Zombie plumbers don't want no brains,
They stagger around looking for draaaaaiiiins.

She's choppin' broccoli...

FTW!

:D

Nice, Bri. I wish I could write like that!

You stand over me in your shame
The cold fried Chicken crumbs
Descend on me like tears
Like tiny little failure flakes on a grave

Wash them down now, wash them down
Close the fridge, you left it open
Tip up that glass of Vodka, friend
I'll take it when you're done

Leave it for the morning, leave it behind
The morning sun through the window will find it there
With the last smudge of lipstick
From the date you were on

You had JUST ONE glass of wine
And you had the Fish
And you only ate half
And you didn't even like him

But with me, you are honest.

These remnants of food and drink
bestowed on me in shame
They lift me up, they fill me
I am your friend. I am your Kitchen Sink.


PS. Comet burns my throat.

kthxbai

:applause:

+1 clever

Fucking brilliant.

I've just been clearing the top of the stairs (ugh...just ugh) and came across one of several notepads, taken up mainly with to do lists, but with a poem in pencil on the inside cover. I remember writing it. It was about 2 or 3 years ago. It was quite literally a 'kitchen sink poem' and the page is slightly crinkly at the corner where some water dripped onto it :p

I've come across it several times and spotted the poem just in time to not throw the pad away...and looked at it, unsure of where it should go. It is one of those unfinished pieces that litter my life :P

Here it is:

The air is brittle and cold,
and smells of distant bonfires.
The light seems fragile and thin,
like new ice sheeting across a lake.
There is a warning in the wind,
This year is dying.

I love poetry. I can see it when it's good, but I sure can't write it. There's some real talent here in the Cellar!