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Welcome !	Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link	02-June 15:58:35 AEST

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Array ( [sid] => 142997 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => When we ran out of Malt and Barley... [time] => 2008-06-06 02:25:05 [hometext] => For all the drunk-on-love fools out there... [bodytext] => Tables sticky with mash; our mash
that remains un-distilled but fermented,
and there's still a fire not lit, a bar
not burned to the ground.
I'm holding Vintage; upped on
floor grease after looking for your face
and it wasn't there, not there
for me to swipe with a knife.
I want to cut you in two,
make you bleed down the middle
of our kitchen; smash wine
bottles on those old ancestral counters,
and make mincemeat pie out of your heart.
I know your aorta never worked; if it
did, you would've gushed from my
shattered stabs of love; would have
screamed pleasure in my apartment.
Doors are caved in with dents; hinges that
weren't meant to be torn apart,
and I'm still holding a match up to
a cracked bulb and wondering
if my fingers can take the heat.
No matter the singes I get, I
can't keep count of the lights. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 189 [topic] => 6 [informant] => skyhawk432 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => AngryPoetry )

When we ran out of Malt and Barley...

Contributed by skyhawk432 on Friday, 6th June 2008 @ 02:25:05 AM in AEST
Topic: AngryPoetry

Tables sticky with mash; our mash
that remains un-distilled but fermented,
and there's still a fire not lit, a bar
not burned to the ground.
I'm holding Vintage; upped on
floor grease after looking for your face
and it wasn't there, not there
for me to swipe with a knife.
I want to cut you in two,
make you bleed down the middle
of our kitchen; smash wine
bottles on those old ancestral counters,
and make mincemeat pie out of your heart.
I know your aorta never worked; if it
did, you would've gushed from my
shattered stabs of love; would have
screamed pleasure in my apartment.
Doors are caved in with dents; hinges that
weren't meant to be torn apart,
and I'm still holding a match up to
a cracked bulb and wondering
if my fingers can take the heat.
No matter the singes I get, I
can't keep count of the lights.

Copyright © skyhawk432 ... [ 2008-06-06 02:25:05]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: When we ran out of Malt and Barley... (User Rating: 1 )
by elle on Friday, 6th June 2008 @ 02:28:31 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

oh, to be loved to death. . .
I enjoyed this. peace. elle

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