Comments Posted By Yamuna

Displaying 1 To 30 Of 48 Comments

leftover

Man, you know there ain’t no such thing as leftover crack.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.29.2017 @ 3:30 pm

mop

I’ve spilled the beer that I didn’t finish three nights ago. Across the already decaying floor boards. The smell of state alcohol is permeating the air, mixed with body odor and dog piss. I was going to clean it up, but it’s already been a couple of hours. They say the key to happiness is finding comfort and contentment from within, despite your surroundings.

I don’t have a mop, anyway.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.02.2017 @ 11:08 am

witheld

He witheld his urge scrape and tear. To punch, stab, and grab at her hair. Her eyes aflame with hate and venom. She’d said what she did only to hurt him. Instead, he just looked down at his feet, and walked in the rain to hide his defeat.

» Posted By Yamuna On 10.30.2017 @ 9:59 am

excluded

Corn stalks in June. Hair on the back of a horse. A man with one eye, at a shitty shooting range.

» Posted By Yamuna On 10.22.2016 @ 9:03 pm

changes

I just fucking said, “change spange wang pain.” And I swear, that’s all I’ve got for this one, at the moment. Why are you forcing this onto me? What ever happened to jail? I just got angry about jail, and now shit’s different. I don ‘t like it. I don’t like change. It ain’t right. It’s ain’t christian.

» Posted By Yamuna On 10.11.2016 @ 9:59 pm

buzzing

Buzzing. Chaotic. Circling like flies. Pervading thoughts, like static. How did you get in here? You distraction. You pest? But you won’t leave my ear.

» Posted By Yamuna On 07.05.2015 @ 9:29 pm

motorcycle

The revving of the engine, growling in the night send chills up your spine. Your decision to leave becoming all too real as you speed away. What are you leaving? What are you running from? You’re a coward, but at least you are free.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.15.2015 @ 10:04 pm

No.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.15.2015 @ 9:40 pm

local

Local anesthetics. Dentistry. It really fuckin’ sucks when the dick hole stabs your inner face with the giant god damned needle. The actual dental work without anesthetics hurts less than the method by which they numb you. I fucking hate dentists. I’m gonna pull all my teeth with some pliers and bottle of whiskey.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.08.2015 @ 11:57 pm

until

Until the gods call us to their hall. Until the earth is turned to ash. Until at last, our bodies rot within their shallow graves, I’ll fight along your side. The loyal live on in the hearts of their comrades.

» Posted By Yamuna On 05.27.2015 @ 2:34 am

slither

It slithers by. A beast with no eyes. Within and without. Corrupting. Contorting. Constricting. Comforting. The thought that you could break free, if only you felt the need. The serpent rises from the ocean. Splashing salt across this dried land. Murder murder kill kill. Entwine with me. Circle the Earth, in an endless loop. Jormungand. Jormungand. Remind me that I am not gone.

» Posted By Yamuna On 05.23.2015 @ 2:54 am

wallow

It’s your cowardice that makes you wallow. Tossing and turning, fervently in sorrow. Pride and angst prevent your meek opportunity to repent. Relishing guilt and drowning in folly. Is it truly so hard to release such worthless things? Yellow in the liver, dirty hands and knees. Bowing to your ego, denying sweet release. You have such little time, my friend. How pathetic to spend it refusing to mend.

» Posted By Yamuna On 01.16.2015 @ 4:46 pm

boyfriend

I hate that word. It sounds childish. “Boyfriend.” Pfft.

» Posted By Yamuna On 01.16.2015 @ 5:58 am

rented

Rented? That’s not very fun. Renting a house? What? A boat? Ooh! How exciting to discuss an average life thing! I live in a house! I pay for it with money that I earn from working? It is awesome and does it have secret passages? No? Fuck your shit.

» Posted By Yamuna On 01.05.2015 @ 10:14 pm

regrowth

Old growth forests, littered with life giving decay. Paving the way for their kin. Rotting, decaying, blossoming. Cyclic. Die to live.
An entire forest, slain by man, will grow again. Regrowth after the fire. Sprout from the ashes.
Slash and burn, humans. Nice try.

