once poured out,

Spilling from me,

Freely flowing,

Unhindered by censure,

Now reduced to a slow internal, drip! drip! drip!

My conscious stream gone…

Manipulated and shaped into a damn,

And the only words I can hear are echoes,

And each original thought takes on the same form…

And the only words

I can hear

Are echoes…

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Indexed

Drowning, crowning, misery,

Swallow me whole, consume me,

Woken from sleep just to agonise,

Force pin prick emotion behind blurred eyes,

And my every thought you’ve demonised,

Twisted my mind with wicked lies,

My indecisiveness you’ve capitalised,

Harnessed a state of no compromise,

Now these boxed up feelings are liberalised,

Labelled paranoid thoughts, or extra wise.

 

Chub rub

I’m so fat

I’ve burst my britches”

Thighs worn thin

Too late for stitches

~

Could I get away with patches

The positioning is what the catch is

For they could scream out “I’m a fat b!tch”

Who should have layed off that extra sandwich

~

I’d only had them a couple of months

Nice slim fit, covered my bumps

Seems now my bumps are bursting free

Whispering “Hey guys look at me”

~

Perhaps I’ll have to get some slacks

The kind you buy in multi packs

And pray my thighs never again do this

Whilst I’m out shopping and didn’t notice

Until that North wind blew its cold kiss

Revealing too late

I’m showing my “aris”

http://www.cockneyrhymingslang.co.uk/slang/aris