» Posted By Yamuna On 12.25.2014 @ 5:51 pm

misty

the sky was misty when we left. stuffed up with fog, clouds congesting the sky like a cold and every once in a while, someone would look up to check if it was raining yet.

» Posted By yamuna On 08.18.2012 @ 5:44 am

side

I seem to be caught in the middle of everything. Even after all this time I’ve spent throwing myself towards one side or another. I still haven’t landed anywhere. I still haven’t hit a wall. I’m still rolling about like shopping bags in a trunk. I’m unstickable. I’m unkeepable. And I never feel one way or another.

» Posted By Yamuna On 08.24.2012 @ 9:06 pm

texts

Words, words, words. I love writing because it’s simple. It’s ABC rearranged, CBA, CAB, and so on, and you inhaleexhaleinhaleexhale in the space between letters that make up words that make up paper.

» Posted By yamuna On 08.11.2012 @ 11:09 am

copper

Plates. Pennies. Pots. Pans. Gold’s disabled brother: copper.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.29.2010 @ 8:30 pm

duck

I duck behind every opportunity and count my blessings, wondering how long they’ll last, wondering if they’ll fade over time, if I keep them.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.17.2010 @ 11:18 pm

junkyard

Junkyards are the graveyards of kitchen appliances. Every oven a tomb. The stench is the same stench. Everything is death and dying in a junkyard. Everything is salty from the rain.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.14.2010 @ 6:13 pm

market

The supermarket is the loveliest thing about living in a suburb. The joy of waking up, shutting up, and driving to an an office where a man in a stained silk tie spends his time telling you how replaceable you are, only to step into a cool white abyss with isles of decisions. You are the God of your refrigerator. You are the King of your pantry. You can choose between thirteen different apple juices, and for thirty seconds, you know that you have complete control.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.13.2010 @ 2:35 pm

reader

When writing, I always split myself in two. I am the writer and the reader. I defend and criticize. I am always at war with myself and when I’m done, I crumple up the empty page and try again. Someday, I hope to make peace with myself. Someday, I hope there will be peace in the world.

» Posted By Yamuna On 11.07.2010 @ 2:19 pm

patience

What is a day if not filled with excitement? Life is not a line; our existence does not pivot around one frosted moment of happiness. We are not meant to wait, we are not meant to have patience. We sit here, bored and uninspired, twiddling our thumbs to the clock and we cannot break free.

» Posted By Yamuna On 09.30.2010 @ 7:10 pm

coaster

I like the dry rings of coasterless coffee mugs that hover crustily above my grandfather’s desk. They overlap, but only slightly, and I like to imagine him sitting there, sipping his coffee with a mouthful of ink as he contemplates life, love, and the daily crossword for twenty-five years and counting. Two sugars, no cream, and a ball-point pen, from eight-thirty to noon: his mind darts from bad memories to nine down and the itch beneath his sock.

» Posted By Yamuna On 09.29.2010 @ 10:41 pm

jazz

There is just something about jazz on a rainy day. The thick warble of a grandfather cello that pulls my heartstrings to the ground at five a.m. Saxophones across the world sing sugar-laced love songs and everything is blue outside. The yard is black-browed and blowsy.

Blunt as morning coffee.

» Posted By Yamuna On 09.27.2010 @ 9:14 pm

complete

If only one could muster up the courage to make oneself complete. With shyness, we stutter, stutter, and stutter, unable to say what we mean until one’s need for love has gone.

» Posted By Yamuna On 07.24.2010 @ 3:01 pm

bleach

Her name was Catherine. She had very white teeth and, no matter what she did, she could not get rid of them.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.21.2010 @ 12:11 pm

driven

I am driven by nothing but lust and vanity; that is the truth.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.14.2010 @ 7:15 pm

wash

There is nothing so soothing than watching your socks, your shirts, your sweaters, rough-and-tumble in the wash amongst water and the smell of clean.

» Posted By Yamuna On 06.13.2010 @ 11:53 am

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